Spirit Legacy (9 page)

I felt my brow furrow in confusion. “Karen, what could you possibly have done?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I just … I’m just … I mean of course you’re right,” she said. “I just feel helpless that I can’t do anything.”

“You are doing something. You’re still here. And you haven’t written me off as a headcase. That’s everything.”

Karen smiled sadly at me and reached as though to touch me again, but thought better of it. “We’ll get you through this, all in one piece, I promise.” She stood up. “I have to go talk to the dean again, and then I have some phone calls to make. Work stuff, it never ends. We can talk more over Thanksgiving weekend. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay.”

Karen gave me one long, appraising look and marched out. I let out a long sigh that I felt like I’d been holding in since I’d opened the door and seen her standing there. Karen knew everything and she wasn’t going to disown me. I didn’t realize until that moment how worried I’d been about it. Feeling lighter than I had in days, I decided to stop being such a chicken, and sat down at my computer. Within twenty minutes I had composed a carefully worded email of apology to Dr. Marshall. I decided to toe the official line, so to speak, and told her that I had mistaken the name, that I had no idea who Evan had been, and that I had never meant to scare or hurt her in any way. Then I settled back down with my copy of Othello.

Not five minutes later, Sam swung his head into the open doorway.

“Hey, Jess. Playing hooky again?” Sam let his mouth fall open in mock horror. “You know as an official member of the residence life staff, it is my solemn duty to report such detrimental behavior to the powers that be.”

“Is it also your solemn duty to annoy me when I’m trying to read? Because you’re doing a fantastic job.”

“I’ve got skills,” he said, flopping onto Tia’s bed. She’d be so relieved that she’d just lint-rolled the comforter.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class, too? Don’t you have trig right now?”

Sam just grinned sheepishly.

“Ah, now we see the corruption of the system!”

“Hey, you’d skip too if you were in my position!”

“Oh, yeah? And what position is that, may I ask? And please don’t say a position of authority, because I will be forced to hit you with this book,” I said, brandishing my weapon.

“The position of avoiding Gabby like the bubonic plague,” he replied.

“What? Why?” I sat up and flung my copy of Othello to the side.

“She’s stalking me!” he cried. “She actually swapped her entire schedule around just so she could get into my section of trig! No idea how she pulled that one off. The deadline to drop or switch classes was over a month ago!”

“I have a feeling Gabby usually gets what she wants,” I said.

“Yeah, you’re not kidding. I told her that I didn’t want to date her, and she just stared at me. It was like I was speaking Mandarin-Chinese or something. She literally had no idea what I was saying. She totally ignored me, started talking about seeing a movie together next Friday.” He sighed. “So what’s your excuse? You’re not usually this much of a slacker, are you?”

I kept my voice casual. “Just tired. I’ve read this play twice before anyway.”

Sam’s eyes fell on my desk and quickly lit up. “Hey is that …?”

I followed his gaze and burst out laughing.

“Yes, it’s a care package from Karen. Hand-delivered, not ten minutes ago. Help yourself.”

Sam looked surprised. “Your aunt was here? Why?”

“Just in the area. Lawyer stuff.”

He jumped up and snatched the box, peeking inside. “Oh man, she went to Mike’s Pastries again!” he groaned.

“We do have a dining hall you know. It has food and everything. Surely in your two and a half years here you’ve managed to find it.”

“I was just there an hour ago, in fact,” Sam said as he poked through the box of baked goods. “But nothing the cafeteria ladies can rustle up can compare to Karen’s designer desserts.”

“My hairnet and I are offended.”

He selected a chocolate cannoli and nearly demolished it with a single bite. “Seriously, do you think your aunt will adopt me?”

“She might. She’s all about taking in the strays.”

“My mom always sends me
Trail Mix
. What college student of sound mind wants to eat Trail Mix?” he said. At least, that’s what I think he said, his mouth stuffed indecently with chocolate crème.

“So, I did actually have a reason for coming here,” he continued. “I mean, other than just to bug you and steal your food. I have come to extend a very prestigious invitation to a soirée this very evening.”

“Soirée?”

“Oh, yes, a very classy event. There’s even a dress code.”

“Okay, I’m intrigued. Go on.”

He swallowed the rest of the cannoli. “Okay, so I’m out of fancy lingo. Anthony is hosting a party in his room tonight. Do you and Tia want to come?”

“Anthony? Anthony who makes inappropriate remarks every time he sees me, Anthony?”

“Aw, come on, he’s not that bad.”

“He’s a pig.”

“Okay, he is of the swinish persuasion, but so what? There’ll be a ton of people there. You won’t even have to talk to him.”

