The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (50 page)

Harper looked up from the phone. Felix watched her deep blue eyes moving back and forth as she scanned the outside of the Student Center. A moment later she nodded. “Yeah. He’s doing a terrible job of hiding behind one of the columns. Third from the left on the library side. He’s on his cell.”

Felix started to turn his head to see what she was looking at but Lucas stopped him by hissing, “Don’t! You’re gonna spook him. Look at the phone.”

Felix ducked like a turtle hiding in its shell. “Sorry. What’s he look like?”

“Short, curly haired little shit,” Lucas said. “He’s got a PC hat on.”

“He’s also wearing a green PC jacket,” Harper chipped in, frowning. “Very tacky. It looks like he’s getting his fashion advice from the student bookstore.”

“I see him.” Allison stared over Felix’s shoulder. “He’s facing this way. He’s definitely checking us out.”

“That little shit.” Lucas started off toward the Student Center. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Hold on.” Felix snagged Lucas’s arm, stopping him before he could get very far. “Let’s go to the stadium. Nobody’ll be there. Let’s make him come to us.”

Lucas chewed on the side of his thumbnail, fuming. “Yeah,” he said after a while. “Yeah. Yeah. I like that. No one will see us pummeling the shit out of the little bastard if we do it there.”

“Oh, stop,” Caitlin sighed, shaking her head. “You’re not going to pummel anybody.”

Without a word, Lucas turned and trooped off in the direction of Stubbins Stadium. They all fell in behind and no one argued, but Caitlin made her reluctance known with her groans and sighs and other little noises.

“Don’t turn around unless I tell you to,” Lucas said once they’d distanced themselves from the bustle outside the Student Center. “This kid’s like some kind of genetically engineered super spy. Every time I think I have him, he slips right through my fingers.”

Allison laughed. “Yeah, he looks exactly like Jason Bourne. I think even Caitlin could take him.”

“Hey!” Caitlin said, eyes wide and mouth open, offended. “I’m tougher than I look.”

They passed the Caffeine Hut, trying to conduct themselves like they didn’t know someone was following them and failing miserably in their attempts at having a normal conversation. After Lucas offered up a couple of gems like: “Do you think I could get Miley Cyrus to send me a picture of her lady parts?” and, “Who do you think would win in a fight, a lion or a shark?” Caitlin called him an idiot. Before they could start fighting again, which seemed inevitable, Allison distracted them by changing the subject to the ERA. It worked for a while. Everyone agreed there were at least one or two kids with tiger tattoos in all their classes. After that, the conversation stalled.

A few minutes later, with Ferguson Hall now behind them and the Bryant Center in sight, Lucas broke the silence: “Okay, let’s see if the little punk is still tailing us. Can you do a little pirouette or something?” he said to Caitlin.

“A what?”
Caitlin said.

“I don’t know what you call it,” Lucas said impatiently. “Just do a little girly twirly ice dancing ballerina thingamajigger. You know. You’re a chick.”

“You’re a jerk,” Caitlin replied.

“I’ll do it,” Allison told him. She spun around and whispered dramatically, “If Hannah Montana sent you a pic of her lady parts, I think I’d lose all faith in humanity. And I’m going with the shark.” Then she did two pirouettes and put her arm around Lucas’s shoulder. “Brace yourself: Bourne’s still there. Fifty yards behind us. Just crossed the Mill Stream. Looks like he’s on his phone.”

“Nice!” Lucas said. “See. Allison knew what I meant.”

“You’re an idiot,” Caitlin said flatly.

There was shouting in the distance, followed by whistles, then a smattering of boisterous cheering and hand clapping. Applause. They rounded a bend in the path and the practice fields just east of the stadium appeared up ahead. All three fields were teeming with people.

“Soccer tournament,” Harper said.

“Shit!” Lucas howled in disgust. “Stupid intramurals. This isn’t gonna work.”

Felix had an idea. “C’mon.” He changed direction, quickening his pace. “This way.”

“These boots have heels,” Harper protested, struggling to keep up. “And in case you didn’t notice, I’m wearing a skirt.”

Felix did notice. It was impossible not to notice Harper, especially when she wore a mid-thigh skirt and black knee-high boots with pointy toes and three-inch heels. But today was the first time since she’d walked in on Allison hugging him that she wasn’t treating him like he was an axe murderer. She was even kind of talking to him in a roundabout way—even though they didn’t look at each other when they spoke—so he didn’t want her to catch him staring at her. He thought it might break the positive momentum.

