Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) (4 page)

“Um, yes?” I stammer, not quite sure what this weirdo wants with me.
Should I be afraid?
Maybe he’s part of a cult that he wants me to join. I scan his hands for pamphlets, but the only thing he is holding is an iPhone (and my shoulder).

“It’s easy to get the two places confused,” he tells me in a surprisingly melodiously voice.

I am not sure what the hell he is talking about. Perhaps he has me confused with someone else.
Oh dear God, I hope he doesn’t think I’m his dealer or something. I read about this sort of thing happening in that book. The woman was approached by a guy who thought she was a hooker and well, she ended up dead in a ditch on the side of the road. Oh crap, what was that book called?

“Uh, thanks,” I mutter as I am about to wrest free from his clutches and find my way to my class. But he isn’t letting go.

“Milo Hall and
Milos
Hall. This is
Milos
Hall. You’re looking for Milo Hall,” the boy in black explains. “Some sadist thought it would be funny to give the dining hall almost the exact same name as the social sciences building. You won’t believe how many freshmen find their way in here looking for a class.”

I turn bright red as I think,
Crap. I look like such a freshman now.

I smile awkwardly at the boy. “Oh, thanks. That explains it.”

He nods at me. “I can show you where Milo Hall is-”

“No! That’s okay!” I quickly say. This kid is helpful but that doesn’t mean he’s not an ax murderer. After my experience with undercover DEA agents and mobsters in my neighborhood, I am a little leery of trusting people. Especially people who might be the love child of Morticia Adams and Ozzy Osbourne. “I can find it.” I shoot him a fake smile.

“It’s no problem at all,” he tells me as he practically glides with me out the exit door. “I’m going there anyway.”

Damn it. I’m not going to be able to shake this kid loose, am I?

“Thanks.” I follow my newly acquired vampire tour guide.
At least I won’t have to break out my map again
.
He can probably find his way around the campus with his eyes closed. In the dark. Bad joke, Amy, bad joke.

Nevertheless, as we exit the dining hall, I start searching the ground for a large stick or something that can be used as stake in the event of an emergency.
Glad we had garlic bread with dinner last night
…

He screeches to a halt as soon as we get about twenty feet away from the dining hall. I glance down at my watch.
Hello! We’re going to be late!
Scratch that. We’re already late.
I’m
already late. I don’t really care if this kid is late. I just want to make it to class before it’s over at this rate. But my
Twilight
friend seems to be oblivious to this fact. Offering me his hand, he says, “I’m River.”

What? This isn’t ‘Getting to Know You 101’! I just want to get to my class, kid!
And what kind of a name is
River
anyway?

Figuring the fastest way to get there is to play along; I grasp his offered hand (which is freakishly smooth and un-calloused) and pump it. Not enthusiastically, mind you. I don’t want him to get the impression that I’m happy to make his acquaintance or anything. I’m not going to follow him on Twitter, nor are we going to be Facebook friends.

“Amy,” I tell him in a curt voice leaving my last name out of it. There’s gotta be five million Amys in the world; he most likely won’t be able to track me down with just a first name if in fact he does turn out to be a stalker creep.

River nods in acknowledgement and then begins to stride toward the direction I originally came from. “Milo Hall is on the other side of the parking lot,” he tells me. I cringe inwardly at this revelation.

Crap. I must have held the map upside down and went in the wrong direction!
Roger is constantly telling me I have no sense of direction and I always beg to differ. (I hate when he’s right). He claims it’s because I’m a woman and women don’t understand geography and maps, but I don’t think that’s it. Seriously, who needs maps nowadays? Can’t get somewhere? Google maps will take you there. Or Onstar. Or Garmin. Nobody knows how to read a map anymore. Men
or
women.

“Oh,” is my only response as I trail after River. We are backtracking my route now, passing the lot where my car is parked. I can see that on the other side of the lot is a grassy area leading up to several enormous ornate buildings. One looks like it may be the library. I make a mental note of that for future reference in case I ever need to visit the library. I don’t want to end up at the anatomy and physiology lab with dead half skinned cats. You know, with my horrible map reading skills and all.

The cracked and uneven sidewalk begins to wind into a garden with flowers on either side of a pretty gray slate path which has now replaced the concrete.

“This campus is 117 years old,” River explains as he sweeps his arm around the gardens. “These gardens were planted by the class of 1901 and have survived every major storm to ever hit this area. Some of these buildings are original, including the one that you’re looking for, Milo Hall.
Milos
Hall was built in 1976 and some jokester decided to give it a similar name to the original hall to confuse the incoming freshmen.”

Apparently including yours truly
, I consider with annoyance. I am certain the jokester was of the male variety. No woman would ever think it was funny.

“There’s even a special on the menu, Milo Meatloaf. It’s served freshman week as a nod to the confusion,” River tells me, a smirk playing on his lips. “I hate to admit, I fell for it too, when I was a freshman. I guess that’s why I’m sympathetic to your plight.”

Oh. Well that’s nice.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to reply to this statement so I simply offer him a half smile and a nod.

“What are you majoring in?” my tour guide asks as he ducks his lanky body to avoid facial contact with a tree branch hanging over the walkway. All five foot three of me wouldn’t hit that tree branch if I was hopping on a pogo stick, but Lurch is directly in its path.

“Um, criminal justice,” I mutter, suddenly shy, my cheeks turning crimson. Somehow it sounds rather stupid now that I’m saying it out loud.

When I told Roger, Beth, and my mother about majoring in criminal justice, I immediately assumed a self-protective stance because I knew they would laugh or object (which they totally did, Beth causing wine to shoot out of her nose and onto my already stained carpet in a very unBeth-like fashion).

