by Rex Bolt
There was an office on site, next to the rec room that had ping pong and a pool table it. It said University Housing, but the hours were a 9-5 type thing, and Pike did find a maintenance guy still working, but that guy didn’t speak a lot of English but still conveyed to Pike that he had nothing to do with getting students into rooms.
In the far corner by the elevator Pike noticed another door, that looked kind of like an apartment one, which would be odd, but he asked a girl passing by and she said that was the RA.
He processed that one and didn’t want to be an idiot and ask what that meant and finally figured it might be Resident Attendant or Resident Assistant . . . so he tapped on the door.
A guy answered, barefoot and in a Colorado Rockies t-shirt and shorts, and there was hip-hop music playing medium-loud and Pike could see into the next room a female with her legs up on the couch, working the TV changer, her not exactly bundled up in winter clothing either.
“What can I do for y’all,” the guy said, not asking it, but more implying this wasn’t a good time, unless you got a full-fledged emergency on your hands.
Pike said, “Sorry to intrude. They sent me here--I mean not here, your apartment--but upstairs. 12. They forgot to give me a key though.”
The guy put up his hand, like hold on, and he came back with an ipad and fingered around. “Name?” the guy said.
“Mike Hemmington,” Pike said, realizing he was already mixed up on the name he gave Jeff.
The RA guy scrunched his face and tried clicking on something else and said no, you’re not in the system.
“Oh boy,” Pike said. “Well the office, they set me up okay. All’s I need, the only reason I’m bothering you--would you have an extra key. Just overnight, until I can straighten it out.”
The guy let out an exhale, like he didn’t need this, and you could see him glance at the female on the couch . . . and he put up his hand again and came back with one, and before he handed it over he delivered a little lecture, that this here’s the Master, so I’m trusting you with it this once, and be sure to see me in the morning when you’ve straightened it out.
Pike said that he completely understood, and again, sorry to intrude, and he went back upstairs and tried it and everything was cool . . . and you had some time, the night was still young, and you might as well take a look around campus for some action, just like a regular college student.
Chapter 7
Cotter High School was one of the 2 that weren’t in Pocatello proper, and it was up on a hill, and the neighborhood felt pretty newly developed, as did the school, which had some architecturally stylish metal and glass to it, and the landscaping was simple and clean and tasteful.
There was no script for how you’d pull something like this off. Pike lied there in bed last night tossing around the possibilities--the new roommate, Jeff, snoring away like a freight train--and he decided you better try to infiltrate the situation, that’d be your best shot.
So he arrived at Cotter promptly at 7:45 in the morning, which unfortunately required a $4 Uber ride, though at least he’d managed to hit the dorm breakfast buffet first, and he said to himself Here goes, and he marched into the attendance office and announced that he was a new student and all set to be processed, or however it worked.
They welcomed him but they asked for all the expected documentation, and--this was getting familiar--Pike politely told them he didn’t have any of it, that his family’d just moved here from New Hampshire this weekend, and could they square him away anyway, temporarily.
It was a man this time handling things, an older gentleman, and he said of course they could, and after Pike filled out some paperwork (where it asked for a local address he put down the Super 8) the guy took his time laminating a student ID card for Pike--who was now Miles Huffington, but what was the difference--and the guy asked about the weather in New Hampshire and how he liked this part of the country so far by comparison. Pike tried to answer as best he could, and show the guy some respect, since this was a nice man.
In fact . . . the guy’s manner and voice reminded him just a bit of Mr. Goldsworthy, one of the math teachers back in Beacon, at Hamilton . . . and Pike tried to block that out, the possibility that other things might line up too, separate from the job you’re trying to do.
He enrolled as a sophomore, hoping to cross paths with Dave or Eva or both or them, and he did have Dave in an English class and Eva in Biology, but there was nothing there to latch on to--no leads to direct you how to handle the darn thing.
It was of course nice to see Eva normal again. In Biology they got up and did an experiment and everyone partnered off, and it was good to hear her normal energetic voice as she conversed with her lab partner.
Dave, what could you say, he was on the other side of the room in that English class and the teacher was going on about Huckleberry Finn for the whole period and everyone was taking notes, sort of.
At lunch Pike actually made a few friends, as word had gotten around about the new kid from New Hampshire, and even a senior girl talked to him for a minute--though of course Pike was a senior, so not that big a deal, even though she didn’t know that.
What Pike watched for at lunch was any sliver of interaction between Dave and Eva. Meaning . . . could he unbelievably be too late already, if say, Dave was wrong about them getting together in November--or worse, could they have gotten together today, the first class day of November.
This notion alarmed Pike, that something this basic could have slipped through the cracks. So he asked the current kid he was talking to when basketball practice starts, or started, and Pike waited nervously for the answer, and the kid unfortunately took a minute coming up with it, finally telling you he got cut from JV’s, so Pike could see why it was a sore subject, but the kid added that official practice started yesterday.
Pike did distinctly remember Dave saying they met, he and Eva, a little ways into practice . . . that’s how Dave was time-placing it.
