Half-Truths

by Claire Contreras

  “She never said that, so I don’t know.”

  I was almost at the crosswalk that led to campus, when I saw a dark figure tucked in the alley, beside a dumpster. I gripped my phone tighter and held my breath, but continued walking. As I passed, the cloaked person lifted their finger to their face in a “silence” position. I walked faster, my feet nearly taking off in a sprint as I passed it.

  “Mae? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah. I have to go.” I hung up the phone and looked over my shoulder.

  Had nobody else seen him? Had nobody thought it was freaking weird that a person covered in an all-black cloak from head to toe was standing in an alley in broad daylight? It was similar to the day the red cloaked people had been walking around, but at least that was at night and they weren’t anywhere near me.

  On campus, there was a slew of people walking and running from every direction, surely trying to get in and out of classes. In the bustle, I noticed more black figures. There were two, then three, in different directions—three o’clock, nine o’clock, and twelve, just where I was headed. Fear gripped me as I walked. Were they all here for me? I forced myself to take deep breaths and calm down. What could they possibly do to me in front of hundreds of students in broad daylight?

  I set my eyes on the building I was walking toward, hoping my determination would shield me from whatever it was they were doing. Around me, I heard people whispering about the cloaked people walking around, but it didn’t seem like many of them were surprised by the display.

  “I’m glad I’m not the only one who finds this creepy,” I said aloud.

  “It’s definitely creepy.” The guy walking beside me chuckled. “It’s not even Halloween.”

  “The cloaks? You’ll get used to them. They only do this one week out of the year,” another guy said. “Think of it as rushing for a fraternity, but they have to hand pick you.”

  I’d always hated the idea of sororities. It was why I never tried to join one to begin with. While I liked the fact that they seemed to stick together and help each other out, I didn’t think the idea of people being excluded was cool. If I could get in, but my best friend couldn’t, or vice versa, would it have been worth it? Yet, here I was, going to creepy places in the middle of the night to see what these people could offer me. I was doing it for Lincoln. And now, to find out the truth behind what happened to Lana because I was sure that if anyone knew, it was them.

  * * *

  I went to my first class—trigonometry, it was one I’d dropped three times and couldn’t afford to drop anymore. I had two options: pass the class or not get my diploma. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough when we were dismissed.

  I was sitting in women’s studies listening to my classmates discuss women in sports when the doors opened and Logan strolled in. Everyone stopped talking at once and stared. He was the only guy in the class. Not that women’s studies should be a woman’s only course, but at least today, it had been until he walked in. If it had been just a random guy, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but not the star hockey player. Not, this godlike figure with the bad boy image and mysterious aura around him. Especially not on the day we were discussing women in sports, of all things.

  He seemed utterly unfazed by the attention as he looked around the auditorium. There were more empty seats than taken, so I wasn’t sure what was taking him so long. In his perusal, his gaze met mine. I froze, breath hitching. I couldn’t seem to breathe as he walked up the stairs and headed right to me. He wasn’t going to though, was he? Why would he sit beside me? A row of women turned their heads to follow him. The professor continued speaking as though he was just another kid in her class, which essentially, he was. It was the students who were making it feel like he was some sort of celebrity, and now that included me, because I felt like my heart was going to bounce out of my chest, as hard as it was beating.

  He slumped down in the chair beside me with a heavy sigh. “Mondays, am I right?”

  “Are you taking this course?”

  “What—you think I just stumbled into the class you happen to be taking?” He raised an eyebrow. “You may just be more arrogant than I am.”

  “I’m not. And that’s not what I meant.” I rolled my eyes. “Besides, your arrogance is always showing. Like, say, the other night at the restaurant.”

  “Oh yeah.” He frowned and bit his bottom lip as if trying to remember.

  “Oh yeah?” I blinked. “Wow.”

  “What?” He put a foot against the back of the seat in front of him and splayed his other leg straight out. “These aisles are so fucking tight.”

  “It’s an auditorium. Besides, I don’t think they anticipated any boys being here.”

  “That’s sexist.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” I focused on the professor, trying to ignore the way Logan seemed to take up way more than just his seat and was spilling on mine, his arm on my armrest, his knees extremely close to mine, his scent infiltrating all of my senses. He was really too much.

  “So, what did you want me to remember about the other night?” he whispered, leaning in closer to me.

  “Nothing,” I whispered back, refusing to look at him. “And stop talking, you’re going to get us in trouble.”

  He reached over, ripped a piece of paper from my notebook, and chuckled at the way my jaw dropped in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair and slid the ripped out piece of paper to me.

  What did you want me to remember?

  I froze for a beat. Was I supposed to respond in a note? He had an impatient look on his face that made me huff out a breath and scribble: nothing. You were even drunker than I thought.

  I passed it back and watched him write: I remember that you looked beautiful.

  My heart skipped as he continued: I remember wanting you to be with me and not Paper Boy.