Nothing they could have said would have deterred me in the least. In fact, their opposition only fueled me more. But now that I am telling a complete stranger, who has absolutely no stake invested in my life whatsoever, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I have completely made a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But apparently River does not feel that way at all. His pale face suddenly lights up. “No way! Damn, that’s
awesome
! Me too!”

I am confused. Him too
what?

“Although, I’m technically in my second year. I got all my core classes like math and psych out of the way last year and now I’m starting in on the criminal justice ones. I’ll never have to use Algebra again, thank God.”

He’s majoring in criminal justice?
I had him pegged as a random arts major. Like pipe cleaner sculptures, potato carving, or something.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but aren’t you getting a rather late start?”

I am instantly on the defensive. I pull myself to my full height which obviously is no match for the giant toothpick in front of me. “I’m not
that
old!” I snap at him.

He immediately blushes. “Oh, shit. That’s not what I meant at all,” he stammers. “I meant that it’s the third week of school. Most people don’t enroll this late. I didn’t mean your age…” He trails off, clearly embarrassed by my misunderstanding and its implications. Misunderstandings…ha! They seem to be the story of my life.

Oh Amy. When will you ever stop jumping to conclusions? Didn’t you learn anything last year?

But I was right back then!
I find myself arguing with…myself.
There
was
something amiss! Even if it wasn’t what I thought it was, I was still correct! And people
died
!

I realize that River has stopped walking and is staring at me, presumably waiting for me to explain why I, in my advanced age, have decided to enroll in college. Or maybe why I appear to be muttering to myself.

“Oh, um…it’s a long story.” In reality, it’s not a long story at all. It’s a pathetically short story. I hemmed and hawed, not sure if I wanted to take a giant leap of faith by going back to school and actually succeeding while holding my life together. But last week’s CSI episode totally changed my mind and I hastily had my transcripts sent and signed up for classes the next day.

River doesn’t ply me for an explanation as he shrugs his bony shoulders and lumbers forward toward our destination. I am pretty certain that I have missed at least half of my first class and I am becoming increasingly agitated with myself.

I really need to get up earlier tomorrow
. We turn the corner and are confronted with a humongous historical building. It is at least nine stories high and the entire front façade is flanked by ginormous crumbling steps. Sighing, I begin to climb the steps after River dashes up, taking them two at a time.

When I reach the top, I am breathless, but my companion, who is half my age and has legs at least as long as I am, is not. He is clearly in much better shape than I am.

I really need to start that exercise program that Beth keeps bugging me about. “Everyone needs to exercise, Amy.”
I can practically hear Beth taunting me in my head.

I shake off the inner monologue that Beth is guest starring in, as River holds the door open. I nod a thanks at him and step through. My nostrils are immediately assaulted with the aroma of decrepit rotting building. I glance around and notice the collapsing arches and the warped floor. It looks like the building is slated for demolition and will be immediately razed to the ground.
Someone is going to get hurt in here for sure.

“Milo Hall.” River beams with pride as if he has built it himself. He sweeps his lengthy arm around, his words bouncing off the crumbling plaster walls and cathedral ceilings. “My great-great grandfather was the architect for this building and his brother laid all the brickwork. It was completed in 1916 and will be celebrating its 100
th
anniversary soon. It’s the second oldest building surviving on the complex.”

Oh. Or a family member built it. No wonder why the kid keeps spouting out history at me.

He keeps glancing at me expectantly. I couldn’t care less about history. Roger is the history buff in our family, dragging me to boring old places like Lexington and Concord (on our honeymoon), Fort Sumner (on our first anniversary), and Gettysburg (when I was eight months pregnant with Colton. In
July
). He would be impressed by the historical aspect of this tour, but I’m just thinking that this old building is a fire hazard and a death trap.

“Oh, wow,” I manage to stammer, feigning interest while wondering whether it would be rude to ditch my tour guide now and dash off to room 321.

“You going to
Intro
?” River asks as I crane my neck around his skeleton like form. I’m attempting to gage the distance to the stairs. I can see an old fashioned elevator tucked into the corner but it has one of those cages over it that you have to pull down to close the door. You probably have to crank it to get it to move, too. There is no chance in hell I’m risking my life to get on that thing. Plus, it would probably take the next hundred years to creak to the third floor.

“
Into
?”

“Intro to Criminal Justice,” River explains as his Stretch Armstrong legs begin to stride down the hallway. I tag after him since it seems as if he is heading in the direction of the staircase.

Is that what the class is?
It’s been so long since I actually looked at my schedule I think I have forgotten where I’m going. I bob my head.

“Me too!” River comments enthusiastically. “We can be like, class buddies or something. Study buddies.”

Yah! Study buddies! Every study needs a buddy!
I offer him another one of my fake smiles. “Sure, whatever,” I manage to mumble as we reach the staircase and begin to ascend.

It feels like we are climbing forever, my heart pounding and my lungs gasping for sweet precious oxygen, when we finally reach the third floor landing. I stop to catch my breath and then grab the exit door when River says, “Where are you going?”

I point to the placard by the door frame that says 3
rd
floor. “Room 321. That’s the room my class is in.”
Maybe we are not in the same class?
I feel a little more hopefulness than perhaps necessary.

River shakes his head. “Common misconception, man,” he moans in a Keanu Reeves sort of way. “This building’s backwards. Another campus joke. There’s nine floors and the 900s are on the first floor and the 100s are on the ninth floor. We gotta go up to the sixth floor for the 300s. Three more flights.”