Escapism (The Escapism Series)

by Maria Dee

  “Should you be eating right before we play?”

  “It’s just a protein bar and a creatine shake. I usually take it during my warm up before I weight lift. You see, this is technically a warm up for me.”

  “Hey, I’m a natural born athlete. You’re the one that needs to take all the supplements,” I pestered.

  “Cheeky—I like,” he took a final sip of his shake.

  “Let’s play already. Bring it,” I motioned with my hand.

  “I’m liking this side of you, Z.” He swiped the ball from my hands. “You sassy girl, you,” he teased.

  I rolled my eyes, smacking the ball from right under him.

  We played one-on-one and boy did he ever put up a challenge. He took a moment to catch his breath, arching over while resting his hands on his knees.

  “Is that all you’ve got? And here I thought you had game.” I shrugged my shoulders smugly. He did not take well to losing, evident by his incessant moping.

  He insisted on a rematch and I admired Landon’s perseverance in light of his pending conquest.

  After physically invigorating our bodies with an intense game of basketball, Landon playfully threw his towel at me.

  “You’re good, Z, but you still need my help if you want to try out for varsity basketball.”

  “Who said anything about varsity sports? I know I didn’t.”

  “You’ve got skill—It’s undeniable. What a shame it’d be if you let it go to waste.”

  I rolled my eyes at an awestruck Landon. Although being a part of sports teams was one of my fondest memories, it was no longer one of my priorities—finding out what I was and where I came from were. I threw the towel back at Landon and he wiped the sweat off his face. I sat beside him on the bench while he placed one arm around my shoulder.

  “You’ve already missed tryouts, Z, but I’m willing to give you a second shot. Let the team see what you can bring to the court.”

  “You’re willing to let me try out?” I replied, laughing. “Are you the team scout or something?”

  “Well, I’m kind of the assistant coach—unofficially. I’ve been the assistant coach on the women’s varsity basketball team since the original assistant coach left last year for a head coaching position at the University of Georgia.”

  “Varsity basketball would be great, but I don’t know if I can commit to it this year,” I replied, hesitantly. Realistically, I wouldn’t have the time to play sports when there were more pressing matters to attend to in my first year of university—like finding out what it meant to be a Diplozoe, and whether or not I had cool powers.

  “So? Will you try out?”

  “What will all the other girls think? Hmm? I will be known as that girl—the one with the special advantages, things just handed to her, branded as an outcast. They wouldn’t want me on the team.”

  “Xenia,” he moaned, continuing, “They’d accept you in a heartbeat.”

  “I’m not making any promises, but when are tryouts?”

  “You don’t know how badly we need a point guard on our team.”

  “Landon. Tryouts?” I snapped, slightly peeved.

  “Next Monday. Bring your A-game, Miss Sanders.”

  “Great,” I said, aloofly.

  “You could become a cheerleader instead, and put that great spirit of yours to use,” he said, sarcastically. “Ready? Okay! Go York Lions, yay! I can picture you in a skirt and everything,” he made fists, placing each on his hips, while attempting a series of high kicks.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha. So original, Landon. The light bulb is still lingering over your perfect sun-kissed hair,” I said, swiping over his head at the imaginary light bulb. He ducked out of the way, chuckling.

  “You’d make a horrible cheerleader.”

  “Agreed. No arguments there,” I snickered. “I’m off to change. Call me when you’re free for our first high-kick session—someone needs to stretch his hamstrings.”

  Landon looked down in admiration of his physique and smiled. “You bet. See you around, Z.”

  As I turned away, I felt a brisk slap across my buttock. “Good work today,” he said, taking a big bite out of his bar. “Post warm up snack.”

  I walked ahead with a hand on my right butt cheek. “Ease up on the bodybuilding formula, geez.”

  He grinned, taking another bite in spite of me.

  “You’ve got game, but a true athlete can play any sport.”

  “Oh really? Name the game, Bostwick.”

  “I will. Let’s see how you are at squash.”

