by Rae, Nikita
The rest of the night is spent wondering how much I’ve missed in my classes. I eventually get around to replying to Brandon’s email. I don’t really know where to begin at first. I start out determined not to mention what Luke told me about the Wyoming Ripper and Colby Bright’s accusations, but that resolve lasts all of five seconds.
Hey, Uncle B.
Thanks for the offer but I don’t think I can face coming back there just yet. Maybe you could come to the city? We could rent an apartment and go ice-skating or something. I know you hate it here, but it would be better than sitting back at the house moping. I’ll even watch the game with you!
So, I need you to confirm something for me. I met up with Luke Reid last night, and he told me what’s been going on back in Break. Is it true? Does everyone think Dad killed all those girls? I know there’s no real way to know what happened with those men that day, but he would never have attacked teenaged girls. They were the same age as me! There’s just no way. Please tell me no one’s listening to Mayor Bright.
Love you,
Avery.
I should make more of an effort to reassure Brandon; I know he worries about me. I should tell him how much I’m enjoying college and about the new friends I’ve made, but I don’t have the energy. The nightmare from four and a half years ago is still replaying in even the brightest aspects of my life, and I’m never going to escape it. I go to sleep with my heart pounding in my chest, unable to escape the feeling that something terrible is looming on the horizon, about to ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to build for myself.
“NOAH’S ON exchange. This isn’t high school; I can hardly punish you for your actions at college, Ms. Patterson, everything’s down to you. But I can suggest that you could make up for your pajama day by helping our visitor adjust to life at SU. It isn’t easy joining a subject mid semester. He’s going to need all the help he can get.” Professor Lang is sterner than I’ve ever seen him before. Actually, I’ve only ever seen him at ease and happy as we talk about class topics, but obviously he is a different person when you get on his bad side. Now I understand what everyone is complaining about all the time. “Aren’t you going to spin me some yarn about unexpected kidnappings or retrograde amnesia, Miss Patterson?”
I kick at the table leg of his desk and curve my shoulders, trying to shrink away from the fact that I can’t even be bothered to make up an excuse for my non-attendance.
“I was hung over.”
Silence.
I slowly raise my eyes up from the floor and face him, holding my breath. I don’t know what I was expecting—that maybe he’d find my honesty charming and send me on my merry way with a neatly typed up sheet of notes. Not so much. He looks disappointed, which is about the very worst thing he could be right now. I hug my file tighter to my chest and go back to looking at the floor.
“Are you serious about this course, Miss Patterson?”
“Yes. I know I’ve dropped the ball this week but I swear it was a one off.”
“You have dropped the ball, and at the very point when you should be concentrating the most. You know these midterms are pivotal if you want to gain entry into our journalism program, yes?”
“I do.”
“And I know that’s the career you’ve chosen for yourself. I really thought you were committed to building something for yourself here, Avery. Was I wrong?”
I feel like utter crap. I’m twelve years old again and Dad has just caught me lifting a twenty from his wallet. “You weren’t wrong, Professor Lang. I will catch up on the information I missed and I will do well on my exams. I have to.” I have nothing else left.
Professor Lang pushes off from leaning against his desk and paces over to the window. He folds his arms across his chest and sighs. “Why do you want to be a journalist? What is it that appeals to you so greatly about this particular career path?”
I really don’t feel like getting into this with him, but like with the hangover confession, I’m still too delicate to summon up the energy to lie. It appears two-day hangovers are going to be in full effect from here on in.
“It’s hard to explain. Something happened to a friend of mine when I was younger and the press…they were like vultures. They printed all these lies and made her family’s life hell. I want to become a journalist so there will be at least one person out there telling the truth. To set the record straight.”
