Shelf Life (7 page)

chapter twelve

Skidding to a stop in front of the closed door, I take a deep breath then push it open. Turning Points in American History is held in a lecture hall with maybe a hundred-fifty seats. All the butts in them turn to look at me and my late entrance. Awesome. The nearest empty seat is halfway down the steps. Since it’s a big room and the first day, maybe the professor won’t notice or won’t care.

“Nice of you to join us,
Mr…?”

I freeze in place as the air rushes from my lungs. “Wilson. Pete Wilson.”

“Well, Pete Wilson, I’m Dr. Roberts, and this is Turning Points in American History. Are you in the right place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I was just telling the class that one of the things I stress in here is personal responsibility. I realize many of you are freshman who just graduated from high school, where you’re coddled and given loving slaps on the wrist, but this is college. I expect you to be on time, to be respectful of my time and your fellow students’, and I expect you to pay attention. Many of the things you’ll learn in this class about dead white guys also apply to your lives today. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true.”

Oh my god, this guy is my dad all over again.

“I’m sorry, I just added the class. I won’t be late again.”

“Thank you for sharing that, but I wasn’t just talking to you. In case you hadn’t noticed, there are one-hundred thirty-three others in this room. Not everything is about you. Please take a seat.”

I glance at the exit. There’s got to be another class I can take instead of this one.

“Hey,” the girl next to me whispers. “I’m Jenna.”

“Hey,” I reply while slouching down in my seat. She’s not Ava-level hot, but Jenna’s pretty cute. Straight brown hair, dark eyes, friendly smile.

“Don’t let him scare you off. He’s a great professor, just a hard-ass the first couple days to weed out those who don’t want to be here.”

“It’s working.”

“Seriously, I had him last semester and it was my favorite class.”

“You’re joking.”

She shakes her head and her eyes get big. “Just wait and see.”

Twenty rows down, Dr. Roberts drones on. “We’ll be covering a number of pivotal events in American history. Someone once told me college students have an affinity for alcohol, so we’ll be talking about the Whiskey Rebellion, which happened in our back yards over in Pittsburgh; Prohibition, which helped fuel the moonshine stills some of your grandparents probably ran; and Executive Order 6102 signed in 1933, when the federal government decided citizens shouldn’t be allowed to own gold.”

Boring.
At least Jenna’s a bright spot, but if she thinks this ass-hat teacher is awesome, then she’s definitely not my type.

“Each week there will be a quiz, plus a midterm
paper and a final project. All of these are outlined on the syllabus.”

I nudge Jenna. “I didn’t get a syllabus.”

“I can make you a copy of mine,” she says. I’m about to ask for her email address when I get this weird feeling of being in a tunnel.

“Anyone who didn’t get a syllabus,” Dr. Roberts continues, “needs to see me after class.”

“Or not,” she says and shrugs.

I hate this guy.

He doesn’t waste any time, either. The next two hours consist of him talking at us about “renegade governments” and a slide show. I take notes, but only so I’ll stay awake. I don’t remember a thing I’ve written. This isn’t going to help me get into a veterinary program, and my family can barely afford for me to take one class this summer, let alone two.

My mind wanders back to the run-in with Jay. I mean, I knew he was going to YSU, too, but it’s a big campus. Fate must be a total douche. From now on I’ll steer clear of the sports complex and find a different way to class. I can’t handle seeing him right now. I mean, all this crap was supposed to end with high school. College was a new beginning with new people who don’t know my nickname or that I regularly got the crap beat out of me, or that I lost my two best friends when one of them was violated…and I did nothing.

Class ends and to my complete surprise, Jenna hands me her number before leaving. I stumble down the steps toward the front of the lecture hall to get my freaking syllabus.

“Mr. Wilson, you need a syllabus, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Then follow me to my office.”

“Your office? Am I in trouble already? I was only a little late and I just added the class.”

“Not another word. Come with me.”