“Where are we going?” Lucas asked, catching up to Felix.

“You’ll see,” Felix said, thinking he might as well have a little fun with this. He led them along a path that ran parallel to the stone wall on the north side of the Old Campus. The path doglegged right. A short distance later they came to the east gate.

As soon as Caitlin understood what Felix was contemplating, she said with white-faced horror, “We’re not actually going in there, are we?” She pointed at the gate like it was the entrance to hell.

“Isn’t it locked?” Lucas asked.

“No,” Felix said quickly—too quickly. That wasn’t something he would know unless he’d been here before. He tried to cover up his mistake. “I don’t see a lock, anyway.”

It was a swinging gravity gate, but the locking mechanism had broken off and no one had bothered to replace it. A bracket shaped like a flower had once held the latch arm in place—eight half-ovals set in a circle to resemble petals. The gate had been painted with layer upon layer of black paint, but not since the latch had broken off, and now the iron beneath it was rusting orange. The little flower looked bright and deliberate, like some artistic soul had stenciled it on to ornament the entry point.

Felix gave it a push, putting his weight into it. Paint and rust had thickened and sludged the rods, pins, cylinders and other working parts. It groaned like an old arthritic man getting up off the sofa after a tryptophan-rich holiday feast. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder as he crossed into the Old Campus, catching a glimpse of a green jacket.

“He’s still there,” Felix said quietly. “Stay close.” He led them onto the same brick walkway he’d taken the night he met Bill at Inverness. Light trickled down bleakly through the low overhanging branches of massive oaks. The sky darkened. It was almost midday outside the walls. Twilight inside. Or so it felt.

“This place is seriously creepy,” Caitlin whispered, tagging along after Felix. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here. Won’t we get in trouble if someone sees us?”

“We’ll be fine,” Felix assured her as they crept along in a tight mass. The Old Campus looked different during the day. At night, it was like the Disneyland of haunted houses. But now, it looked less like the site of a horror movie set in Victorian Transylvania and more like an abandoned asylum. The buildings were crumbling from decades of benign neglect: grimed over with bird droppings and a forest of creeping vines, too browned and brittle to be alive, too stubborn and entrenched to be dead; bottom-floor windows broken, jagged and spidery, the work of pranksters and vandals; and rooflines that sagged where they should have soared, slate tiles lost to weather and time. The trees looked different here too, like an ugly subspecies of the well-tended beauties that graced the campus, their branches curled and twisted in sharp, awkward angles as if they were in pain.

“It’s kinda cool,” Allison said, her eyes flitting in every direction with something approaching wonderment, like a tourist enjoying a boat ride down the Amazon. “Where are we going?”

“At the end of this one”—Felix pointed at the chained and padlocked doors of the building to their right—“we’re gonna go around the corner and hide. We’ll jump him when he walks by us.”

“Awesome!” Lucas said.

Caitlin shook her head at Lucas with scowling disapproval. “You seriously need sensitivity training.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Lucas said.

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? You need uptightness training, and meat-eating training, and lameness training, and—”

“Shut up!” Harper stage-whispered.

Felix stepped off the path and jogged over to the side entry stairs where he motioned for everyone to join him. A moment later, they came struggling up the rain-eroded knoll and gathered around him.

“Okay,” Felix said, looking at each of them. “When he walks by, I’ll tackle him.”

“Tackle?”
Caitlin said in surprise, her eyes fearful. “What if you hurt him? Maybe he’s just some dumb kid who’s incomprehensibly infatuated with Lucas and just wants his autograph.”

“Caitlin’s right,” Allison whispered. “You’re not Jimmy Clay. You can’t just go around tackling people.”

“Sure he can,” Lucas said angrily. “He’s not a
person
. He’s a
stalker
. Whose side are you on?”

“Maybe they’re right,” Felix said to him. “I’ll just… uh… restrain him.”

“Whatever,” Lucas grunted. “Let’s just get the little shit so I can find out why he’s following me around.”