Professor Lang’s shoulders stiffen. “And that’s why you enjoy my class so much. I tell you, there aren’t many people too concerned in the law or the ethics behind news reporting these days. Everyone’s too preoccupied with finding the next big story to worry about whether it might true be true or not.” He turns away from the window and walks to his office door. “I commend your drive, Miss Patterson, I really do. But you should know…there’s a big difference between a determination to be successful at something, even if it is for the right reasons, and wanting to change something that happened in the past. You won’t get any justice for your friend or her family by pursuing this goal. You’re a smart girl. You realize that, don’t you?”
I swallow the tight lump in my throat and walk out of the door he holds open for me, ignoring his comment. “I’m sorry, Professor Lang. I won’t let it happen again.”
He peers over his glasses at me, the lenses scuffed from where he habitually puts them down the wrong way. “I know you won’t. You’re too stubborn for that.”
******
Noah Richards doesn’t sound like an Irish name. He doesn’t look Irish either; no ginger hair; not a single freckle in sight. Slightly wavy locks of dark brown hair poke out from beneath a beanie pulled down tight over his ears. Light grey eyes and a wicked smile. He looks cramped folded up into his desk, so he’s probably quite tall. I recognize two other guys from class talking animatedly with him, sitting on top of their desks as I unwillingly trudge over toward them. Noah stops talking when he sees me heading over and the others quickly followed his gaze. I know how guys look at me sometimes, but I can usually avoid acknowledging it. Mostly, it happens in the hallways and I can keep my head down and pretend I don’t notice. It’s much harder to ignore when I have to approach them and talk to them directly, however.
Noah sits up straighter as I arrive, tugging on his beanie. I look at the other two guys, wondering if they’re going to continue sitting there when it’s obvious I want to talk to Noah. Yes. Yes, apparently they are.
“Uh…” I swallow and do my best to meet Noah’s eyes. “You’re the exchange student, right?”
“Yeah, Ah am.” His accent isn’t what I was expecting. It isn’t strong or over pronounced, just a faint lilt. He flashes me that wicked reprobate smile, but his eyes seem kind. He isn’t picking me apart like the other two are. “Ah’m Noah. This is Freddie and Kyle. They’re the lucky bastards putting me up this semester.”
I know who they are. I saw them at the party the other night with Morgan. The guy on the left, Freddie, was the goat boy I kept getting shoved up against. “Right. You’re in the same frat as Tate,” I say. “The ceilidh.” The whole Irish party thing makes more sense now. They must have held it in Noah’s honor.
Noah’s eyes shine a little and his smile grows wider. “Good pronunciation.” He holds out his hand. “And you are?”
“Avery,” I blurt out, kicking myself for not introducing myself. I am Avery, queen of Columbia University! Everyone surely already knows my fake ass name! Such an idiot. “I’m Avery Patterson.” He gives me a firm handshake, which is nice considering most guys think they’ll crush your bones if they squeeze too hard. Dad always warned me never to trust a guy with a limp handshake. If he were around, he would have approved of Noah’s.
“Nice to meet you, Avery.”
“Likewise.” Get to the point, Avery. Get to the point. “I…Professor Lang said you might need some company. I just wanted to offer my services.”
Freddie and Kyle both start snickering openly. I realize too late that what I’d said could be t
aken salaciously, especially if you are a moronic nineteen-year-old guy.
“I didn’t mean…ugh!” I glance back over my shoulder to see Professor Lang watching on approvingly. At least I can stammer out another couple of words and leave and he will know I’ve done as he suggested. Noah is looking at the professor when I turn back to him, chewing the cap of his biro. His eyes narrow. “This is a punishment, ain’t it?”
“Uh, no. I mean, I know what it’s like to not know anyone—”
“Ha!” Kyle reaches over and slaps Noah’s arm. “Are you kidding? This guy already knows half the female populous of SU.” He makes a point of gazing off into space. “Man, what I wouldn’t give for an Irish accent.”
“Shut your mouth, Kyle,” Noah laughs. It’s a joking command but Kyle obeys all the same. “I’ve not had any problems settling in thanks, Avery Patterson, but if you want to study or hang out sometime, I’m all in.”