I should totally bolt, yet something about this guy makes me want to follow him, or maybe I’m just a complete wuss who does what everyone tells him. Dr. Roberts’ loafers squeak on the shiny floor as he leads me down a hall, through the history department and down another hall, to a series of small offices with laminated doors in colors that haven’t been popular in my lifetime. He pulls out his keys, and attached to them is a large yellow fob with a coiled snake in the center. There are tiny words, and although I can’t read them, I already know what they say: “Dont Tread on Me.” It’s the same poster my dad has hanging in his tool shed. I’m beginning to wonder if my parents set me up.

“Have a seat.”

The room smells of moth balls, but there’s a dish of butterscotch candy on his desk and a brochure for Community Supported Agriculture tacked to the wall. Maybe I’ll give him one more chance to redeem himself.

“Sir, I’m really sorry I was late, but I don’t think getting called into your office is fair. It won’t happen again. I added the class this morning because my parents wanted me to—”

“Relax. And please, call me Jeremy.”

“Um…”

“You’re not in trouble. I’m only playing with you. Made you squirm though, didn’t I? And I bet you’ll never be late again. Neither will any of the other students, so sorry it had to be you, but thanks for playing along.”

“Uh…”

“Brought you back here because I ran out of syllabi and have to print one off for you. So your parents made you take my class?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Sorry, s—Jeremy.
Just nervous, that’s all.”

“Nothing to be nervous about.
You can speak freely.”

“They, um, my parents
, are a bit different. They’re really involved in politics and some extreme stuff.”

“Extreme stuff?”

“My dad thinks another civil war is coming soon.”

“Wow.”

I nod and wait for him to change the subject like everyone else.

“And you? What do you think of all that?”

“I don’t really buy it. I want to be normal. They said I don’t have to believe what they do, so I should take a history class to get another opinion.”

“Opinion on what?”

“Whether history repeats itself.”

“Well, that’s easy. Of course it does. There, now you can drop the class.”

I laugh. “Pretty sure they’d be mad if I didn’t find out for myself.”

“Smart parents.
So, other than the civil war stuff, what is it they do that you don’t have to believe in?”

“Um, we have a farm.”

“So do thousands of other Americans.”

“We’re self-sustaining.”

“Bravo. Now that’s an accomplishment.”

“We’re self-sustaining and prepared for TEOTWAWKI.”

“Ah, The End Of The World As We Know It—the catch-phrase of doomsday preppers the world over. Now I’m beginning to understand your hesitance, and why you visibly paled when you spotted my keychain. Listen, I’m not out to brainwash you or any of my other students. I have my beliefs, but it’s not my job to push them on you. It is, however, my job to make you aware, make you think, and prepare you for the future. You’re welcome to disagree with every single thing I say this semester, and you’ll still get an A as long as you do the work and put in the time. Does that sound fair?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now tell me about your farm.”

“It’s not huge, but we’ve got a vegetable garden, an herb garden, a small or—” I nearly choke on the word, remembering. “
—orchard, a pasture for the cows—three Jerseys—a barn for the hay, a chicken coop, both sweet corn and field corn, and about thirty acres of hay. There’s a creek that runs along the back of the property that has decent fish, and back there is a berry patch.”

Professor Roberts blinks a few times.
“Anything else?”

“The bunker.”

“Bunker?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I should tell you anything else or my dad will get mad. He’s kind of secretive about this stuff.”

“Understandable. He a veteran?”

“Yeah, Iraq.
How’d you know?”

“Your dad’s not the only one who came home from the Middle East convinced the end was near.” He reaches inside his shirt and pulls out dog tags.

Crap.

“Relax, Pete. I’m not a gung-ho radical.”

“My dad is.”

“And I understand that. I also understand why you’re confused and hesitant about taking my class. I’ll tell you what. At the end of the semester, if you feel I’ve overstepped my boundaries and tried to push some radical agenda on you—conservative, libertarian, liberal, whatever—you have my permission to complain to the dean of the department. Sound fair?”

“Yes, but I don’t think I’d ever do that.”

“Why not?
It’s your right, both as a student of a state-funded university and as a citizen of the United States.”

“I know, but…”

“But nothing. This is an institute of education, not indoctrination, or at least that’s my philosophy. I can’t say the same about some of the other professors.”

