by Sarah Kleck
“I’d like another cup of tea,” Sally said.
“Nothing for me, thank you,” I said without looking up. “How do you think Jared and Colin fit into all this?” I asked Sally in a calm voice after the waiter had gone.
“I’ve been trying to figure this out the whole time,” she said, puzzled.
“Do you think it’s a cult?”
“A cult? No, I don’t think so,” said Sally after reflecting for a moment. “That doesn’t fit Colin.” She shook her head. “He told me his parents died when he was quite young . . .”
Another one, I thought and immediately felt connected to Colin in a peculiar way.
“. . . and that he grew up with Jared in a foster family. Perhaps it has something to do with that,” she said. “Maybe some Mafia thing?” Judging from her puzzled expression, it was clear Sally didn’t believe this.
“I doubt it. And I didn’t know Colin and Jared grew up together.”
“They’re like brothers,” Sally said with a smile. Colin seemed to have told her something about his childhood, in which Jared had played a critical part.
“So, you don’t think Jared is—what did you call him—arrogant?” I asked, quoting her.
“Colin would go to hell and back for him, he said so himself. So, Jared can’t be all that bad. I think he’s one of those people you have to get to know before you can really judge him,” she said.
Oh, how I would love to get to know him. I lacked the courage to say this out loud.
The rest of the day drifted along. In the afternoon, after Sally had gone to her date with Colin, I met up with Felix. He noticed my injury right away even though my forehead already looked much better than in the morning. He was beside himself after I told him a toned-down version of what had happened at the pool.
“I’ll kill her,” he shouted, ready to go after Madison. I held him back.
“Let it be, Felix,” I pleaded. “I’ll deal with it.”
I was able to dissuade him with great difficulty. He never quite got over his rage, so I left him early in the afternoon. Let him settle down a little. I was not in the mood for his company when he was in that state.
At home, I thoroughly washed my bruise under the shower and slipped into my soft flannel pajamas. I felt a little stupid going to bed while it was still light outside, so I decided to work on my narcissism assignment. Four hours and three meager pages later, I decided it was okay to go to sleep. Especially because my eyes kept closing while I was sitting at the desk.
CHAPTER 9
The following morning I didn’t feel as rested as on the previous day, but the feeling of wellness that I always enjoyed after swimming was not entirely lost. I needed a few seconds to properly awaken, and then I remembered what had happened at the pool.
My amulet. I brushed my fingers over my neck.
I felt my forehead and carefully checked my injury. The swelling had gone down even more. My head still felt a little spongy just below the hairline but no one would notice if I put on a little makeup. At least not from a distance.
A look in the bathroom mirror confirmed my impression. The swelling was barely noticeable, and the bruise was fading. I smeared a layer of my rarely used foundation on my forehead. The tube had probably passed its best-before date long ago and was so dried up that, using all my strength, I managed to squeeze out only a drop of the skin-colored cream.
When I looked at my schedule, my heart skipped a beat. Narcissism and Destructiveness, I read and was forcefully reminded of my first day at school. I had met Jared after that terrible fall—the thought alone still made me blush with embarrassment. How he had looked at me . . . I would have given anything to know what he thought at that moment.
The mere thought of seeing him again in a few minutes made me tremendously nervous. What should I wear? Should I put on more makeup? Perfume? Or just go natural?
After a bit of back and forth I slipped into a pair of very tight black jeans and combined them with a thin, dark-green turtleneck sweater. Since I had a little time, I dug out my makeup and with a shaky hand tried to apply the eyeliner. I also did my best to apply a little mascara and light-brown lipstick. The result was . . . well . . . unconvincing. So I gathered a handful of suds and washed the entire masquerade off my face. That meant I had to start over again with disguising my head injury, but it beat walking around all day looking like a sad clown. I limited myself to putting on a bit of foundation and left the building without further experimenting.
The closer I got to campus, the more nervous I became. When I was almost there, I feverishly looked for Jared and Madison. I could barely wait to lay my hands on that bitch.
“Hey, your forehead already looks a lot better,” said Sally, who suddenly appeared next to me.
“Oh hi, Sally. Yes, I covered it with some makeup. How was your date with Colin yesterday?”
Sally grinned from ear to ear. “We’re officially together as of yesterday,” she said, outshining the morning sun.
“Oh how lovely!” I said, delighted.
“By the way, I told Colin what Madison did at the pool, and he immediately called Jared,” she said in a muffled voice.
“And?” I asked.
“He must have totally lost it. Colin only said Madison would regret it.”
“How so? For my sake?”
“Who else’s? Since the two of you held hands at the party in Felix’s residence, it’s clear Jared is into you!”
“What?”
“Anyone who saw you two in that moment knew for sure.” She frowned. “You seem to be the only one who didn’t notice.”
“But . . . he always avoids me!”
“No idea why he does that,” Sally said. “Lack of interest in you is definitely not the reason.”
I searched Sally’s face for the slightest hint of doubt—but there was none. She was completely convinced of what she had said.
