The Year of the Great Seventh

by Orts, Teresa

  I guess, since there was nothing we could do in the morning, I might even have the time to show up to the NYU tour after all. Believe me, I was in no mood to meet other people and be driven around campus, but it would’ve made me feel guilty to spend all that money and not even make it to the tour.

  I had to go to bed. I needed to get at least a couple of hours of sleep if I wanted to be fresh the next morning. Tomorrow could be the day that things turned around, and I was going to need all my energy.

  Burying myself in the mountain of pillows that covered the bed, I attempted to block all my thoughts and the sounds of New York City. How was I going to fall asleep with my mind reeling out of control?

  I, at least, had to try.

  CHAPTER XVI

  IN THE MORNING, I was in no mood to attend the NYU tour, but Nate told me he wouldn’t let me throw my future overboard because of him. I realized I had no choice. He wasn’t going to give in. He insisted that I let him help me, too. He knew how important it was for me to get into NYU.

  I was feeling down and I didn’t want to be away from Nate. I still had some decency left in me, though, so I knew taking the campus tour was the right thing to do. It wasn’t because I needed to, rather because I’d told my parents that’s why I was in New York.

  The more time I spent with Nate, the harder it became to be apart from him. Just the thought of spending a few hours away from each other made my heart sink. My yearning was so intense. I was worried something was going to happen to him while I was away, or even worse, that he was doing something stupid while I was gone. I knew the gray stain was spreading through his body. My college application seemed trivial in comparison.

  But I had to do it. I didn’t want to deceive my parents. They had their hopes on me and I thought I had what it took to get that scholarship. My parents worked really hard and had been saving money to finance my education since I was born. Unfortunately, the money they gathered was barely enough to pay for my day-to-day expenses in New York City, let alone the tuition.

  I didn’t feel pity for myself. I was up for a challenge. If your parents could pay for your tuition, it killed the excitement. You had to only get in. In my case, I had to get in, get a scholarship, and on top of that, probably a part-time job somewhere to pay for books and other expenses. My first choice was a paid internship at the Met, but it was more probable that I was going to end up serving food in a cafeteria.

  The only way to justify leaving Nate behind was that there wasn’t much we could do until I met with Professor Silverman at 3 p.m. He could tell us about the prophecy, and we needed him to get us to the crabs at the Met.

  Nate and I agreed to meet in Washington Square Park after my meeting with Professor Silverman, as I didn’t want Nate to come with me. There was a chance Professor Silverman might report back to Dad that Nate was with me. Then I would be in real trouble.

  Without thinking much about it, I made my way to the NYU Kimmel Center for University Life on the south side of Washington Square Park. I got there ten minutes late because the traffic was moving slowly due to the snowstorm the previous night. The NYU tour was supposed to start at 11:30 a.m.

  The information packet I received said I was supposed to meet someone by the name of Paul, and he would be wearing a bright blue sweater with “staff” written on the front.

  I ran into the lobby through the revolving doors, hoping that the tour hadn’t departed already. Also, I couldn’t take the cold anymore. At least it would be warm inside the building.

  I was hoping to see the sun before I returned to L.A. The weather hadn’t been on our side at all. I’d heard before that even though the temperature was often below freezing in New York, the sky was always bright blue. As of now, I hadn’t seen the sun once. This weather was more like gloomy England than New York.

  The lobby was an open space that reached up to the second floor. In front of the stairs there was a turnstile with a card reader where the students scanned their IDs to get in. The lobby was very lively with students rushing in and out of the building. I was dazzled by the mix of cultures. A group of girls wearing black robes and with piercings all over their faces crossed the lobby without getting much attention from anyone else. Three boys were talking in what seemed to be French as they hung out in the lobby. A girl wearing her pajama pants and carrying a set of books under her arm walked into the building as if it was totally normal to walk around New York City in your pajamas.

  I gazed around the lobby, trying to spot the tour group. Then I saw Paul with the blue sweater. He was reclining on the wall by the stairs. Strangely, he was wearing his sunglasses, even though we were inside. There was no room for error. He had to be my Paul, but where was the rest of the group?

  As I stared at him hesitatingly from the revolving doors, he approached me quickly, removing his sunglasses and displaying bright red eyes. The puffy bags under his eyes revealed that he’d probably just rolled out of bed. Maybe the courses at NYU were so challenging you had to study through the night. That was a bit daunting.

  “Are you Sophie Bennett?” The guy with the blue sweater squinted as if he struggled to keep his eyes open.

  “Yes. I guess you’re Paul?” I half-grinned.

  “Nice to meet you.” He shook my hand.

  Paul seemed like a nice guy, but I wasn’t in the mood for this. I’d fantasized about being at NYU so many times, and now that I was here, I couldn’t really get into it. Where I really wanted to be right now was with Nate, and I couldn’t force myself to feel otherwise. But Paul seemed very welcoming, almost making me believe he was pleased to see me. Probably, he’d done this tour a million times and knew how to win people over right from the beginning.

  “Shall we start?” Paul said, handing me what looked like an NYU guest pass.