  I met his eyes then, and not for the first time, wished I hadn’t. He had a seriously alluring, penetrative gaze, and it was all just too much. I needed to stop this right now. After class, I’d continue this, but right now? Right now, I needed to stop it. I licked my lips. His expression darkened. My heart felt like it was going to explode.

  “So.” I cleared my throat. “When was the last time you paused to think about the fact that women in sports don’t get paid as much as men do?”

  He let out a surprised laugh. “Never.”

  “That’s sexist.” I raised an eyebrow. “I guess it’s good that you’re here then. Maybe you should join the discussion.”

  “Why don’t you join the discussion?” He looked at me. “You’re sitting isolated up here as if you want no part in any of this.”

  “I’m simply admiring the discussion.” I shot him a look. “Besides, I’m not an athlete. I don’t think it’s my place to say anything. Some of the girls down there are wearing their volleyball and soccer practice stuff.”

  “You don’t have to be an athlete to have a say in this. You’re a woman. You should rally behind them. That’s what I’d do. That’s what men do. It’s why we win.”

  “That’s one way to look at it.”

  “It’s the only way to look at it. There’s power in numbers.”

  “What do you think about this, Mr. Fitzgerald?” the professor asked. “I’m sure you have a lot to say since you’re obviously involved in a thrilling conversation back there with Miss Bastón.”

  I nearly jumped out of my seat. Every single person in the room turned around to look at us. At him. I looked as well. I figured if nothing else, this gave me the perfect excuse to get a good look at him. He had the kind of wardrobe Charles Addams would’ve been proud of—all black everything. Not that I could judge. It was the color I wore most these days. Logan made it look vibrant somehow though —maybe it was because his eyes were the kind of emerald green that sparked up a room. He had a perpetual five o’clock shadow and a jawline that looked as though it had been taken from a Ken Doll. Yeah, on a good-looking scale of one to ten, Logan Fitzgerald was a
one hundred.

  “I think women should definitely get paid equally,” he said. “However, I do think it depends on the sport and the revenue it brings in. I’m not saying that because I’m a man and I know I’ll get paid top dollar. According to Forbes, the revenue the NHL brings in is 1.5 billion. The international soccer club brings in 9.4 billion, so I know I can’t demand Ronaldo money even if I am the Ronaldo of hockey.”

  “But you do believe in equal pay?” one of the students up front asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  “What if the women’s team brings in more revenue than the men’s team? Do you think they should still get paid equally or more than the men?”

  “If they bring in more money, they should get paid more money.” His lips curved into a lazy smile. “I’m all for equal opportunity.”

  Everyone seemed to quiet all at once. I wondered if they were all mesmerized by the way he seemed to transform with something as simple as a smile. The professor continued talking. Logan turned to me and winked. I glanced away quickly, knowing I’d start blushing any minute.

  “Aren’t you supposed to take pictures of our practices?”

  “Yeah. I’m going tonight. I’ll be behind a camera lens and trying to be as quiet as possible, so I doubt you'll notice me."

  “Impossible. I’m always aware of your presence.”

  I felt myself blush. The professor chose that moment to dismiss us and tell us to read the first chapter of our textbook by Thursday. Everyone got up and collected their things. I realized then that Logan had never taken anything out of his bag. I eyed him closer.

  “You don’t even have a book bag?”

  “No.”

  “Where do you carry your books?”

  “What books?”

  “Your textbooks.”

  “They’re at home. I only go to classes to listen to my lectures. If I wanted to stare at my books, I would sign up for online classes.”

  I couldn’t really argue with that logic. We walked down the steps of the auditorium. As we passed the professor, she turned to us.

  “Fitzgerald, are you planning on signing up for this class or should I expect you to waltz in here every week so you can hit on Miss Bastón?”

  “I was just making sure the course was worth my time before I signed up.”

  “And?” She raised an eyebrow. “Did we meet your expectations?”

  “I have to think about it, but yeah, I think you did.” He flashed a prize-worthy smile. “See you Thursday.”

  “So you aren’t in this class.” I pushed him lightly.

  He chuckled. “Not yet. Still thinking about it.”

  “So you were stalking me.” I was smiling. I didn’t know why I was smiling.

  “Not stalking. Just . . . biding time.”

  “Before what? Your actual class?”

  “Nah, I’m done with classes. I’m going home to take a nap before practice.”

  “Sounds heavenly,” I sighed. I felt like I was running on seventy-two hours of no sleep and twelve gallons of caffeine.

  “You want to join me?”

  I eyed him sideways. “I’m not one of your—”

  “Groupies. I know. I meant just to sleep.”

  I gnawed on my bottom lip.

  “I can tell you’re tired, Amelia. You look tired.”

  “I am.”

  “So, come sleep with me.”

  “Quiet down.” I looked around. “People are going to think you mean you want to—”

  “Fuck you?” His eyes danced.

  “Logan.”

  “What? You don’t want people to think we’re fucking?”

  “Oh my God, can you stop saying that?” I covered my face, which felt like it was one thousand degrees hotter than the rest of my body.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t want people to think I’m—”

  “Stop.” I got on the tips of my toes and reached up to slap my hand over his mouth.

