by Kristie Cook
My eyes narrow, “Why should I trust you?” I counter. “You have made no secret of the fact that you hate me.”
His eyes soften again. “Hate you?” he asks. “Not as much as you might think. And then there is the … what was it … butterflies? That can’t be a bad thing, can it?”
I can almost believe that he’s teasing me; if that isn’t the most ridiculous notion I have had thus far. “I just knew I was going to regret that question,” I mumble as I blush.
“I was just lamenting how boring my life has become. Be careful what you wish for, huh, Genevieve?” he asks, pulling the registration card that I have all but destroyed from my hand. Smoothing it out, he adds Dr. Farrow’s nine o’clock Physics class to my list of classes.
“So, what are you saying? I’m so confused,” I say as I take my card back from him, barely glancing at it. “What did we decide here?”
“We decided that we wouldn’t make any decisions until we know more about each other,” Reed says simply as he sits back down in his chair with a casual grace that would be hard to imitate.
“Okay, so when can I find out what you know about me?” I ask, not wanting to let it go. When he shrugs, I ask the questions that I dread the most. “How long is it going to take … I mean, how long until the sharks start circling, and who are the sharks, and why do they want me?”
Reed is motionless when he says, “Prelaw, Genevieve, it’s your calling. You had better hurry, all of your classes are filling up as we speak.”
I give him a shallow nod in acknowledgment of his dismissal. Blindly, I go to the next table and I don’t realize until the flash goes off that someone has taken my picture for my student ID card. I finish registering quickly after that. Normally, I would be euphoric at my list of classes, but instead I feel afraid, like I won’t be around long enough to enjoy them.
Leaving registration, I walk to the union. Locating the vending machines, I buy a bottle of water. Apparently, mind-numbing fear really makes you thirsty. Taking a quick sip to clear my throat, I begin searching the tables in the union to see if Russell is here yet.
I spot him, sitting by a large window on the left side of the union. He is easy to see because even seated, he is tall. Russell’s long legs stretch out under the table almost to the other side, and his sandy hair bends over a binder on the table as he studies it intently. He seems to be ignoring all the chaos swirling around him.
Walking toward Russell, I feel the high energy of the crowd around me. Being in the student union is like being at the center of a military operation where several different units have come together as allies, yet none of those units trust the others.
The freshmen newbies are mainly sitting together. They’re easy to spot because their clothes are new. They seem like green recruits to me with newly requisitioned uniforms that haven’t seen any action yet to despoil them.
The fraternal brothers occupy their own tables in the union. They have an entirely different vibe in that they aren’t green, but seasoned and confident. As I pass a table of them, I am able to overhear one brother trash talking to his boys about the corruption he was able to accomplish last night, “Yo, ya should’ve seen us set it off last night, check it, it was off the …”
The sororities are much the same as the fraternities, but they differ in that they are already out rushing prospective freshmen women. They break off from their groups, doing recon and gathering intel to report back to their units. I overhear a sorority sister debriefing the others as I walk by, “I thought she was good looking, but she’s really just a hundred-meter hottie … you know, pretty from afar—but up close, she’s just random. Let’s just call her a definite maybe for now … don’t you guys think?”
But the most deadly units by far are the sniper units. They are the tables of guys sitting around scoping their next targets, always trying to one up each other regarding who has the biggest gun and how much ammo they have in their package.
I almost make it to Russell’s table when a sniper approaches me at my twelve o’clock. The smirk on his face tells me that he is more concerned about how his unit judges his game than actually making a connection with me.
He tries to hide his smirk at the last second with a half smile before he says, “Sup, Genevieve?”
I stammer, “Uh, hi …”
“Did you just get done registering?” he asks before glancing over at the table near us. I follow his line of sight to the table full of male students all watching us.
“Um … yes … I … do we know each other?” I manage to ask.
“I’m Todd, Sigma house,” he says arrogantly, puffing out his chest. “I saw your picture in the freshman directory.”