He pecks a few keys on his computer and the printer behind him spits out pages. “Here you
are, the official syllabus of Turning Points in American History. Read it over and let me know if you have any questions.”

I nod and stand. “Thanks for this, and not getting mad that I was late.”

He waves his hand at me. “Don’t give it another thought. See you day after tomorrow, nine sharp.”

chapter thirteen

As the houses speed past on the drive home, I can’t get Lindsey out of my head. I don’t know if it’s guilt over lusting after Ava or that Jenna is the same sort of sporty cute, but the rabid squirrel clawing at my stomach won’t quit until I hear her voice, no matter the words she speaks. They’ll probably be more of the same crap about giving Lewis space. Still, I’ll take anything at this point, anything to keep me from feeling as if my ropes have come free from the dock and I’m floating loose on the water.

I turn onto our road and drive past my house, where my parents are probably waiting impatiently for me to return about stories of the mythical land of higher education. They’ll have to wait some more. I near the Lingers’ trailer, but the car
isn’t in the driveway so I continue down the road a couple miles until I come to the feed mill. Paydirt. Lindsey’s in the parking lot talking to whoever’s behind the wheel of the Monte Carlo. From the way she keeps gesturing toward the building with a stabby finger, I’m thinking she’s pissed.

She’s so cute when she’s pissed. It’s a step up from being sad.

I don’t need to get any closer to know that her nostrils are flared, cheeks flushed to the color of ripe Braeburn apple, and chances are, her chest is heaving as she tries to get enough air to yell the snot out of her target, which, if my eyesight is correct, is her mom. Damn. I’ve had a few arguments with my mom, but I’ve never lit into her.

Suddenly, the taillights of the car flash and the Monte Carlo shoots out of its parking spot, nearly taking out a big guy carrying a bag of feed over his shoulder. I whip into a space at the far end of the lot and watch in horror as Mrs. Linger runs over the curb in front of an oncoming car. Tires screech and the other driver manages to swerve out of the way, but Mrs. Linger just weaves back and forth, eventually settling into the right lane and out of sight.

Lindsey’s frozen in place with her hands over her mouth. I’m out of my truck and in front of her in a flash.

“
Linds, you okay? What the hell’s up with your mom?”

She blinks away a few tears before looking up at me.
“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. What did you say to her to upset her so much?”

“Me? You think that was my fault?” she says, pointing in the direction she just left.

“No, that’s not what I meant. What’s going on?”

She pulls away from me and drops down onto the curb of the sidewalk in front of the mill. She might move away, but I sit down next to her so our legs are touching. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

“Keep what up, Lindsey?”

“Pretending we’re fine.”

“Talk to me. What’s going on?” She hangs her head, but I’m not having it so I put a finger under her chin and make her look me in the eyes. “I’m one of
your best friends. Now talk, woman.”

She flashes a tiny smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace. “Her drinking, it’s getting worse. She almost got fired last week, and you saw the way she drives. She’s a fucking alcoholic and has a license, but I’m a responsible adult and can’t have one. Doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No. Lately, there’s not much that does.”

“
Ain’t that the goddamn truth,” she says while plucking grass.

“What’s up with you and this potty mouth?”

Her eyes blaze. “You got a problem with my fucking potty mouth? I think I’ve earned the right to drop a few F-bombs.”

The chuckle that escapes pisses her off even more. “Actually, I was thinking
it’s kinda cute coming from you.”

“You’re horrible,” she says, and elbows me in the side.

“I know. That’s why you love me. Don’t shake your head, you know it’s true.” She pushes my arm away when I try to wrap it around her shoulders, but she doesn’t try too hard. I get a good grip on her and pull her close, but a dull, dirty smell catches my attention. “Your mom start smoking, too?”

“No, why?”

“Because it’s coming off your clothes. Jesus, Lindsey, did you start again?”

“Go away, Pete. I don’t need your shit, too.”

“You know that stuff’ll kill you.”

“Go back to your underground sheltered life, Pete. You and your judgments can go fuck yourselves.”