So, that was a slight relief, and combined with the fact that Pike didn’t pick up any interaction between Dave and Eva in the cafeteria or lunch quad--you should be okay there.
In fact, what you did notice at lunch, at one of the picnic tables all by themselves, was Dave and another girl . . . and if they didn’t look pretty dang hot and heavy with each other, you could have fooled Pike.
So one more concern--was this even the right year--could Dave have mixed up back at the hospital from the stress--and all that other second-guessing garbage that swirled around in your brain when you attempted this stuff. Pike told himself once more, don’t overthink it, you’ve been down this road a few times already, and there are plenty of curveballs--don’t lose sight of the big picture.
Plus . . . it was high school, and stuff that seemed big-time serious often fell apart quick. Likely meaning, in Dave’s case, when the teacher switched the seats and he discovered Eva.
When classes ended and the 3 o’clock bell rang Pike decided his first order of business was transferring into that history class.
Unfortunately the old guy wasn’t in the office this time, it was a young intern-type gal who projected plenty of attitude before you even opened your mouth. This could be tricky.
Pike said, “Hello there m’aam. Could I please request a favor. That being, switch my schedule around, just slightly?”
“What seems to be the problem?” the intern said. “Back-adjusting a student’s program is outside of district protocol.”
This gal was going be a giant roadblock, one of those people in life who enjoyed telling you No. Hmm.
Pike said, “What I was getting to--and here’s the thing, there’s a bigger problem-- but I was hoping my problem would at least get second priority.”
“Unh-huh,” she said, “and what’s the bigger problem?”
“That one? . . . Oh, the two dudes upstairs getting ready to go at it. Other kids are telling ‘em not to, but I thought I better rush down here and at least let you know.”
The woman was all business now and picked up the phone. She had a Frank on, who Pike assumed was a security guy, or custodian if they didn’t have a security guy on campus at the moment. “Upstairs where?” she said to Pike.
“Ah, like, in the corner . . . Of the auditorium,” he said, pointing one way and then the other, and the gal relayed that to Frank and she herself took off out the office door, and Pike called after her that it might be around the corner, he wasn’t sure.
What Pike was hoping, there’d be someone else more easygoing in the back office, which the door was presently closed to . . . and Pike wondered if he’d be out of line knocking on it, or should you just try to kind of yell back there.
He opted for the first one, and helped himself around the wooden half-gate that separated the students from the staff, and he was about to knock on that door when the older guy from this morning came out of another door, and Pike realized the guy was simply using the rest room and wasn’t gone for the day.
So Pike presented his case to him, and the man was happy to comply, almost delighted to in fact, and he wanted to hear all about how Pike’s first day went.
The intern gal came storming back in, but by that point Pike’s paperwork was out and being adjusted, and she gave Pike an angry stare-down and said they didn’t find any evidence of what he was talking about.
Pike actually felt bad sending her on a wild goose chase, but business was business, so to speak--he didn’t come all the way here for nothing--and the real good part, it turned out the older gentleman was her boss.
“Here we go now,” the guy said, as Pike double-checked the new schedule. “Fine and dandy?”
“Most definitely,” Pike said, and he thanked him and got out of there.
The guy had to make a few extra alterations, since high school class schedules behaved like a chain reaction--but bottom line, Pike now had Mr. Witherspoon 4th period for World History.
Next thing, which he’d been thinking about the last couple hours, why not try to get on the basketball team, you never know, maybe there was an angle where you could derail Dave that way. Pike had no idea what the angle was, but it couldn’t hurt.
So he headed over to the gym and found the head coach, and told him his story, and the coach was receptive enough to a tryout but threw Pike off by asking if was trying out for JV or Varsity ball.
A player who had just suited up for practice was asking the coach a question now, and Pike thought about it, that if they featured Dave on the freshmen team from last year in a photo on the website, you hoped that meant he was one of the better freshmen players, and good enough to play varsity this year as a sophomore.
So Pike said varsity please, and the coach told the player to stick around for a few minutes, and they all went to the auxiliary gym, too small to play regulation games in, but fine for practice obviously.
The coach had Pike go one-on-one against the kid, and Pike’s ball-handling skills weren’t the greatest, and the kid kept stealing the ball before Pike could get off a shot. Then the coach had him defend the kid, and that went a little better for a while, but the kid ended up scoring on him a bunch.
It didn’t take long for the coach to tell Pike that he didn’t make the cut, and you couldn’t blame the guy.
Pike thought of one more thing. “Coach,” he said, “what about this?”
And Pike had the ball and he lined up one more time against the kid, top of the circle, and started to his left, the ball skills still shaky but keeping control this time and wheeling to the right, inside the foul line, and then taking off . . . and Boom, dunking the basketball, over the bewildered looking kid.
The coach stood there a minute. He said, “All righty then son . . . We’ll give you a suit. Not going to guarantee you any playing time. We’ll see if you develop at all. Right now your skills . . .”
“I know,” Pike said, “raw.”
“Yep,” the coach said, “but what you did just there, might make up some ground.”