I had to admit I was tempted, despite the location of the festivities. I hadn’t been much in the mood for socializing recently, but suddenly I felt like distraction was exactly what my overwrought brain needed.

“So, what’s with the dress code?”

“Football gear. There’s a football game on tonight, Patriots versus the Jets. Anthony is a die-hard Jets fan, and his roommate Nate follows the Pats religiously. Every time they play each other, they host a gathering in their room; loser foots the bill for the beer.”

I wrestled my care package away from Sam and fished out a chocolate éclair. “Sorry, I don’t watch football. And I definitely don’t own anything with the name of a football team on it. I don’t know if you guys can let me in.”

“Oh, come on, you know you don’t actually have to watch the game. There’ll be lots of people hanging out doing other stuff, too. Just say you’ll come.”

I pretended to be torn, but honestly, it sounded fun, even if we did have to put up with testosterone overload. After everything that had happened, I was ready for a night of just being a regular college student. “Okay, I’m in.”

“You’re sure you can pull yourself away from the Shakespeare? You know, you might have missed something the first five times you read it.”

“I’ll risk ignorance in the name of a social life.”

“Excellent!” he said. “Do you think you could convince Tia to come, too?”

“Consider her clubbed, sacked, and dragged.”

Sam’s smile doubled in size. Then he reached into the care package, grabbed a lobster claw, and swallowed it whole.

Chapter 7—Chivalry is Dead

Chapter 7—Chivalry is Dead

E
very single top that Tia Vezga owned
was laid out around our room, arranged in a spectrum from red to purple. Unbelievable. Even when she was messy she was neat.

“Well, that’s it. I have nothing to wear,” she announced.

I was lounging on my bed, wearing the same distressed skinny jeans and black sweater that I’d been wearing when Sam had stopped by that afternoon. Then again, she had a romantic investment in the evening.

“What are you talking about? It looks like The Gap exploded in here. Of course you have stuff to wear. I still vote for the red one.”

“I don’t know about that one. My sister gave it to me last year and I still haven’t worn it. It’s a little low-cut.”

I threw my hands up. “Tia, just because it doesn’t completely cover your clavicle doesn’t make it low-cut! You look fabulous in it, and the color goes great with your skin. Now put it on and let’s go!”

Tia scowled, but trusted me enough the pull off her conservative blue button-down and throw on the red top. “You seem a little eager to start watching football,” she said.

“Nope. Just to get out of the room. Football will merely be the background noise.”

Tia ran a brush through her hair and threw one last anxious look at the centimeter of cleavage she was showing. “Fine, let’s just go before I lose my nerve.”

We bundled up in our coats and hurried down the frozen pathway to Harrison Hall, where Anthony lived. Anthony was a junior, but through a stroke of luck had wound up with one of the few on-campus suites that wasn’t snatched up by seniors in the housing lottery. The suites were supposed to be really big and comfortable, with their own bathrooms and kitchenettes. Tia and I were both excited to see the inside of one.

“You came!” Sam’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as he opened the door. His eyes swept Tia approvingly. Color flooded her cheeks until they almost matched her top.

“I told you we would,” I said, punching him in the arm.

“Come on in. Throw your coats in the bedroom, and then come hang out,” Sam said, pointing vaguely behind him to the left.

Well, the suite might have been big for four people, but for forty? It was packed wall to wall with students, most in glaring team colors and clutching red solo cups. The smell was a little overwhelming. Tia was already crinkling her nose.

“Does every boy’s dorm room smell this way?”

“I’m gonna go with yes,” I replied. I could distinguish stale beer, dirty laundry, and another sort of sour smell, not unlike foot odor. The whole olfactory nightmare was capped off with nauseating amounts of cheap cologne.

We wedged our way through the crowd, dropped our coats onto the outerwear mountain forming on the bed, and went to look for Sam. We knew right where he’d be; we just followed the sound of the television.

“Hey, over here! Come sit over here!” Sam was waving from an overstuffed grey sofa. He immediately shoved the guy sitting next to him onto the floor to make room for us. The kid, a Jets fan, was too engrossed in the game to notice he’s been displaced. Even with him gone though, there was only room for one of us to squeeze in. Sam was looking hopefully at Tia and had conjured a cup of beer for her, seemingly out of thin air.

“You sit there, Ti, I’m gonna grab a drink,” I said.

“But where will you sit?” she asked with a slightly panicked look

“Oh, I’ll find a spot. Maybe Sam can assault someone else.” I gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the sofa and started worming my way towards the kitchen.