Both Kyle and Freddie manage not to laugh this time, but I can tell it’s killing them. I really didn’t expect Noah to say that. I’d expected him to brush me off and make a joke out of my awkward offer as soon as my back was turned. He seems completely genuine. I’ll know for sure when I turn and make my way to my seat at the front of the class.
“Okay, well great.” I gave him my best ‘I’m normal, I swear’ smile and take my leave.
No laughing. Or none that I can hear, anyway. As class commences, I allow myself to look over once to see if they’re whispering behind their hands. Kyle and Freddie are studiously taking notes. Noah is frowning out of the window, still chewing on his pen cap.
THREE WEEKS pass and I don’t hear from Luke. I make up the slack in school and do well in my midterms, despite being permanently distracted and on edge. Brandon is joining me for Thanksgiving, which is surprising since he hardly ever leaves the town where he grew up. I’ve booked us an apartment on the Upper East Side so we’ll have a proper kitchen to cook with instead of living out of hotel rooms. It cost a fortune but Mom really wasn’t kidding when she said she’d increased my allowance. The difference is more than enough to cover the accommodation and everything we will eat and drink while he’s in town. Only three more days and I’ll get to leave college and relax.
“Gonna miss ya, peaches,” Morgan tells me as we walk back from class to halls. Snow covers the ground now, coating everything in a four-inch layer of grimy slush. At first I thought it would be bad business walking outside with snow on the ground, but so far I’ve been wrong. It turns out people are too cool for snowball fights at Columbia University.
I tuck my arm through Morgan’s and dip my chin into my scarf, trying to warm the air I breathe in through the wooly material so it won’t burn my lungs quite so badly. “I’m gonna miss you, too. You sure you don’t want to join me and my uncle? We’re probably just going to drink beer, eat crap and watch bad movies.”
Morgan pouts, stomping petulantly in the snow. “You have no idea how much I would love that. My mom’s a freakin’ holiday nut, though. She’d lose her shit if I didn’t come home.” Home for Morgan is a nine-hour drive away in Charlestown, West Virginia. New York is the farthest her mom allowed her to move out of state, but for Morgan it isn’t far enough.
“You could always catch the red eye instead of driving. That would save time and you could have a couple of days after Thanksgiving in the city with me after my Uncle leaves. He’s got to be back at work.”
Morgan lets us into our building and kicks off the snow from her boots in the lobby. The floor is filthy and streaked with grubby track marks. A ‘WET FLOOR’ sign lays on its side in front of the elevator. It’ll probably be stolen by some frat jerk before the day’s out.
“I’d love that, Ave. Let me see if I can swing it with the ‘rents. I kinda feel bad for Dad trapped there by himself sometimes.”
We drop by Morgan’s apartment but her roommate has a ‘friend’ over and the noise is ridiculous, so we go up the extra flights of stairs back to my apartment and make ourselves comfortable. Leslie is in the library studying but she’s left a small package and a note on the kitchen counter.
“Holy crap, is that hot chocolate? Please tell me that’s hot chocolate,” Morgan chatters, throwing herself back onto the sofa. I read the note.
Step one: Drink me.
Step two: Prevent freezing of lady parts.
Step three: Save World
L xoxoxo
It’s a shame that Morgan and I don’t get to share an apartment, but I really did luck out with Leslie. Aside from the hoards of people who are always stopping by to see her when she’s in, she’s always really thoughtful. I swipe at Morgan’s booted feet off the upholstery and crack open the tin of hot chocolate.
“Get your filthy footwear off the furniture, Kepler. I take it you want some of this, then?”
“If it’s no trouble. And I’m also gonna need something warm to wear, unless you’re okay with me climbing in your bed.”
“No!” I laugh. “I’d rather lend you something that have you stink up my sheets.”
Morgan looks offended for all of three seconds, until I go to my room and rummage around in my drawers to find a sweatshirt for her. I toss her the very first thing I lay my hands on and go about making us some drinks, warming some milk on the stove.
