The College Obsession Complete Series (Includes BONUS Sequel Novella)

by Daryl Banner

  Dmitri rubs my back. “She should be with my parents,” he notes. “I got them all to sit together before the ceremony. I just kinda lost track of them. Ugh. Like babysitting kids.”

  I smirk at him, then give Dessie another hug. “I guess I need to go find myself a runaway parent or three,” I tell her. “Victoria should be around here somewhere too. I haven’t seen her since we sat down.”

  “Oh, I saw her already! I invited her to Brant’s, so she’ll be there. Apparently she’s bringing a date, too. Or meeting some guy there. I don’t know.” Dessie gives me a kiss on either of my cheeks, which startles me. Is this some European habit she picked up from her sister? Then she squeezes both of my shoulders and squeals in my face. “We’re all Klangburg alumni now! All of us! The whole gang!”

  Just then, Eric appears from thin air to tackle Dmitri. “Hey, guys!” he shouts. “How’s it feel to emerge from the other side of the woods??”

  “Better than being tackled by a guy who just came from the woods!” Dmitri blurts back.

  Dessie smirks at Eric. “You just come to crash their graduation, or did you bring some of your homebrewed cat pee to celebrate?”

  “Neither. I just couldn’t miss out on my friends breaking free from the Klangburg beast.” Eric gives me a smile and a tiny wave, which I return with a tiny one of my own. “Anyway, I’ll see you all at the party later on. I gotta go pick up Bailey from across town since my other date was a bitch and took off. Bailey’s my plus one and I … sorta have an addiction to not attending things alone.”

  Dmitri gives Eric a hug, and then he pulls away and looks at him appraisingly. “You look well, man. Are you gonna miss the apartment when the lease is up next month? We have so many memories there.”

  “The apartment? Pshh.” Eric shakes his head, then nods at Clayton. “You guys are gonna miss it more than I am. You and Clayton and Brant, the originals. I was just a guest for two years. See you later!”

  “Sure thing.” Dmitri gives him another half-hug, and then Eric is off with a phone slapped to his ear, calling his Bailey.

  After Dessie and Clayton head off, Dmitri and I finally turn to one another, and for a second, we’re alone.

  Then my eyes catch sight of a face over Dmitri’s shoulder.

  The man turns away the second he makes eye contact with me, and he’s off.

  “Wait!” I call out, breaking away from Dmitri and chasing after the man. Dmitri shouts my name, but I’m in hot pursuit of the eyes that just burned into mine.

  I round about the tree I saw him disappear behind, but find no sight of him, lost to the crowd ahead. I narrow my eyes and look for his face, certain I’ll see it if I just squint hard enough. I look from gown to gown, head to head, shapeless maroon figure to shapeless maroon figure. I’m picking at a nail so agitatedly, it starts to sting.

  Dmitri catches up behind me. “What’s going on, Sam? You just up and ran off.”

  “I saw him,” I breathe, still looking.

  “Who?”

  “Did I imagine it?” I ask myself out loud, combing the crowd with my squinting eyes. My contacts are burning, or else it’s the air out here and the pollen in the air. These stupid, annoying contacts. “I couldn’t have imagined it …”

  “Imagine what?”

  And then my eyes drift to a spot by the chairs. He’s there, waiting for a crowd of people to get out of his way so he can leave.

  I’m not letting him leave. Not again.

  I take off into a sprint, but this time Dmitri doesn’t call out after me, likely just watching. I push through the crowd, my eyes zeroed in on the direction I must go. I don’t care who I push out of my way. Determination holds a leash to my neck and she’s a stubborn, powerful beast, drilling me a path through the sea of graduates.

  I reach him sooner than I anticipate, nearly crashing into him. I stop and look up at his face just as he looks down at mine. The shock that turns his eyes to glass is likely reflected in my own frozen gaze.

  “Dad?” I croak.

  He presses his lips together just like I always do, then shrugs. “Hey there, Samantha.”

  His greeting is so absurdly, hilariously casual, but I can’t bring myself to laugh, or smile, or move an inch of muscle. I just stare up at him like he’s not really here.