They waited in a pool of deep unmoving shadows. There was no wind, yet it felt colder now, like the ground was leaching the warmth from their bodies. They blew hot air on their fingers and bounced on the balls of their feet to stay warm. Nobody spoke. Felix readied himself with one hand on the hard turf like a sprinter preparing for the starter’s pistol to go off. A minute passed. And then another. He was about to give up when a PC hat appeared in front of them. Before the kid knew what had hit him, Felix fastened his grip on the front of his jacket. Scrawny and short—his head barely came up to Felix’s chest—he screamed like a child and made a comically weak attempt to kick Felix in the shin.

“Stop!” Felix shouted at him. “Quit kicking!” It wasn’t hard to restrain him (no harder than controlling a child throwing a tantrum). But Felix was trying not to hurt him, which made it a bit more challenging.

Lucas jumped to Felix’s side and shouted in his face: “Why the hell are you following me?”

“Help!” the kid screamed, eyes bulging in fear, his head twisting and thrashing madly. “Let me go! Help!” He made a weak swipe at Felix. When that didn’t work, he used his fingernails, raking them across the top of Felix’s hands.

“Ouch!” Felix let go of his jacket and the kid lost his balance, tumbling onto the grass, his hat spinning off his head.

“Shit!” Felix shouted. Long traces of blood lined the back of his left hand. “You little shit!”

The kid fumbled around for his hat, then used a thick-trunked oak to push himself awkwardly off the ground. The grass was frosted with dew and it left wet patches on his knees and belly. He had a mountain of curly brown hair that made his head look huge and wildly out of proportion to his frail jellyfish body.

“Who are you?” Lucas screamed. He looked like he was dangerously close to following through on his threat to pummel him. Not unwarranted, Felix thought, given the circumstances, but it was strange to see him so angry.

“Quinn Traynor,” the kid muttered, unzipping his jacket. “My name’s Quinn Traynor.” A camera with a long telephoto attachment dangled from a strap around his neck. He turned it over in his hands. “Shit!” He stamped his foot on the ground. “The lens is cracked. Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost me?” The kid—Quinn—was actually mad at them, but his appearance made it hard to take him seriously. Anger didn’t really suit him; his outburst was more pathetic than threatening.

“You little punk ass bitch!” Lucas balled up his right hand into a fist. “So that’s what you’re doing! I should shove that thing up your ass!”

“Easy, Lucas,” Caitlin said, sidling up next to him and taking him by the arm.

“Why don’t you tell us what’s going on,” Allison said calmly.

Quinn glanced around for a moment as though he was thinking about making a dash for it, then he grimaced and sighed deeply. “I guess the jig is up. I mean look at me!” He tapped the Sturgeon logo on the front of his satiny jacket. “I look ridiculous! I’m not even a student.”

“You’re not?” Harper said, her eyes growing large with surprise. “Well then you definitely look ridiculous dressed like that.”

“So what are you doing here?” Felix asked.

Quinn pointed a stubby finger at Lucas. “Him. I’m a photographer. And a reporter. I work for
Hollywood Reality Bites
.”

“The tabloid?” Caitlin asked.

Quinn nodded.

“So you’re a paparazzi dirtbag?” Lucas said, seething.

“
Paparazzo
dirtbag,” Quinn corrected, putting his hat back on. “My editor assigned me to you. And my assignment is to get a photo of you doing drugs, getting in a fight or hooking up with some dirty little ho-bag. I’ve been following you for three months and I’ve gotten zilch. Not a single photo I can sell.”

“Good,” Lucas said.

“
Good?
” Quinn let out an exasperated huff. “Do you have any idea what it’s like out there in the real world? Do you think I want to do this? I graduated from
Dartmouth
. Now I’m pretending to be a student so I can get a picture of you. And you’re not cooperating. You go to the library a lot. When you hook up with chicks—and I know that you do—you do it discreetly. And your friends are pure vanilla. You’re the least interesting reality star in the world. I wish I’d been assigned to Cleopatra. Just the other day she got wasted and broke into someone’s apartment and passed out. The cat was bothering her so she threw it out the window.”

“It wasn’t her cat.” Caitlin cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. She glanced around, embarrassed. “Sorry. I read about that the other day.” Then she added quickly: “And the cat was fine. In case you’re wondering.”

“Cry me a river, douche bag,” Lucas said to Quinn.

Quinn’s eyes went to his broken camera. “Yeah. Right.
I’m
the douche bag. Now I have less than nothing. No photo. No camera. And my cover’s blown.” Then a smug smile crossed his boyish face. “But I do have one card left to play.”