My face flushes red as the creepy factor of what he just said hits me. “Um … I’m sorry … uh … Todd, but I’m here to meet a friend.” I say, indicating Russell at the table ahead of us with a gesture. “So, maybe …” I trail off, squeezing past him. The sniper’s buddies begin slamming him immediately for his failure to hit the target. I’ve probably just messed up his one shot, one kill status.
Making it to Russell’s table, I pull out a chair across from him. As I sit down, I smile because I hadn’t realized how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing him until this moment. “Hey, Russell, I’m so glad you’re here!”
Raising his eyebrows, he replies, “Uh, thanks.”
Glancing at me for a second, he gives me a half smile and sort of a curious look. Then, he checks out the room before looking down at his binder again, ignoring me.
“I have to give you props for being able to concentrate in here with all this noise. What are you studying?” I ask him, indicating the binder he had lying in front of him.
“It’s a play book. We’re supposed to keep it on the down low,” he says abruptly.
“Okay … hey, you’ll never guess what’s been happening to me today. You know that directory—the one that the Mothers’ Club publishes with all the freshmen in it?” I ask.
“Sure, I think I got one,” he says, looking at me with a puzzled expression.
“Yeah, well, I guess some people are studying it like you were just studying that play book because guys I’ve never met are calling me by name as I walk by. It’s a little sketchy,” I say with a forced smile because I’m starting to feel uncomfortable with the way Russell is acting. He’s cold, and I am definitely feeling the arctic air at my end of the table.
“Ya don’t say?” he asks. “Well that’s kinda ironic, since I was tryin’ to figure out how I know ya. Did ya get my name out of the directory?”
I stare at him in utter amazement. “Ha, ha, you’re funny, Russell. You know who I am,” I say, but I see by the look on his face that he is confused now.
“What’s my name, Russell?” I ask, almost pleading.
He frowns. “Well, I’m startin’ to suspect that I should know the answer to that one. There’s somethin’ ‘bout ya that’s darn familiar but …” He reaches out and touches my hair. Closing his eyes, he says, “I keep seein’ red, like the color … does that make sense?”
“Yeah, you’ve been calling me Red from the moment you met me. Do you remember meeting me yesterday on the walk to the lake?” I ask hopefully.
His sexy brown eyes scan my face. “I … ahh, I remember … somethin’ … the lake … my head is startin’ to ache like I was doin’ shots of Yeger last night,” Russell says, dropping my hair and cradling his face in the palms of his hands. “You were there … and someone else was there … and I had to walk away, but I wanted to stop … got on the bus … runnin’ have to get back … Evie!” he says, looking up at me with a startled expression. He’s reliving it somewhat.
“I’m okay, Russell, I’m fine … it’s okay. And you didn’t just walk away,” I say, getting up from my chair and moving to the one next to his. Holding his hand, I squeeze it. “How do you feel?” I ask him with concern.
“I feel like I’ve been playin’ football without my freakin’ helmet,” he answers a
ngrily, “and the offensive line can’t block anyone.”
“Oh, so you’re familiar with the style of play executed by my former high school team. That’s unfortunate,” I tease him. I study him awhile as he continues to cradle his head in his hands, then I say in a thoughtful tone, “You wouldn’t promise me. That’s it, isn’t it … when did you go and talk to Reed? Was it right after you left me last night, or did you see him this morning?”
“Uhh, I don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout, Red, but I could use some aspirin,” he says evasively.
“Ahh, Russell,” I say angrily, dropping his hand. Springing out of my chair, I go back to the one across from his, sitting back in it in a huff. My eyes narrow. “I asked you not to go near him. You know, I saw him this morning, and I noticed that he had both his arms still attached, so I assumed you took the high road. What were you thinking? Reed is really dangerous,” I ask. Rifling through my bag, I find a small bottle of aspirin, which I set in front of Russell. Then I push my bottled water at him.