  “You look beautiful,” he tells me. “You are stunning. You have blossomed into such a stunning, vibrant, beautiful young woman.”

  He has a scruffy face now, though to be honest, I’m struggling to remember if he was clean shaven when he left or if I’m imagining that. He changed his facial hair quite often. His eyes are hazel like mine, and at the sides are perched two sets of crow’s feet that stretch their greedy talons toward salt-and-pepper nests of hair at either temple. He’s wearing a loose-fitting white dress shirt that reveals a new tattoo I don’t recognize snaking up his forearm—some kind of tribal symbols—and a pair of faded jeans. His clothes give him an oddly youthful look. I could mistake him for another college student at a passing glance.

  If I didn’t know better.

  “Why are you here?” I blurt with a wrinkled face, though my voice is not angry.

  “To see my daughter graduate,” he answers simply. “Of course.”

  My eyes try to drink in every moment of him, like he’s going to slip away any second, like this is some dream I’m trying to cling to before I wake up. “Why now?”

  He sighs patiently, then gives me a nod. “You’re owed quite a few explanations.” He gestures toward the chairs. “Should we, ah …?”

  “I’ll stand.”

  “Alright. You want it all now, or can we, say, go for some lunch? Get out of here and catch up with—”

  “No. Here. Right now. All of it. Out with everything,” I command him. “And don’t spare my feelings. You already ditched me through my adolescence. Just say it all.”

  His eyes turn to stone, and though there may be a hint of hurt in them from my words, he shows no anger. Instead, my dad takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, as if to steel himself. He shuffles his feet, then thrusts his hands into his pockets and speaks at last.

  “I’ve been living in Georgia. Our tours begin and end there, where we have a recording studio. We aren’t what I’d call wildly successful just yet, but we’re doing well with the indie-chasing crowds. We make waves in a few key venues that regularly sell out for us. California and Nevada are especially good. Our band is gaining enough traction now that I’ve reached the point where I can send your mother money every month instead of … just every once in a while. Though it isn’t the life your mother and I pictured together …”

  “Oh, isn’t it?” I mutter flatly.

  My dad blinks really hard, then moves on. “There is not another woman in my life and there never was. I need you to understand that first. And you did nothing wrong, Samantha. Neither did your mother. This is simply something I had to do for myself. While I’m alive. While I’m here on this planet. I never meant to settle down, Samantha. If you only knew your mother and I back in the 70s when we first met, the life we lived … the freedom, the recklessness … But she didn’t want that anymore, and I still did. We grew apart, her and I, and—”

  “And I came along,” I interrupt him. “I happened. I turned your party into a family and you didn’t want that. You didn’t want us. You didn’t want … me.”

  “Samantha, you were the best thing that ever happened. You give my life … purpose. And seeing you up on that stage just now …?” He sucks in jagged air, then brings a fist to his mouth and looks away. I see the sparkle of a tear in his eye. He shakes his head and returns his eyes to me, that quivering tear letting loose. “It gave me such gratification that you are the strong, smart, driven girl I left behind. And I don’t deserve that gratification. I really, truly don’t. I am a selfish man, Samantha. Selfish. And I know that. And you …” He sighs softly. “You … are better than me.”

  “Better …” I mumble, suddenly unable to look at him anymore. I cast my g
aze to the ground and find myself staring at his shoes—his black and white Converse that look so much like Dmitri’s, I’m almost tickled to laughter. You know, if I wasn’t on the verge of crying …

  “I know it’s too much to ask. I know it isn’t fair. I know it’s wrong, even. But Samantha …” He’s choking on his words now, slowly turning into one of the other blubbering parents on this stretch of grass and white fold-out chairs. “Samantha, I want to be in your life. I want to know that you’re happy. I left you a child, and I left you as a child. I’ve grown now. I know what it is to lose, and to lack, and to love. And I … I don’t expect you to understand or to pretend that the past five years—”

  “Six.”