“Is everything okay with you?” Her worried tone caused me to snap back. “You look as if you just peed yourself.”
“I . . . I’m all right,” I answered, shaking my head and trying to form a clear thought.
“Have you seen him since?” she asked, getting on her tiptoes to look over the heads of our fellow students.
“No,” I replied, and I also got on my tiptoes and searched the cluster of people that had formed at the entrance of the lecture hall.
“Hey—I’m here.” Felix waved his hand in front of my face.
“Who says we’re looking for you?” Sally said and stretched a little more.
“Oh, I see!” Felix said. “When you see her, let me know. I’ll get her!”
“Who?” I asked.
“Madison, of course! Who else?”
“Oh.” I’d completely forgotten Madison for a moment in my feverish search for Jared.
“Let me see.” Felix carefully brushed my hair out of my face to inspect my bruise. “Looks much better than yesterday,” he said, surprised.
“I covered it a little,” I said and draped my hair at an angle across my forehead.
Except for Felix, Sally, and me, almost everyone had disappeared into the lecture hall.
“What are you waiting for?” Felix asked and gently pushed me toward the entrance. “Madison isn’t out here. Let’s go in.”
When I entered the lecture hall behind them, I scanned the rows of seats for Jared. So I would have the best view, I sat at the back and searched row after row for him. Again and again. But I couldn’t find him or Madison anywhere. And finally I had to admit it—Jared wasn’t there. Downcast, I exchanged a look with Sally, who signaled with a shrug that she hadn’t seen him either. Why hadn’t he come? Was he sick? Why was Madison not here? Was there a connection?
Lost in thought, I tuned out Professor Bronsen’s lecture. Only after an eternity of torment did he end the lecture and d
ismiss us. I trotted off to my next class after reassuring Felix that he didn’t need to accompany me. Although I attempted to keep myself from doing it, I searched the crowd for Jared. In vain. It was clear I was badly looking forward to seeing him and not seeing him made me so unhappy . . . I hadn’t counted on that.
After surviving Introduction to Psychology with Harrison, and Stats with the lisping Professor Gallert, hope sprang forth again. Next on my schedule was History of Psychoanalysis with Professor Mayflower, and I knew for sure Jared attended that lecture. Well, he usually did. After all, I’d seen him there quite a few times. To keep my disappointment down, I dampened my hopes and attempted to resign myself to not seeing Jared that day. But there was something I was not going to miss: Karen Mayflower. I had thought a lot about her in the last few days and intended to watch her very closely. Any shimmer that shed a bit of light into the dark would be welcome.
As always, seats were taken within minutes. When Professor Mayflower entered the lecture hall through the don’s door at the front, I looked over the crowd one last time. Jared had not shown up and, despite being prepared for his absence, the disappointment hit me full force. I tried to suppress the rising depression and focused on the professor. She appeared to be . . . angry. Even before greeting the students, she pulled a note out of her pocket, unfolded it, and started to read. “Due to overregistration in the course that by far exceeds the capacity of this lecture hall, the following students can no longer participate in History of Psychoanalysis.” Professor Mayflower looked at her note and examined the crowd. We looked at each other, and I thought I saw her eyes widen before she again looked at the paper and started reading the names.
“Grant Fullman, Linda Harroldson, Kevin Jasper, George Kline, Sandra Oldman, Rebecca Orphans, Holden Kley, and . . . Evelyn Lakewood.” What? Could this be true? She was actually kicking me out of her class! While the other students vocally protested, I got up and left the hall without saying a thing. Dozens of curious looks followed me. Was I imagining it or did Professor Mayflower emphasize my name? Considering how upset she was in her first lecture and after all that I’d heard from Colin, I knew that my name was not listed by accident and that there was no point in insisting I be allowed to continue attending the course. But what was her problem with me?
Lost in thought, I trudged across the campus courtyard and reviewed all my encounters with Karen Mayflower. Suddenly, I remembered Colin’s remark. When I met him in the library—or, rather, ran into him there—he advised me to visit Professor Mayflower. Although I didn’t know what that was supposed to lead to now, I decided to follow Colin’s advice. At least I could ask her why she kicked me out of her class. So I went straight to her office, sat on the floor across from her door, leaned against the wall, and waited.
Thirty minutes later, I heard her voice. She was walking along the corridor with Professor Bronsen. The two were talking in a very animated way about a joint publication and were so caught up in their conversation they didn’t notice me. Without even looking in my direction, they went into Mayflower’s office and she slammed the door.
I spent another fifteen minutes sitting on the floor, chewing my fingernails until Bronsen finally left. I hastily scrambled up and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Professor Mayflower called with an impatient voice. I hesitated for a moment and even toyed with the idea of just leaving. But I decided not to give up and entered.
“Good day, Professor Mayflower,” I said with a firm voice.
“Yes?” she answered without even looking up from her desk.
“My name is Evelyn Lakewood. I . . .”
She raised her head and fixed her eyes on me.