“Ahh, hell, Evie!” Russell says after he takes an aspirin. “So yer sayin’ it’s okay for you to talk to that … that … thing, but I’m not allowed to, is that it?” Russell inquires angrily.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I told you, his voice doesn’t work on me. I can have a conversation with him without getting mind controlled,” I say defensively. “When did you talk to him? Can you recall any of your conversation?”
Russell bends over again, cradling his face in his hands like his head weighs a ton. With his arm bent, his bicep bulges out of his t-shirt prominently, distracting me from my train of thought. His voice comes out muffled when he says, “I saw him this mornin’, when I was comin’ across campus, after my mornin’ workout.”
“And, what did you say?” I prompt after a brief pause.
“Well, that’s between us men, now isn’t it, Red?” he asks. “Well, between a man and whatever the hell he is …”
And there it is. Russell has figured out something that I had not wanted to admit, even to myself. If Reed is not a man … then what, indeed, is he? And what am I?
“So Reed told you to forget about what happened last night, is that it?” I ask, trying to put the puzzle together.
“No, if he’d done that, I probably wouldn’t be this pissed off now. No, what he said was, ‘Forget about Genevieve; she’s not for you this time.’”
I would laugh because Russell’s attempt to imitate Reed came out very nasal and nothing like the voice in question. But I’m not laughing because the meaning behind what he said is sending chills through me.
“Oh,” I say thoughtfully. “But you remembered me anyway. Not at first, of course, but you beat it … but not without consequences,” I say, acknowledging his aching head. “That is significant … you must be very stubborn,” I say lamely.
“I am, when I want somethin’,” he replies and manages a ghost of a smile.
“Well, it looks like being my friend might turn out to be hazardous to your health, Russell,” I say sadly.
“Whaddaya mean?” Russell asks, tensing up.
“What do you mean?” I counter. “Having your mind erased wasn’t enough for you? This isn’t your problem. Thanks for all your help, but this is outta hand. I’m not going to make you a target.”
“A target for what, Evie? You know more than yer sayin’, don’t ya?” Russell’s eyes narrow accusingly.
“It’s complicated, Russell. I really don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t had time to think. I just need to think,” I say as I take an aspirin, too.
Russell stares at me for a few moments, then he says, “Okay, somethin’ happened that ya think ya can’t talk to me ‘bout … I get that … I even get that all y’all were raised a bit differently up here than most of the girls I know back home. Y’all are more independent, less inclined to ask for help, even when ya need it—and ya do, Red. Ya need help badly.” I start to deny what he is saying, but he holds up his hand to stop me. His brown eyes narrow a little as he adds, “Now, I don’t know how much help I can give ya. I’m not quite equipped for what’s bein’ thrown at me. But, I’m yer friend, and I’ll do what I can and maybe … when yer ready, ya can tell me whatcha know.”
When he finishes, I am speechless. He hardly knows me at all, and in the last twenty-four hours he has been subjected to things that would make most people run away in terror. My eyes fill up with tears. I want to hug him, I want to push him away, I want to thank him, I want to protect him, I want to tell him everything, and I want him to stay in the dark about everything.
“Well, Red, that looks like one hell of a battle ya got goin’ on in yer head. How ‘bout we just go and see if we can get us some books at the bookstore downstairs. That’s an easy enough task to get done for now,” Russell says, coming around to my seat and pulling my chair out for me to stand.
We walk together to the bookstore. We have little trouble purchasing what we need. It’s fortunate for me that Russell offers to help me with my books because when I have them all, I almost need a crane to get them back to my room.
“How are we going to get all of these books back, Russell? With your books and my books, we’ll need a wagon at the very least,” I speculate.
“Naw,” Russell says and starts putting a couple of books in each of our bags. He stacks the rest of the books in a pile haphazardly. Then he picks up the pile and says, “If ya can get our bags, we can walk across the street to Brady Hall, and I’ll run in and drop mine off.”