“Hold the fucking phone, Pyscho Queen. You’re not pushing me away again. Sounds like you need a friend, and not just any friend, but your best friend. Here’s what’s going to happen, and you’re not going to argue. You’re gonna go in there and work your shift, which probably ends at six, right? Right. After that, I’m picking you up and you’re having dinner with me and my family in our freaky underground shelter and you’re going to talk to us about what the hell is up with you and Lewis and your mom. Got it? Good. See you in a few, Linds.”

Never in my life have I talked to anyone that way, let alone Lindsey, who could probably kick my ass into the next county. It leaves me shaky and feeling powerful as I hop into the truck without looking back. I suppose it’s a good sign that she didn’t jump on me and pummel me into the pavement, but there’s a good chance she’s too stunned to move. When she snaps out of it, she’s going to be seriously pissed. Down the road a bit, I sneak a glance in the rearview mirror. She’s still standing in the same spot.

***

“Well? Tell me all about it,” Mom says as soon as I pull in the driveway. She’s sitting on the front step peeling potatoes onto a newspaper. I’m sure I’ll be carrying them to the compost pile later. You know, after I milk the cows, muck out their stalls, round up the chickens…

“It was okay.” I make for the door but she grabs my ankle.

“Stop.
Sit. Talk.”

“Woof!”

“Be a good boy and indulge your mother.”

“What do you want to know?”

“About your classes, the campus. Did you meet anybody?”

“The biology class was pretty cool. My lab partner’s name is Evan and the teacher is Dr. Kimmel. He’s nice and seems to know a lot, but I have to read three chapters before the next class, plus think about the final project already.”

“You think you’ll like that class?”

“Yeah, definitely.
It’s just going to take up a lot of time.”

“That’s okay. We’ll do our best to give you time,” she says.

“Thanks.” I think about all the crap I’ve got to get done before I can sleep. It makes my head hurt. I pick up a potato and rub off the sprouting eyes with my thumb.

“Did you add another class?” Mom doesn’t stop peeling potatoes, but I know this is what she really wants to ask me about—her foot’s tapping out a rhythm on the front step.

“I did. Turning Points in American History. The professor’s a jerk.”

“Yeah?”

“I was a little late and he called me out in front of the whole class.”

“Why were you late? Get lost?”

I fight the urge to tell her about Jay—to tell her about everything, if I’m honest. “I added the class fifteen minutes before it started, so I had to run across campus. I took a shortcut that turned out not to be one.”

“I’m proud of you for giving it a try. I know it’s not your favorite subject.”

Instead of answering, I stare at the corn field across the road. It’s supposed to be “knee high by the Fourth of July,” but it’s at least four feet tall already. Should be a bumper crop year for those who sell it. The prices don’t really affect us, but it’s good to know we might get some at a decent price if we don’t produce enough or if Mom wants to stock up. The thought of sweet, juicy corn on the cob makes my stomach rumble. I sigh and stand. “Gonna put my stuff away, then do chores.”

“Okay.”

I head for the door but remember our dinner guest. “Hey, I ran into Lindsey on my way home and she’s coming to dinner. That alright?”

“Of course it is
, you know that. She’s practically family. Lewis coming, too?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Suddenly, I’d rather mow hay than think too much on an explanation. “He’s been hanging around the house a lot lately.”

“Everything okay with him? You two have a fight?”

Mom, you have no idea.
“No. He’s just… I don’t know.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll come around,” she says, and beams a reassuring smile. “Now scoot, college boy.”

First farm boy, now college boy. Can’t I just be Pete?

Inside the house it’s dim and much cooler than outside. In some ways it reminds me of an underground crypt, but it’s also comforting being so isolated with no road noise, no humidity. As I move back toward the bedrooms, though, the clamor of my
parents’ TV reaches me. Dad’s sprawled across his bed in his underwear, clearly just out of the shower. Even though he showers at the mill after his shift, he always showers again when he gets home. Says he doesn’t want to bring those contaminants and carcinogens into the house. He’s concentrating on the talking heads on the TV, but in the hall, I hear him yell, “Damn government’s buying up all the ammo, that’s why the shelves are empty!”

I roll my eyes at his conspiracy theory ramblings and close my door against the deluge.