  “Squash and I are like this,” I hissed, holding up my index finger crossed under my middle finger. I lied. I played squash once before and had badly bruised myself with my own racket. I figured it couldn’t be any worse this time around.

  I waved good-bye while heading toward the girl’s locker room. I showered, changed, and walked to my next lecture for the day. After having walked from the opposite side of campus, I arrived ten minutes late.

  The entire lecture hall was at maximum capacity. Some students nodded off while others chatted about mixers and schedule conflicts of sorts.

  I caught every other word during lecture, zoning in and out. I wondered what Marla and Calliope were doing and daydreamt mostly of Nicholas. The girl next to me rigorously took notes. Every few minutes, she looked over at me, grimacing at my fragmented note-taking. It was only the first week of university, for heaven’s sake. Technically, it was a cushion week or a week to acclimate to our new environment. I wondered just how neurotic she’d get during midterms.

  The monotonous lecture sung to me, like a lullaby. I made a mental note: upgrade to a large coffee as a medium would no longer suffice.

  I wondered how I would survive through these dreadful lectures over the next few years. I envisioned a caffeine sprinkler system, and the satisfaction of pulling the trigger. Somehow, these were happy—and not unusual—thoughts for me. Amidst my daydreaming, I contemplated the following three scenarios: going for a coffee run, staying whereby I’d die of boredom, or leaving early.

  I rested my chin in my palm, and navigated the web on my Cyclopod. With the lecture notes posted Online, I decided upon option three—leaving early. Hooray!

  As I walked through campus, breathing in the cool air, my phone beeped twice, alerting me of my last evening shift at work, which I nearly forgot. I texted Marla that I was leaving early.

  Taking a shortcut across the commons, I walked toward the student center where the bus terminal was. I boarded unsteadily, while the doors snapped shut behind me. It appeared the bus driver had fallen behind schedule as he cursed at the slow drivers ahead and picked up speed at every opportunity to beat afternoon rush hour.

  It was my last day working in clerical data entry at a small firm downtown. Thanks to my mother’s connection, I had made some decent bank over the summer, which went straight toward tuition, unfortunately.

  While at work, I entered endless files into a database. Boring, yes, but it sure beat customer-service jobs—the horror I had encountered the year before I was graced with this position.

  The shift flew by and I was the last to leave the office that night after five hours of solid work.

  On the subway, I breathed deeply, squeezing my eyelids tight at first and then allowing them to flutter naturally, remaining shut. When I reopened my eyes, my body sent an electric shiver from head to toe as the unoccupied seats before me were now occupied—I couldn’t help but stare.

  “What are you looking at?” said a teenage girl with pitch black hair and a pierced nose. There were at least ten others in the subway.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I replied anxiously.

  I rubbed my eyes a few times before I got off at my stop. The doors closed behind me and I peered over my shoulder at the unoccupied subway cart. Hallucinations were a clear sign of sleep deprivation. I needed a good night’s rest, is what I needed.

  Once I arrived at my doorstep, I unlocked the door and walked straight to my roo
m. I dropped my bag on the floor, kicked off my shoes, disrobed, and crashed. So much for studying.

  Abandoned Mansion Show

  I awoke to the sound of drilling and hammering of construction. The water pipe had a leak and the city was repairing it by the curb. I felt extremely exhausted as if I had slept for only an hour or two, tops. I tossed and turned, mulling over the many loose ends in my life. In the kitchen, my mother brewed a pot of coffee and read the daily paper.

  “Good morning, dear.”

  “Morning, Ma,” I said, barely opening my eyes.

  “Didn’t sleep well?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Aside from the dark circles under your eyes and black coffee, no.”

  “Mom, is there something you’d like to tell me?” I asked, bluntly.

  “About what, Xeni?”

  “I don’t know—like, about our family history?”

  “Hmm,” she sighed. “You’d have to be more specific.”

  “Fine. Something that runs in the family.”

  “Oh right. My obsessive compulsive cleaning habits. You’re lucky, you just got the half of it.”

  She winced, turning a page of the newspaper and continued to read.