  “S-Six years …” I look up just in time to see him clench shut his eyes once more, loosening a few more tears. He inhales sharply, then opens his eyes and tilts his head at me. “Six years … I don’t expect you to pretend that all those years of my absence didn’t happen. I just hope you can find it in your heart to let me in again. Please don’t hate me. You’re my only child and I’m proud of you. So proud.”

  My eyes happen to stray, perhaps because subconsciously I have noticed that, not five or so yards away, my mother stands with Dmitri’s parents and his two sisters. My mom’s watching us with knowing eyes, her hands clasped in front of her. She must know he’s here. She must already have spoken to him, and she looks calm as a summer breeze.

  Something about her calms me, too. I look up at my dad, and though it sort of feels like I’m peering into the eyes of a stranger, I find some shred of confidence in me that inspires a smile. “I don’t hate you. And you never left my heart.”

  The words are literally music to his ears. His posture crumbles with relief. “Oh, Samantha …”

  “But I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive you,” I add.

  He stiffens slightly, but keeps his eyes on mine, hopeful, yearning.

  “And it’s not that I don’t want to forgive you,” I clarify, “because I do. I really do. But … I’m going to need time. And there may not be enough time. I may spend the rest of my life trying to forgive you, trying to know you as an adult, trying not to blame you every day I exist. But I’ll try. That’s the most I can give you. I’ll try … for Mom.”

  He glances over his shoulder, spotting my mother. She gives us a tentative nod.

  When my dad reaches for a hug, I flinch away at first, then succumb to his arms when they wrap around me. I still resist it for a solid minute, standing rigid as the point of the arrow my dad just shot into my heart, but then I melt against him, realizing how badly I’ve wanted my father to come back all these years. He has missed so much. I have missed so much. He’s the only father I’ve got, and today of all days seems to impress on me the importance of cherishing what we have.

  And I really may never forgive him. But I’ll try, even if it’ll be more like getting to know a stranger, like a new boyfriend my mother’s met and brought home.

  A new boyfriend who happens to be a key player in my existence.

  My dad leaves soon after that, and I watch him give my mother a kiss on the forehead before he takes his leave of her, too. He vanishes behind a thicket of trees on his way toward the parking lot. I see him a few seconds later slipping into a car, and am reminded exactly of the sight of him slipping into that car six years ago and pulling out of my driveway. It was the last time I saw him.

  Maybe this time will be different.

  “Sweetie,” coos my mother as she comes up to me, drawing my attention to her wetted eyes. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I hug her tightly, then whisper in her ear. “Is Dad coming back?”

  My mom hesitates before answering. “Time … will tell.” She pulls away from me to look into my eyes. “I may go up to visit him during the summer. See his studio. Attend a show or two. I don’t know what this means except to say … some couples just don’t work out the first time around. Can you understand what I mean? Sometimes they just need to wait … for the right timing, I suppose.”

  She chuckles lightly and looks back at the parking lot where she, too, watched Dad go. The oddly relevant parallel of what she’s saying compared to the situation between Dmitri and I is, of course, lost on her. I, however, am struck numb with wonder.

  “Who knows,” she says suddenly. “Maybe I’ll go on the next leg of his tour with him. Maybe I’ll leave the hospital and … and just go on the road with your dad. We can fall in love all over again. Music can do that, can’t it? Music says what ten thousand words cannot.” She laughs, her eyes more alight than I’ve seen them in years. “Or … or we might not. Maybe we are just friends. I don’t know, Samantha … Sam. Regardless of the outcome, we will be alright as long as we keep our heads about us. That includes you, too, sweetheart.” She gives me a knowing nod. “Dmitri seems like a really nice boy.”

  I chuckle. “Boy. You sound like you’re giving me approval of the boy I want to take to prom.”

  “Nice young man. Nice gallant warrior. Nice puppeteer of prose.” She laughs. “Whatever the words you wish, he seems to make you happy.”

  I smile, then find myself flooded with joy and completely out of words. I hug my mother tightly enough to break all her bones, but she’s a strong woman and handles it as well as any. Her hand rubs up and down my back soothingly, and there’s something in the certainty of her tone that assures me that everything will be alright.

  Maybe some loves are meant to be lost. Maybe it takes losing them and finding them a second time to truly know what they are.