I saw a few people that I recognized from around campus, but most of the partygoers were seasoned upperclassmen, well-versed in the ways of beer-pong and hangovers. Loud music with lots of thumping bass warred with the cheers of the diehard football fans crowded around the TV. It was a miracle the party hadn’t been busted, though the rules were less strictly enforced in the upperclassmen dorms.

The kitchen was as crowded as the rest of the apartment. A tarp had been laid across the floor, and the soles of my shoes stuck to the residue of beer that it was keeping off the linoleum. A group of about ten guys was crammed around a folding table, tossing ping-pong balls into geometric arrangements of plastic cups, ragging on each other when they missed, cheering and chanting when they sunk one. A few overly dressed-up girls hovered nearby, hoping a stray shot might bring some attention their way.

“Hey, Jess!”

Anthony’s voice had that unintentionally loud quality of someone who had already had a little too much to drink. He flung an arm around my shoulder, breathing beer in my face. The stick-thin girl to whom he’d been talking gave me a sour look and slunk away.

“Hey, Anthony,” I said.

Anthony grinned stupidly and tightened his arm around my neck, giving me a noogie like I was his kid brother. “I told Sam I’d get you in my room eventually!” He tried, and failed, to wink. “’Course I always imagined there’d be fewer people.”

“Charming.”

He completely missed my sarcasm. “You look great.” His eyes might as well have been groping hands. “I really dig the goth look you’ve got going on. Really hot.”

“Great, because when I got up this morning, my first thought was, ‘What could I put on today that Anthony Messina would find hot?’ Glad to see my mission in life has been fulfilled.” And with the bitchiest smile I could muster, I turned away.

He grabbed my wrist. “Hey, don’t be like that! I was just kidding! Just tell me why you give me such a hard time, huh? I’m a nice guy,” He attempted an innocent look.

I looked pointedly down at my wrist, which he was grasping a little too tightly. He followed my gaze and quickly released his grip.

“Lemme get you a beer, okay?”

“I was actually looking for the soda. I’m not really a drinker.”

Anthony seemed not to hear me and bent over the keg for a minute, trying to get me a drink, but there was something wrong with the tap.

“What the hell! I just untapped this one!” He whacked the nozzle on the rim of the keg.

“Anthony, seriously, it’s fine. I just wanted a—”

“—No, no, I got this!” He held up the nozzle to see if it was clogged. A jet of foaming beer shot out of the end of it and blasted him in the face. “Shit!” he spluttered, dropping the tap and coughing.

A few bystanders started laughing, but I tried to stifle mine. Anthony mumbled something about changing his shirt and stalked off, his expression stormy. Another guy made his way to the tap and filled his cup without a problem. I had a definite smirk on my face. Sometimes karma was frustratingly absent, but sometimes its retribution was swift and satisfying. I grabbed a soda and went back to the living room.

I could see Sam and Tia sitting on the sofa together, looking very cozy. Sam was explaining the finer points of the game to Tia, who was leaning in to catch what he was saying. Sam’s hands were drawing complicated diagrams in the air in front of him, and Tia was nodding seriously. Even when she was flirting she acted like she was in class. Just then, a Jets fan got up off the floor in front of the TV. I stole his spot, but instantly regretted it; the floor was grimy and smelled like feet.

“Hey, you’re back!” Tia’s face was flushed and voice slightly breathless.

“And you’re still here.” I looked pointedly at Sam’s hand which was lying back to back against Tia’s. Tia’s expression was a little giddy, a giddiness that had nothing to do with the untouched beer in her hand.

“You find the drinks okay?” Sam asked

“Yup,” I answered and left it at that. No reason to kill the lovebird buzz with details of Anthony’s ill-fated flirting. As it turned out, though, the buzz was about to be killed regardless.

Sam glanced up and then groaned, “Oh,
great
.”

At that moment the door opened and Gabby stepped in. If she was hoping to attract some attention, mission accomplished.

“Oh, it’s just something I threw together,” she gushed to the guy who opened the door, mouth agape.

Gabby was wearing what looked like a man’s Patriots jersey, but she had … well, altered it. It had been transformed into a skin-tight minidress with flared sleeves and a plunging neckline. A pair of bright red peep-toe stilettos completed the look.

“Sam, there you are!” Gabby squealed, the crowd parting for her like the Red Sea. “Anthony said we had to wear Pats gear. What do you think?” She executed a slow spin, hands on her hips.

“It’s … something, alright,” Sam replied. His eyes flicked uncomfortably over to Tia.

“I know, right? And to think I almost threw out all my ex’s clothes that were hanging around my room!” she said. No one within a mile missed the inference.