Pike thought, what do you know, and 20 minutes later he was running line-sprints in the varsity gym in the team warm-up, and he spotted Dave, so fortunately the guy did make varsity, and you had one more angle. Possibly.
What Pike knew for sure, at the end of the 2 hours, was practices were tough out here in Idaho, and he was ravenous beyond belief when he got back to the dorm, and he was happy to find that tonight’s fare was even superior to, and more plentiful than, last night’s.
He went back to the room, and luckily he’d found a Lost & Found in the dorm and some clothes that fit decently, and he did a laundry. Also he still had the master key the RA gave him temporarily, which didn’t appear to be an issue, since the guy seemed plenty preoccupied last night and likely forgot about it.
The thing now--Pike couldn’t help thinking I’m all dressed up with nowhere to go. Translated to: I’m in the dang school, I’m even in the right class, I’m on the team, I found Dave and Eva and thank God they’re not together yet . . . but you engineer this . . . how?
It was 9:30 Tuesday night, and he’d arrived here Monday afternoon, so that made it . . . what . . . 31 hours and counting, since Eva took the second turn for the worse and they rushed her into surgery?
Which still converted to only an hour and a half in real time, hospital time, back in North Phoenix--but when you woke up tomorrow (Wednesday) you’d be closing in on 2 hours, and the way the situation had accelerated down there, you needed to get this one, soon.
Chapter 8
By the end of the day Wednesday Pike narrowed it down to the history class. That you needed to mess something up there so Mr. Witherspoon wouldn’t switch around the seating.
The basketball part . . . all he could come up with for that was injuring Dave. Like in a scrimmage or a drill--and even today, they were going 3 on 3 and Dave was in the other group and Pike could have done something.
If you hurt him bad enough, Pike supposed, like break a leg, he wouldn’t be back to school for a while, so if Mr. Witherspoon adjusted the seating, Dave might not be next to Eva at all, since he’d be on extended leave from class.
Or even if he eventually ended up in that seat after he recovered, the key moment that Dave spoke about in Arizona--the love at first sight melodrama business--might not have occurred, or at least might have played out differently.
But no. Injuring Dave wasn’t the answer. Pike remembered he’d actually tried something similar with the guy in San Francisco. Whether that had worked or not, the verdict was still out--but bottom line it didn’t feel right back then. If he were doing it again he would have tried a different approach--and it didn’t feel right now, either.
Mr. Witherspoon was one of those rare energetic and interesting teachers you wished you had more of. First of all the guy was funny. At one point he was comparing two countries and he asked for a couple volunteers, and it kind of accidently turned into a skit, like something goofy that might happen at a summer camp, and you had to give Mr. Witherspoon credit, he rolled with it and didn’t try to stop it, even though it went way off the rails from his intention.
Something else he did that Pike remembered another teacher doing one time, he let you know when what he was talking about was important enough to take notes on--indicating this stuff would be on an exam somewhere (which of course Pike wasn’t worried about, and didn’t take notes for)--as opposed to when he was talking about something where he didn’t let you know it was important. So those times, which was most of the class, you could relax, and maybe even get a kick out of some of it--since you weren’t going to be required to remember any of it.
What Pike did figure out by the end of the period was Mr. Witherspoon handled the seating the old-fashioned way, which was he seated you in alphabetical order. He had a chart on his desk. In his case it was right to left--the A’s in front near the door, and the Z’s, if there were any, in back on the other side of the room near the windows.
So Eva, being Jorgensen was about in the middle, halfway back, and P
ike, being Huffington, was in the next row but more up front . . . and Dave (whose last night Pike knew now was Belknap--the Engle in that yearbook caption had a been a misprint) was in the first row near the door, behind the A’s.
Pike figured he could get away with the question since he was new, and he asked the kid behind him if they ever changed seats--like every week . . . or month or something--and the kid said nah, he’d had Mr. Witherspoon before and this was how he worked it in the other class too. The kid said Mr.Witherspoon was an ex-marine, that he brought it up that sometimes. Pike considered it and could see some of that, yeah. Mr. Witherspoon was loose and having fun up there in front of the class, but he was also organized, and he dressed neat and looked in good shape. Not to mention he had a crew-cut.
So, if Phoenix-Dave’s account of the seat-switch was accurate--and no reason to doubt it, that would be a strange thing to make up . . . then something was going to have to happen--wasn’t it--to cause Mr. Witherspoon to break rank . . . or whatever you did in the Marines that violated a protocol.
4th period History fed into Lunch, and Pike filled his tray and sat by himself at the end of a long table, preoccupied.
He was thinking, see now, this is where Mitch would come in handy, being able to at least bounce stuff of the guy.
And this is what made these trips rough. When you stripped it all away, you were on your own.
Separately, this school wasn’t bad. He wouldn’t have minded going here, period, but that was getting off topic.
He supposed you could casually ask Dave--but again, taking the unknown risk of initiating contact with someone you were dealing with in the present--if there was any reason to think Mr. Witherspoon might make that change--and what that reason might be.
That seemed like a last resort, and most likely Dave wouldn’t have an opinion on the subject anyway.