  I smiled, realizing it was hopeless—she was clueless.

  “I better get ready,” I sulked. I was disappointed by my fruitless endeavor.

  “Okay, dear. Would you like me to pack you a lunch?”

  I veered a look of disgust at my mother and she quickly bounced back from her temporary lapse in judgment.

  “Right,” she said, reaching for her purse. “How uncool of me.” She left a twenty for lunch even though I had worked all summer and was somewhat self-sufficient. Heck, I was not about to refuse money.

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She poured coffee in her travel mug, taking a call in the other room.

  I was eager to see Nicholas on campus today—I was always eager to see him. I called Marla to check on our ride status.

  “Is Cal picking us up?” I asked.

  “Yes. She has a mandatory tutorial at eight. Let’s see Miss, I don’t do eight o’clock, get out of this one.”

  “Lovely. Want to come over for breakfast? Hello?” The call dropped.

  I tossed my phone aside and lunged onto the hardwood floor. Five minutes later, I received a VT: “Ding-dong.”

  Marla stood at my doorstep looking disheveled in her PJ’s. “Good morning, Marla,” I chirped.

  She held her pillow by her side, looking just as tired as I felt.

  “Meh,” she uttered, walking past me. “There’s nothing good about this morning. Sleep is good.”

  She crashed on my sofa, and I sat beside her.

  “What’s for breakfast?” she mumbled with her mouth pressed against the pillow.

  “Cereal?” I replied, while checking messages on my beloved Cyclopod.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Waffles?”

  “Uh-Uh.”

  “Eggs?” I was just about to give up.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed.

  I was too tired to move so I did the next best thing. I hollered, “Ma! Can you make us some eggs? Ma!”

  Chrysanthe rushed into the living room. She took one look at us, and shook her head. “Are you girls coming down with something?” she asked, feeling our foreheads, flexing her maternal instincts. “You both feel fine to me. Come on, girls. You only just started university.”

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked. He would have loved to make us breakfast if it meant he could reminisce about his college days.

  “He had an early flight to New York.”

  “Oh,” I replied, not surprised.

  My mother pulled the pillow from beneath us. “Let’s go. Time to get up.” She went off to the kitchen to prepare us breakfast.

  I poked Marla. “Wakey-wakey.”

  “No. Stop it!” she growled. Just as I was about to poke her again, she gave in lethargically. “All right already.”

  We made our way to the kitchen.

  “Coffee?” Marla asked.

  “Follow me.”

  In the kitchen, there was a fresh pot of coffee and a basket of bagels. Breakfast was by far my favorite meal of the day. While we sat by the counter, we picked at the scrumptious bagels.

  “You look haggard, dude. What gives?” Marla’s sleepy eyes were now fully open.

  “You don’t look so hot yourself,” I snapped back. “I’ve been having these dreams lately—they’re pretty draining.”

  “Me too!” she bellowed.

  My mother placed the plates before us.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Sanders.”

  “Thanks, Ma. You da best.”

  “Eat up, girls. You don’t want to be late, although I highly doubt you’ll both be attending lectures this week.”

  Marla giggled, nodding favorably and I smacked her arm.

  “Ouch!” Marla hissed. “It’s not my fault your mom called us out.”

  I smiled, thinking how great my mother was. Always there for me even with her busy schedule. She was running late for work and rushing for her bag and keys.

  “So what kind of dreams have you been having? Are they sexy dreams?” she nudged and winked.

  “I wish! Are yours? I can barely remember them once I get up.”

  Marla snorted, “No.” She took a bite of scrambled eggs. “For the most part, yes.”

  “Really? Who do you dream of?” I asked, peaked.

  “They’re usually faceless,” she explained. “These eggs are so good.”

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed, giggling. “I think we need to start exercising more often—get those happy hormones circulating.”

  “I exercise.”

  “Marla. Walking to the fridge to grab a snack isn’t exactly exercise.”