Then Gabby noticed for the first time that Tia was sitting next to Sam. A shadow passed over her features but a second later she was beaming. She recovered herself quickly; I had to hand it to her.

“Oh, hey, girls. I didn’t know you were coming. We all could have walked over together.”

“We didn’t know we were coming either till this afternoon, when Sam invited us,” I said.

“Oh,
Sam
invited you? That was nice.” Gabby said through her teeth.

“Wasn’t it?” I agreed.

“We should all walk back together, though,” Tia said, ever the peacemaker.

Gabby gave a noncommittal response that sounded like “huh,” and then traipsed off towards the kitchen, her derriere working overtime.

When I looked back at Tia and Sam, the Gabby frost had settled. Neither of them looked in the mood to cuddle anymore. Sam stood up abruptly and put his hand out for Tia’s cup.

“Ready for a refill?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Tia replied.

Sam grabbed the cup and disappeared into the throng.

Tia looked over at me, looking somewhat distressed, and then saw me grinning.

“A refill? Did you even drink any of that?”

“It was warm. What are you smiling about?”

“The look on Gabby’s face. It was priceless,” I said.

Tia frowned. “I can’t believe this. Did you see what she was wearing?”

“Was there anyone who
didn’t
see what she was wearing?”

“Jess! This is not funny!”

“Yes, it is! It’s hilarious, and I’ll tell you why,” I said, hopping up into Sam’s spot on the sofa. “Gabby has shown up in what I would venture to say is the most desperate outfit I’ve ever seen, and Sam’s still not interested! In fact, I think she’s scared him off even more. I think you should be laughing your ass off.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Tia said.

“Ti, you like him, don’t you?”

Tia gave me a look that clearly said I was stating the obvious.

“Then don’t let her get in the way. Show her that class and self-respect can still get the guy. I think she needs to learn it.” I hopped up and went after Sam. It was time to play matchmaker.

I found him back at the keg trying to avoid Gabby, who was now cooing over the shot that Anthony had made in the current round of beer pong. Anthony was definitely enjoying her company.

Ignoring her, I walked up to Sam and whacked him in the arm. “Man up, Lang.”

“Ouch! Hey, what was that for?” Sam said, rubbing his arm.

“Do you or do you not like my roommate Tia?”

“Of course I like—”

“—No, I mean seriously, Sam! Do you want to date the girl or not?”

Sam was dumbstruck for a moment and then the light bulb went on. “Yes.”

“Okay, then,” I grabbed the other empty cup from his hand and tossed it into the sink. “Then enough with the beer, she doesn’t drink it.” I handed him a soda from the stash in the fridge. “Bring her this, it’s more her speed. And when you sit back down, tell her that there is absolutely nothing going on between you and Gabby. Then ask her what she’s doing on Friday night.”

“Are you sure—”

“—She’s free. Bring her to dinner at that little Italian place on the south corner of campus; she gushes over how cute it is every time we walk by it. She’s allergic to roses, but she loves daisies and lilies. She doesn’t like horror movies or anything with blood and guts, so suffer through a romantic comedy. Have her back by ten-thirty because she likes to get eight hours of sleep.”

Sam stared at me like I’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, hold her damn hand when you get back in there, will you? She’s had it in prime hand-holding position for at least half an hour.”

Sam’s grin went from ear to ear. “Yes, ma’am!”

I watched him as he walked back into the living room. He definitely had a little more swagger in his step. He sat back down next to Tia and handed her the soda. Whatever he said next had her nodding and smiling, and five minutes later he was holding her hand.

Touchdown.

For the next couple of hours, there were three really interesting things happening in the room that had most everyone’s attention occupied. The first, and in my opinion, least interesting, was the game. There was some kind of outburst about a blown call and neither team could seem to make much progress, so the score kept creeping up by field goals. Also, some player, who was apparently important to the Jets, got injured and was carried off the field. Under cover of all that excitement, interesting development number two was blossoming quietly on the sofa. Sam had moved successfully from hand holding to a full-out arm around the shoulder, and Tia looked like she was going to explode with happiness. They were whispering and laughing a lot, paying absolutely no attention to the television. The third and final spectacle was Gabby. Gabby always drew attention no matter what, but she seemed a woman on a mission tonight. The cozier Sam and Tia became, the louder and more obnoxiously drunk Gabby became. She had upped the ante at the beer pong table, making the players take a shot with her every time they scored a point. She was practically glued to Anthony and he wasn’t complaining. No one was surprised when the two of them stumbled down the hall and disappeared into the bedroom. Let the hook-up cycle of regret continue.