  “What about the other people? Shouldn’t we wait for them?”

  “It’s just you and me.” Paul swiped his pass into the card reader. “We don’t really get people requesting prospective students’ tours until maybe April or May when they know they’ve been accepted.”

  Behind the red, Paul had bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile, and even though he hadn’t bothered combing his ear-length blond hair, and it was pointing in all directions, he looked handsome. In another stage of my life, I would’ve been thrilled to be paraded around NYU with such a good-looking guy.

  I swiped the pass from my information pack resignedly and followed Paul up stairs and into the first floor corridor.

  “Why did you decide to do the tour now? You probably don’t even know if you got in, do you?” Paul scratched his scalp, making his hair even messier.

  “Yes, well…” I had to think of something quick. A prophecy hunt would not make me look too good. “I was coming to New York for another reason, and I thought I’d do it now, since I was going to be here anyway.”

  “I guess it makes sense.” Paul turned around as we walked through the corridor. “I suppose since it’s only the two of us, we can skip the formalities and I can give you a more interesting tour of NYU.”

  I was wondering whether Professor Silverman could get us to the crabs this same afternoon. We weren’t going to waste another day. I had to persuade him. He probably had access to the vault at the Met.

  “Are you all right? You seem distracted.” Paul came to a halt in the middle of the corridor.

  This was worrying. I’d been here for ten minutes, and Paul was already aware I wasn’t really into it. “Yes, I’m fine, just a bit sleepy.”

  I didn’t want to be rude to Paul. I had to try to pay attention.

  Paul gave me a curious look, as if he wasn’t buying it, and continued. “I normally do the building where the classes are held and the library, but I could run through it quickly, and I could take you to look around the dorms. That’s where we hang out most of the time.”

  After a quick tour of the library, we decided to head to the dorms on 8th Street where Paul resided.

  As we strolled up 5th Avenue in the bl
istering cold, I noticed Paul was wearing only his blue sweater and a pair of jeans. His sunglasses were on top of his head. He seemed immune to the cold. I was wearing a thick, black coat and a wooly hat, and I still couldn’t bear the freezing wind.

  “Aren’t you cold?” I asked Paul, intrigued.

  He smiled back at me. “I’m from Brooklyn. I’m used to it.”

  It amazed me every time I was on the street to see the number of people walking around. There seemed to always be life on the streets of New York.

  Two Latino men were unloading some boxes into the basement of a restaurant through a cellar gate on the sidewalk. One of them was on the back of a truck and passed down the boxes. The other placed them on a conveyor belt down to the basement.

  Most of the buildings on 5th Avenue had big purple NYU flags.

  “So where are you from?” Paul brought me back from my reverie.

  “L.A.” I rapidly paced down the street to get to the dorms as soon as possible. My face was literally burning from the cold.

  “Why would you want to move from sunny California to New York?”

  It intrigued me that people always wanted what they didn’t have. New Yorkers thought California was paradise and Californians were dazzled to discover the magic of New York City.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been there, done it. I think I’m more of a big city girl.”

  Paul nodded, pleased, as if giving me his approval. “I was born and raised here, and there’s nowhere else I want to live. NYU is great. You get to have a college life, but also have a whole city to entertain yourself. Things change so quick around here that there’s always a new spot to discover.”

  Paul seemed to be really fond of New York City. New York seemed to catch you under its spell before you noticed it. It was a bit dangerous. I could already feel the addiction to the adrenaline rush that Manhattan was able to provide. There’s probably no other city in the world that’s as full of life as this one. The mix of cultures, the center of the American dream, and the millions of lives compressed onto one island was probably an unrepeatable formula.

  “Do you mind if we stop a moment?” Paul pointed at a street vendor selling coffee and bagels.

  This corner seemed familiar, but I was sure I’d never been here before. Maybe I’d seen it in a movie. There was something about New York that made you feel you were on a movie set constantly. I’d read somewhere that New York was in more movies than any other city in the world, including L.A.

  “Would you like a coffee?” Paul offered as he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his jeans pocket.

  “I’m okay, thanks.”

  Paul grabbed his paper cup, and as he sipped from his coffee, we continued up the street.

  Two guys—probably students—going into an NYU building waved at Paul, and he smiled back at them. Then, only a few yards down, a girl smiled at Paul and they gazed at each other.

  I was beginning to suspect that Paul was quite popular around here. Not in a corny high school way, but popular, as in someone who socialized a lot.

  I wasn’t taking the tour to have fun. But I couldn’t repress feeling that I belonged here. NYU students seemed open-minded and edgy. I could definitely be friends with someone like Paul. He seemed so easygoing and confident about himself.

  I had to stop it. I couldn’t lose focus. I was in New York with the specific purpose of helping Nate. He was most likely going crazy in his hotel room, watching the stain on his body grow bigger.

  Paul dragged his feet smugly along the pavement as if he owned the street. “What are you planning to major in, Soph?” He glanced at me, flashing a radiant smile.

  I liked that he called me Soph. No one had called me that since I was five years old.

  “I think history,” I said without much enthusiasm.