  “Hey, I run every now and then. For instance, I’m going to run home and get ready for school,” she snickered, heading toward the patio doors. After Marla left, I cleared the plates.

  In a hop, skip, and a long stretch of wardrobe, hair, and makeup, I was nearly ready. It wasn’t long before Calliope picked us up. She honked her horn twice, and grinned ear to ear. I jumped into the backseat of her silver Mercedes-Benz, a lavish university gift from her parents. To Calliope, it was a tidbit of her many gifts—or payoffs—to complete undergrad and attend a post-grad something or other.

  It was a short day for us. We all had three lectures with two electives strategically planned for a midweek reunion. Calliope had to justifiably convince the professors to sign her late registration forms, in order to switch into the two lectures I had with Marla. The number of students fighting for a spot grew each day, and only those with proof of requisite and fervor were granted late acceptance.

  I found it exceptionally difficult to pay attention in lecture. Although I physically attended every lecture, I thought of Nicholas and the things that Kiran had revealed. My mind was racing from one to the other. Before I knew it, lectures were over and we were on our way to the parking lot.

  “Mr. Roylin is hot. Did you guys notice when he went off on a tangent about consumerism, he looked over in my direction?” Marla asked.

  “What’s with you and older men? Like seriously, Marla,” I teased. “What? So I have a thing for authority figures. I can’t help it,” she sighed, theatrically.

  “He’s only in his late thirties,” Calliope said. “Besides, he merely glossed you over. He was admiring me.”

  “What are you two delusional kids doing now that lectures are done with?” I asked.

  “I’m going to the gym,” Calliope responded.

  “Like obvi,” Marla replied.

  “What about you, Marla?” I asked.

  “I’m chilling with Landon. I ran into him the other day and he has a media gav for my Cyclopod.”

  Cyclopod’s could only be activated by scanning the owner’s fingertips allowing the solo eye to unlock the screen. Mgav’s were the latest in multimedia transfers. A d
rag of a finger over the folder could transfer media files from one Cyclopod to another. The digital imprint attached to the individual’s fingertip lasted only a few seconds. The amazing technology was convenient and safe for the user.

  “He bought Mgav’s? He should’ve waited. In a month or two, music transfers will be so much faster.” Calliope was always up to date with technology.

  “Cool. I guess Cal will have to give us a lift home before she hits the gym.”

  “Right,” Calliope sneered. “I forgot about that. Let’s get going then.” The air was crisp and the drive home was quick. Once she dropped us off, Marla went straight home to prepare for a quasi-date with Landon. I planned to catch up on sleep before my date with Nicholas—it turned out, I wasn’t scheduled to work after all. Yay.

  Once home, I placed my bag on the floor and hung my jacket on the antique wooden post my mother acquired through one of her many shopping ventures. I made some tea and rested in the living room, shutting my eyes briefly before I was disturbed by loud ringing.

  “Hey, Z,” Marla greeted merrily. “Landon says hello. We’re having sundaes.”

  “That was fast,” I responded, taken by surprise. “Hey, wait a minute! Why was I not invited for sundaes?” I was mildly offended.

  “Talk to Landon—it was his idea,” she quickly handed the phone over.

  “S’up, Z. Thought I’d ask Marla out for some dessert seeing as how busy you’ve been lately. You don’t exactly return my calls.”

  “You called? When?” I asked, glancing at my phone. I saw four missed messages in my inbox from Landon. Whoopsie.

  “You guys have fun. I too, have a date tonight,” I boasted.

  “And who shall I say is the lucky guy?” he asked.

  “Nicholas Wyles,” I hummed, spellbound.

  “Ah,” he replied, with a jealous-riddled tone.

  “Have fun tonight,” Marla chirped in the background.

  “I will. Talk to you guys later.”

  I rested my head on a pillow and, before I knew it, I was fast asleep. When I reopened my eyes and stretched out my limbs, I was surprised that it was a quarter to seven. It appeared as though I had repeatedly hit the snooze button on my phone and was running late. I jumped up from the couch and ran to the washroom to get prepped as quickly as possible.