“What is this?” Morgan holds up the huge sweatshirt in front of me, and I suddenly realize what I’ve given her: the sweatshirt Luke leant me post freak out almost a month ago. She slips it on over her head so I see the big block capitols on the front—NYPD. “Fuck, this smells good, Avery. Why does this shirt smell like sex?”
An instant fire burns at my cheeks. “It does not smell like sex!”
“Oh yeah it does. Or it smells like a guy I most definitely would kill to have sex with. This is that cop dude’s, isn’t it?”
“Wow. Excellent powers of observation there, Sherlock. What gave it away? Could it be the huge New York Police Department logo emblazoned across your chest?” I stalk over to her and tug at the sweatshirt sleeve. “Take it off. I’ll find you something else.”
“No way!” She bunches up the front of the sweater and holds it to her face, inhaling deeply. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me all day. How the hell do you have this?”
I’ve kind of avoided telling Morgan about the night at Luke’s apartment. I don’t like purposefully keeping things from her, but explaining the new development with my dad isn’t something I am ready to do just yet.
“He loaned it to me ages ago. I just haven’t had chance to give it back.”
Morgan eyes me suspiciously. “And you say there’s nothing going on with you and this guy?”
“No!” I turn away from her so I can tend to our drinks, stirring furiously.
“In that case, I think you should return this sweater to our lovely peace keeper immediately, and I think you should let me come with you. It’s a crime to let a hottie like that go to waste. Get it? A crime?” She guffaws at her own lame joke and I pretend I haven’t heard her. I hand over her mug and plunk myself down on my swivel chair, taking a tentative sip.
“Don’t ignore me, Patterson. I’m serious. I want a shot at that guy if you’re not taking one.”
“He’s got a girlfriend, I told you,” I say, training my face into a blank mask now that I know I am flat-out lying to her. She’s ridiculously hot and guys go crazy for her rich auburn hair coloring. There’s no reason why Luke wouldn’t want to hook up with her, and the last thing I need is him running around campus. I try picturing what I’d say to him if I bumped into him in the hallways after he’d paid her a visit. The idea of it makes me shudder.
“What about Tate, anyway? I thought things were good with you guys?”
Morgan purses her lips and scowls. “I haven’t heard from him in five days. I fell asleep with him on Sunday night and I think he’s still mad at me.”
“Why would he be mad at you for falling asleep? You crash there all the time.”
A faint smile ticks
at the corner of her mouth. She raises an eyebrow and gives me a scandalous look. Realization dawns.
“Oh, you fell asleep with him. While you were…?”
“Yep. Apparently it was the height of rudeness, especially since he was pulling out all of his best moves at the time.”
“Oh God, Morgan,” I laugh, trying to suppress an all out giggling fit. “You are probably the only person I know who could fall asleep during sex.”
“I’ve done it before,” she announces. “I’m probably going to do it again. It was his own fault, anyway. He was taking way too long down there.”
She says this as I’m taking a swig of my drink, and I end up spraying hot chocolate all over the living room wall. We laugh like idiots, only regaining our composure when my cell phone starts ringing. Morgan wipes her eyes and leans over to collect it off the coffee table, tossing it to me.
Unknown number.
I frown at the screen—One heartbeat. Two. Three—until Morgan throws a pillow at me. “Answer it, woman, I have sensitive ears!
Morgan doesn’t understand why I never answer calls from unknown numbers. Back in high school it was one of my fellow classmate’s favorite pastimes to prank me and scream ‘murder spawn’ down the phone before hanging up. Just another thing I don’t want to have to explain. I shoot her a hesitant look before hitting accept.
“Hello?”
“Avery Patterson?” The voice throws me, instantly familiar and not at the same time.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Noah Richards. I got your number from your friend—what is, Maria?”
I feel my ears pull back. I turn and stare at the girl feigning nonchalance to my right. “No, I think you mean Morgan,” I hiss. She smiles innocently at me, studying her flawless nail polish.