Focus! “I am—or rather was—in your History of Psychoanalysis class.”
“Really?” she said in a tone that left no doubt she knew what I was talking about.
“Yes, and I want to know why I was kicked out.”
“Several students were selected at random,” she said while sitting up in her office chair and taking off her reading glasses. “Everyone had the same chance.”
“Is there another way to participate in the course?” I asked.
“Sorry, but that’s not possible.” She looked at me unyieldingly. But I was not yet willing to give up.
“That’s too bad,” I said. “I’m . . . enthusiastic about your lectures.” It was the truth. Embarrassed, I let my eyes wander around the room. Then, as if struck by lightning, my eyes stopped on the overflowing bookshelf on the right side of the room. I saw a book lying flat on the books standing upright. Could that be . . . ? I forced myself to blink.
Indeed! I recognized that worn, dark-brown leather binding at once . . . The Calmburry book!
When Professor Mayflower realized what I’d discovered, she was on her feet in a flash, standing right in front of me and attempting to block my view of the bookshelf.
“As I’ve said, I can do nothing for you in this regard, Miss Lakewood,” she said, trying to brush me off. I stood there rooted to the floor and looked into her eyes. That seemed to unsettle her a little because she started shifting from one foot to the other. “And now please excuse me,” she continued. “I have assignments to grade.”
She was kicking me out—again. Since I had no idea how to counter, I was left with no choice but to leave the office. What could I have said to her? I know the Calmburry family history is over there and you are hiding it from me. I didn’t think so.
I tried to organize my thoughts as I stepped outside. What was the Calmburry book doing in Mayflower’s office? Was she hiding it there? What was it I wasn’t supposed to discover? I couldn’t figure it out. No matter how I looked at it, it didn’t make sense. The only thing I was completely sure of was this: Karen Mayflower was the one who wanted to keep me away from Jared.
“What’s with you?” Sally asked at lunch, shaking my shoulder. I was so lost in thought I hardly noticed her trying to talk to me. The lunch break was almost over, and I could hardly remember anything that had happened since I’d left Mayflower’s office. I must have been sitting there silently, staring into space. My usual spaghetti with tomato sauce sat nearly untouched. When I looked up, I saw Sally’s concerned face.
“Hello, are you in there?” she asked, wide-eyed, and shook me again.
“Yes, everything’s all right,” I said and pulled my arm away.
“Um, you were totally gone!” Sally said.
“I was thinking.”
“Thinking? More like you were on another planet!”
“Where’s Felix?” I asked to change the subject. I wondered why he wasn’t sitting at our table like usual. I seemed to remember him in line with us at the counter.
“He said he had to take care of something. Didn’t you hear him? It was like two minutes ago.” She squinted and put her hand on my forehead to check my temperature. “Is everything really okay?”
“Yes, of course,” I said and pushed her hand aside. Still, I had to admit that it bothered me how far gone I’d been the last few minutes.
“Let’s go. It’s time,” I said to Sally and rose. Sally lifted her tray and followed me after giving me one last probing glance.
Behavioral Psychology was fascinating as always and distracted me somewhat from the chaos of my thoughts. I immediately sensed how good it was for me not to think about Jared Calmburry, Karen Mayflower, or that dumb book at least for the duration of the lecture.
Unlike me, Sally had little interest in the lecture and spent the whole time texting with Colin under the desk. She still found time to size me up at regular intervals. Apparently, she was worried I was sick or might have gone bonkers.
“Stop looking at me,” I said after she’d looked over for the hundredth time.
“Okay,” she said and raised her hands. “I’ll never look at you again!”
“Sally, please don’t be offended. But you don’
t have to worry. There’s nothing wrong with me.” But to be honest, things weren’t okay at all, and I couldn’t hold it against Sally that she’d noticed.
“Is it because Jared hasn’t shown up today?” she asked me as we made our way to Communication Psychology. She wasn’t going to let this go.
“I don’t know,” I answered with a sigh that confirmed Sally’s assumption that I wasn’t okay.
“Don’t worry,” she said and rubbed my arm. “We’re going to find out what’s going on.”
At that moment, Professor Martin stepped into the room and started his lecture. I had to grin at the thought of how Sally normally behaved in his presence. I was eager to see how she’d act now that she was together with Colin.
A few moments later I determined she was not worshipping Irvin nearly as much as she had a few weeks ago. Still, you could see she still thought he was attractive and wanted to please him. I couldn’t suppress a giggle and was immediately admonished with a look from Professor Martin to be quiet. Now it was Sally who giggled. Embarrassed, I directed my eyes forward and followed the class. It appeared Martin had prepared some interactive communication exercises we were supposed to work on with role-playing games in groups of two. While he went through the rows and passed out the worksheets, I again noticed his distinctive seal ring. It was exceedingly beautiful and gleamed an unusually strong, dark blue. A deep indigo blue that shone in the same unmistakable way as . . . Jared’s eyes. Damn! Was there anywhere I could be safe from him?