  When I cut back through the crowd, I find Dmitri waiting just where I left him. From the look in his eye, I suspect he was watching the exchange with my dad and then with my mom. I slip my arms around him and embrace him tightly, and he puts a comforting hand at the small of my back, then gently strokes my hair with the other. Nothing is said for quite some time.

  “Thank you,” I finally mumble into his shoulder.

  He inclines his head slightly. “For what?”

  “For not giving up on me,” I answer. “After four years. After I let go of this the first time … For letting me back in. For making me hear the music once again. For being the best thing a person like me could ever hope for.”

  He hums against me, then says, “I think you might be overshooting my worth just a tad.”

  I pull away and look him in the eye fiercely. “You better know your worth, Dmitri Katz, and when I tell you how precious you are to me, you’d better believe it.”

  “That goes both ways, Samantha Hart.”

  “Deal.” I put a kiss on the lips of my lover, then smile with our mouths still pressed together. My happiness is overflowing, but it’s disturbed by a trickle of sadness I can’t shake. I’m going to miss this school and the day-to-day joys it brought me.

  Dmitri pulls away from me and stares into my eyes. After pulling strands of hair away from my face, he murmurs, “Samantha Hart. You were right from the start.”

  “About what?”

  “My one in a million.” He smiles, puts a peck on my lips, then says, “You were always my one in a million.”

  And under that tree, our lips unite again and again. My heart swells and sings a thousand songs in my chest. I find it to be such a miracle that a person like me—strange, outcast, reclusive, afraid at times, bold and reckless otherwise, uncertain about anything, and downright odd—can find harmony in anyone at all.

  Let alone a beautiful, infinitely deep person like Dmitri Katz.

  Each sound in the world—whether it be the string of a violin, or the tweeting of birds, or even the gentle hum of a car engine—consists of a series of overtones, and when those overtones align properly, it causes a sense of harmony in our ears. It’s something we cannot control.

  But we decide on our own which of these combinations of sounds we enjoy, and which we don’t. Some people like sweet food. Others, sour. And yet others go for the bitter stuff.

  Dmitri Katz, he’s that rare, ringing overtone
that sings in perfect harmony next to mine. He is my one in a million.

  And as Dmitri and I walk off together, hand-in-hand, I think on my father’s words—his last little gift to me—and I remember the day he said he knew I’d be a musician. That day in the garage, his fingers running over the notes I’d scratched into the wall: A, B, C, D, E, F, G. And I think on how he became a musician himself, then vanished.

  May I always know who I am, and not vanish from the lives of those I care about.

  May I always keep the music in me, forever, and always write from a place of love.

  And may I never, ever forget that with these hands, I can hit a boy sitting in front of me in Poetry class and make him look my way, a boy I may someday fall in love with, a boy as weird as me.

  Epilogue

  – One Month Later –

  Nell

  I’m staring at my reflection.

  That is my reflection in the toilet water, by the way. It isn’t pretty. Bent over a toilet is not how I wanted to spend Dessie and Clayton’s wedding, especially when I’m a bridesmaid. Supposedly. Allegedly.

  “Nell …?”

  I sigh. “Go away. Please. With love. Don’t come in.”

  Of course Brant comes in anyway. His feet settle behind me. “Babe? Let me hold you. Or get you some ginger ale. Or some crackers.”

  I thought morning sickness is just that: morning sickness. I didn’t expect it to last all day long, and every damn day. “You can hold me later when I’m not about to lose my breakfast all over the—”

  His arms come around me from behind. I close my eyes and, oddly, find myself comforted. It’s remarkable, how well Brant can read me. He knows exactly what I need even when I don’t.

  “You’re in the women’s bathroom,” I inform him miserably.

  He brings his lips to my ear. “Not the first time I’ve been in one.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “Do you need to?”

  “Am I going to be a good mother?” I blurt suddenly.

  Brant stills. Then, with a slight maneuver, he shows me his camera he’s been taking photos on all day. He shuffles through them until the screen arrives on an image from a certain place called Westwood Light. Smiling kids surround me with colorful, wax-dripped bottles.