I follow Russell out the doors and across the street to Brady Hall. When we arrive at the doors to the lobby, he sets the books on the ground and sorts them. He stuffs my books in our bags, picking up his pile, he asks, “Can ya wait here while I run these to my room? I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not being able to have any females ‘round. It seems just so unnatural.”
He’s alluding to the fact that Brady Hall is a men’s dormitory and that I couldn’t even enter the lobby during the weekdays.
“Ah, so you’re a player,” I say, teasing him about his comment.
“Red, that’s not what I meant. It’s just that I have two younger sisters who have a passel of friends ‘round all the time. Now there aren’t any. It’s almost disturbin’ not to hear them talkin’ a hundred miles an hour ‘bout nothin’ at all,” he says, smiling at me.
“Ah, I see. You have sisters? What are their names?” I ask, trying to imagine Russell taking care of two little sisters.
“If I tell ya, do ya promise not to laugh?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.
“Of course, how bad can it be?” I ask, frowning at him.
“Ya asked for it. The one that’s two years younger than me is named Scarlett and the youngest, who is four years younger than me, is named Melanie,” he says apologetically as he waits to see if I make the connection.
“Russell, how did you escape not being a Rhett or, God forbid, an Ashley?” I ask as I immediately make the literary connection to Gone With The Wind.
“Well, my dad’s a Russell, so I have him to thank,” he says in relief that I’m not laughing at him.
“Ah, so you’re a junior,” I say, smiling as the mental image of a nice southern family begins to take shape in my mind.
What was that like? Growing up with two parents and a couple of little sisters in a nice town where you’re the football star. Sounds ideal, I think.
“Actually, I’m ‘the third.’ My grandaddy was a Russell, too.” The door opens to the dorm as a young man steps out. Russell calls to him, “Could ya hold the door? I’ll be right back, Red.”
“Okay,” I say.
I smile awkwardly at a young man as he passes me. Feeling like a loiterer, I go over to a huge tree just off the sidewalk. The entire campus is littered with big oak and maple trees. I can’t wait for the leaves to start turning colors. Crestwood will be magical in mid-autumn.
Hearing the door of the dorm bang closed, I peek from my position under the tree and se
e Russell approaching me. “Ready?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m starved. Let’s go eat first, since the cafeteria is right here, and then we can take yer books to yer dorm,” he says, and I nod in agreement. “Wait a sec, I’ll get that,” he says, bending down to pick up my heavy bag from the ground.
As he stands back up, his necklace appears from under his collar, swinging forward and catching the light. I freeze instantly, staring at the two silver pendants that are lying against his t-shirt suspended by a worn brown leather strap.
Nearly choking, I recognize the necklace from my dream—my nightmare, I murmur, “Russell, your necklace … it’s mad cool … where did you get it?”
“Uh, this?” Russell asks, lifting it up by one round pendant. “It’s kinda my family joke, Red.”
“Your family joke?” I prompt, feeling faint.
“Yeah, it’s a long story. Here, let’s go to Saga, and I’ll explain what I mean over lunch,” Russell says, taking my hand.
We walk together to the cafeteria. After we get our food and are seated at a table, I study Russell’s necklace from my seat. One of the pendants looks like a tarnished silver circle while the other looks like an elongated figure eight.
I stare at it breathlessly before I find my voice to ask, “Russell, your necklace …” I want to reach out and touch it, but my hands are shaking, so I put them in my lap to hide them.
“Oh, yeah, right,” Russell says, picking up the first pendant. “This is a circle, and I’ll explain to ya what it means in a second.” He drops the circle and picks up the elongated eight. “And this is an infinity symbol. To understand my family joke, ya have to know that my dad is a math teacher at a high school back home, and his name is Russell, too. He’s kinda stoked ‘bout the fact that there’s a mathematical paradox named ‘Russell’s Paradox.’ Have ya heard of it?”