  He laughed harder, pulling my hand away from his mouth and stopping. We were now standing there, blocking the exit, so that people had to walk around us on either side, and my hands were in his as he looked down at me. His expression slowly turned serious. I just stared, heart at my throat.

  “Come on.”

  “You said you don’t let anyone in your bed,” I whispered.

  “You’re not just anyone.”

  “We’re not hooking up.”

  “We’re not hooking up,” he repeated.

  I shrugged and started walking because what the heck. The library could wait a couple of hours.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “What’s your major?” I asked as we waited for the crosswalk to give us right of way.

  “Business, with a minor in journalism.”

  “Journalism?” My brows rose. “Really?”

  “I have to do something once I’m done playing professionally, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so.” I eyed him with a new appreciation. “Why don’t you work for the paper?”

  “No time. Sadly. I’m a little jealous of Paper Boy’s job, but I can’t complain about being on the ice.”

  “Right, because you would be great at asking people questions. Whenever I see you, outside of people begging you to party with them and stuff, you’re quiet and you look like you’d kill someone if they tried to talk to you.”

  “Not very forthcoming, huh?” He smiled. Sort of. I laughed.

  “Not forthcoming at all.” We started walking across the street.

  “I wouldn’t complain about my assignments if I was Paper Boy though. He gets to work with you.”

  I glanced away from him and looked forward, nearly freezing in the middle of the street when I caught sight of the red cloaked figure crossing in our direction. On instinct, my hand shot out to grab Logan’s arm.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Those people creep me out.” I stared at the red cloaked person as they walked by. I could’ve sworn they were looking right at us. His head turned in our direction and I could see the outline of his face, but couldn’t make out what he looked like. I couldn’t understand how I couldn’t see their faces even in daylight. The hood of the cloak was too big. It didn’t mean that anyone couldn’t just walk up to them and pull it off though, but because I hadn’t heard anyone else suggest that, I assumed nobody would. I wouldn’t. My nails dug a little deeper in Logan’s arm.

  “The reds?” Logan asked. “Have they approached you?”

  I shivered.

  “Amelia.” Logan’s voice was stern, but not loud as we reached the other side of the street. “Have they approached you?”

  “No. They haven’t.” I shook my head. It hadn’t been them, per se. The ones who approached me were wearing black cloaks.

  “Stay away from them. If they do try to approach you, I need you to tell me right away.”

  “What?” I let go of his arm and looked up at him. “Why?”

  “Just trust me, okay?”

  “Do you think they’re up to no good?” I asked tentatively.

  “I know they’re not.” The tone of his voice didn’t leave room for question.

  “Do you think they had something to do with Lana Ly?”

  “The girl who disappeared?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you know her?”

  He side-eyed me. “I didn’t know her personally, but I saw her around often.”

  “She was really popular in high school. I wonder how she fared here.”

  “How’d you fare back in North Carolina?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “Fine, but I wasn’t popular in high school.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Why do you sound surprised?” I laughed. “I literally have two friends. Three if you count Max, or Paper Boy, as you like to call him. And you, so that makes a whopping total of four friends.”

  “Friends, huh?” Logan pulled open th
e door to our building.

  As soon as I walked in, I shimmied and let out a burring breath.

  “Cold out there, huh?” Gary asked from behind the desk.

  “Freezing.”

  Logan laughed. “It is not freezing.”

  “Canadians have a higher tolerance for the cold,” Gary said, laughing, “I’m from Florida. This weather is cold.”

  “I spent my entire childhood in Mexico City,” I said. “I’ve never been able to get used to this weather.”

  We waved at Gary as we reached the elevators. Once inside, he punched in the number of our floor and I thought maybe this entire thing was a dumb idea. I could just go to my apartment and sleep there. I had a perfectly good bed. That I hadn’t gotten any sleep in in weeks, I reminded myself. When the elevator door opened, Logan let me step out first. I did, and stood there, in front of the elevator, unsure of what to do. He started walking toward his apartment. He was halfway there when he looked over his shoulder.

  “Come on, Amelia. I won’t bite.” He winked and turned around.

  That should’ve been my indication to run the other way. I should have thrown in the towel and gone to my own room then, instead, I followed after him. Once inside, I shrugged off my coat.

  “You thirsty?” he asked. I shook my head and watched as he took a jug beside his fridge and downed half of the contents faster than I ever could.

  My eyebrows rose. “No wonder you get so drunk.”

  “I get drunk and then spend the next two days apologizing to my liver.” He shook the jug before setting it down. I laughed. “Do you drink?”

  “Occasionally.”

  “Not much of a party?”

  “Not really.”

  “Because of your boyfriend?”

  I laughed. “If I had a boyfriend, would I be here right now, ready to sleep beside you?”

  “We already established boundaries.” He shrugged. “What’s the harm in just sleeping?”

  “I don’t know. It’s weird.” I frowned. “If you had a girlfriend, you would think it’s okay to sleep next to another girl?”

  “No, but I don’t have a girlfriend.”