  “You’re in New York City. You’re going to have to smile sooner or later.” Paul teased as we waited for the light to change on 10th Street.

  “I may consider your suggestion.” A light smile appeared on my face.

  I couldn’t believe this. I’d known Paul for less than an hour, and he was already able to read me. I was awful at hiding my feelings, even from a stranger.

  “What are you majoring in?” I said as we crossed the street, trying to move the spotlight on him.

  Paul smiled back at my pathetic attempt to change the subject. “This is my second year. I’m doing a double major in sociology and criminology.”

  Paul held the door of the dorm’s entrance for me.

  “Let me get my mail.” He hurried to the right side of the lobby where the mailboxes were.

  An African-American man was standing behind a desk across from the door. He was checking the students’ IDs as they walked in and out of the building. There were four elevators on the right side of the lobby and a bunch of people waiting for them.

  “Hi, Joe.” Paul walked over to the desk as he checked his mail.

  “Can I help you?” The man didn’t seem too pleased to see Paul.

  “I have a guest. Sophie Bennett.” Paul moved his gaze from the mail to me for a split second.

  The man ran his finger down a piece of paper that seemed to be a roster. “I don’t think so. You already used this month’s guest pass.”

  “Oh! This isn’t a personal visit. I’m doing a prospective student tour.” Paul grabbed the guest pass from my hand and showed it to the man behind the desk.

  The man sighed, frustrated, and grabbing a piece of paper, he instructed without making eye contact, “Please write your name and the time here.”

  I did as the man requested and then he handed me what seemed to be another pass. Paul shoved all his unopened mail into a trash bin before we caught the elevator.

  “It’s all junk mail,” Paul explained.

  Even though he was probably nineteen or twenty, he seemed to have the situation totally under control. He appeared to be much more mature than most people his age. There was something appealing about his self-confidence. Or maybe my opinion was biased by his looks. To make it even harder, he seemed extremely athletic.

  Paul showed me around the dorm’s cafeteria, his floor, and all the common areas. He explained that when you sign up for the dorms, they ask you to describe yourself as they try to fill each floor with the same type of people. He recommended I say I’m quiet and like to study after class. Paul said the party floors were unbearable, as you were never able to sleep or study. He suggested applying for a quiet floor because you could still access the party floors. That way when you felt like a quiet night, you could go back to your room and leave the noise behind.

  “Okay, this is where the unofficial tour starts,” Paul said as he got in the elevator and pressed the basement button. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to kidnap you.” He noticed my surprised look.

  My face turned scarlet. I couldn’t hide that I was still a high school student. I couldn’t deny that I’d freaked out for a split second when he pressed the basement button.

  Since I was kid, I had this thing with basements. I was absolutely terrified of them. I guess it was another media stereotype. In movies, the murderer always hid in the basement, and every time I had to go down there, I started thinking there was someone in there about to attack me.

  When I was little, I always started asking for my birthday present a few days before my actual birthday. One year, the night before my birthday, Mom told me that my present was hidden in the basement. She explained exactly where it was and told me if I got over my phobia, I could go to the basement and have it early. All my eagerness disappeared at once. I found a million and one reasons why I should wait to get my birthday present on the real day. Thankfully, with the passing of the years, I’d managed to almost get over my fear.

  The basement was dimly lit and had low ceilings like any other basement. There were boxes filled with papers everywhere. We walked down a hallway lined with shelves, which were filled with folders and papers. At the end of the room, there were two big laundry troll
eys with white towels on them. Green emergency exit lights illuminated a passage between the shelves.

  To my surprise, it didn’t seem as scary as I expected. Or maybe it was Paul’s attitude. He moved along as if he knew the basement better than his own room.

  “Did you hear Joe mentioning that we get one pass per month to have someone sleep over?”

  I nodded as I followed behind him.

  There was a metal door on the ceiling that seemed to lead out onto the street and a steep metal ladder under it. It looked exactly like the cellar door under the restaurant we’d seen earlier on the street.

  “This is the garbage chute to the street. I have a key, and we get people in and out of the dorms through here.”

  My mouth was wide open as I gazed up to the gate in the ceiling. I wondered why the guy at reception didn’t seem to have much sympathy for Paul. He seemed to know how to bypass any dorm rule.

  Paul was giving me what you could call a true NYU experience. I could imagine my life here, enjoying the city, the lectures, and my newfound friends.

  What was I doing? The future I just pictured didn’t include Nate at all. He was everything to me. I couldn’t allow myself to do that ever again. I couldn’t let anything or anyone make me forget about him. If there was a future, it was only with Nate.

  Panic was taking hold of me, and not because we were in a basement. I had to get out of here as soon as possible. I had to meet Professor Silverman at 3:00 p.m. I couldn’t be late. We needed to see those crabs today.

  “Paul, I really appreciate you showing me around, but I really have to go.”

  Paul turned around, confused, as if he didn’t understand why I was in such a hurry all of a sudden. “Let me show you one last thing. I’ll be quick. It’ll have been a privilege to have been there. We don’t normally allow freshmen.”