by Shayn Bloom
“Yeah,” Gabriel says, staring into my eyes, “me too.”
“At least class was good,” I tell him weakly. “It distracted me from the pain for a while. Have you had class yet?”
Gabriel’s hands stretch out behind him, resting on the bench and holding his weight. “No. I’ve got one class and it’s once a week.”
I thought I was lazy. “Why only one?”
“I only felt like taking one,” he says, shrugging. “I have other business to attend to while I am here.” Turquoise eyes are hinting at something more, but his mouth isn’t following suit. Instead, his hand goes into the pocket of his green robes and pulls forth something that looks like a compass.
“What’s that?” I ask as Gabriel opens the device.
The thing looks exactly like a compass except that the needle is a long, sharp tooth. Its bottom, jagged edge is glazed in red. His brow furrowing, Gabriel studies the mechanism. Several moments pass with no answer.
“Well?” I follow up.
He gazes over at me, looking almost surprised I’m still here. “Oh, sorry. I was just studying this.”
“I know,” I say impatiently, “I was just watching you study it. What is it?”
“A Vampass,” Gabriel answers matter-of-factly. “Great for when you’re looking for certain types of people. One kind of person in particular, actually. Doesn’t work well with most others. A fantastic tool for us who need it.”
“What do you mean by ‘us who need it’?” I ask him.
“Nothing,” Gabriel says quickly, “forget I said it.”
“I can’t,” I respond.
His gaze hardens. “Try, at least.”
“Can I see that?” I ask, reaching for it.
Gabriel snaps the Vampass shut. “No,” he says, and deposits it back in his robes.
I stare at where I know it’s hidden, making a mental note to go through his robes at the first chance I get to investigate this device. Although the first time I may be able to go through his robes will be when –
“Okay,” Gabriel says, interrupting my thought stream.
I look up at him. “Okay what?”
“I’ll take you to the beach,” Gabriel allows, watching me closely. “But I have one condition.”
“Of course you do.”
“Don’t ask about the Vampass and don’t ask to see the Vampass. Clear?”
I nod again in ersatz solemnity. “I understand, sir.”
Turquoise eyes glisten. “But you can keep your cheek.”
* * *
Walking to my next class, I check my schedule on my phone. I have English 103: English Composition, next. The English class everybody has to take if they plan on graduating. This class is going to suck compared to Victorian Era Literature.
For one thing, I’ll be surrounded by a bunch of students who don’t want to be there – accounting and computer majors sighing their day away. For another, I’ll probably have to read the fucking Great Gatsby again. There’s at least a 98% chance of that occurring. Screw it – I’ll Wikipedia-plot-summary the sucker.
I take a seat in the full classroom, going out of my way to find a chair in the middle and by a window. I like being close to windows. Makes me feel like I can breathe better, even when shut. Students are glancing around with interest, but I’m not joining in. Only one person has the key to my thoughts.
Gabriel came out of nowhere back there. How did he do it? I wanted to ask him but he kept sidetracking me with his boyish charm. I can’t let that keep happening. If he begins to think he can control me I’ll be a goner. I must keep up. Must stay in the race. He can’t win.
Win what? my alter ego asks with a giggle. Your heart?
Shut up, I tell her. Shut up right now!
A tall man with a short white beard walks into the room. He’s nearly bald, unlike Dr. Renaus, and doesn’t offer the class a smile as he sits behind his desk. “Bonjour,” he begins, “Je m’appelle Dr. James. Enchante!”
Startled, I gaze around the room. Am I in the wrong class? But other students are looking as alarmed as I feel, and a moment later the professors’ eyes widen and he shakes his head.
“Desole! Excusez-moi,” he says. “There’s always one class where this happens at the beginning of term! I come back from teaching in France and the first thing I do is start by making a complete fool of myself. I beg your pardon.”
Nobody answers. We’re all too relieved we’re in the right class.
“My name is Dr. Christopher James,” Dr. James restarts. “I will be your professor for English 103. This class is about the basics in grammar and reading comprehension, because if you don’t have a solid base with those you won’t get very far. The syllabus is available online – I see no reason to waste paper when we don’t have to in this modern age. Has anybody read the syllabus?” Not a sound. “I thought not,” Dr. James says disapprovingly, “or else some of you are too afraid to speak up. That will change. You will be contributing to our in-class discussions if you expect a passing grade. In any case, the first book we will be reading, comprehending, and then discussing is The Great Gatsby.”
* * *
It’s now evening and I realize I have to eat something. Traipsing back to my dorm, I make a half-hearted stop at the dining hall. To my surprise I actually make it through the door. No fish today unfortunately, but there’s pasta, pizza, and Caesar salad. I bypass all of these and head for the breakfast section. Here a tiny refrigerator sits on the counter, its contents a clutter of yogurt and milk.
Opening the fridge, I grab a raspberry flavored yogurt. If I can get anything down it will be this. Grabbing a spoon and some tea from the beverage section, I make my way to a table by a window. I peel off the top of the yogurt container and begin to eat, feeling the soft cultures refreshing my stomach. It’s good. Momentarily, my nausea is at bay. Although how long that will last I can’t say.
I’m embarrassed to be eating alone. Looking around, I see that everybody seems to have a dinner pal. What am I supposed to do? Go join somebody’s table randomly? It’s only the first day and yet everybody seems to have made a friend. Sighing into my yogurt, I have a sip of tea. I wonder where Kiri is. Or why she hasn’t called to meet up.
Duh, you idiot, says my alter ego. You haven’t exchanged numbers yet!
Plus I’ve been gone all day so we haven’t had a chance to reconnect. I should ask her to breakfast or lunch.
Or somebody else… my alter ego hints. You know of whom I speak.
Finishing my yogurt, I put it aside and lean back in my chair.
I just don’t know. Gabriel makes me feel so many things. Attraction – that’s number one. I can so easily see his face in my mind’s eye, the white of his smile warming me like milk. Then there’s aggravation – that’s the other emotion he brings out in me. I’m annoyed he won’t tell me more about who he is and what the hell he’s doing here. He can’t be here to take a single class. I want to know what an Immag is, and a Vampass.
Geez, he hasn’t told me anything.
Not yet, Nora, says my alter ego. Not yet. Patience is your friend.
I think my friend is an empty plate, actually. I know I’ve eaten enough and I’m not stupid enough to attempt more. A yogurt is enough for me today. I’ll try more tomorrow. Leaving the dining hall, I make my way back to my dorm, my head still swimming in thoughts of Gabriel White.
I never asked him what class he’s taking. Hopefully it’s something he likes if that’s all he’s taking. Nor did we make specific plans as to when we’d go to the beach. We agreed we’d go but left it at that. I must shore up the ambiguity if I want it to happen. And I do, I really do. But Gabriel can’t know that.
* * *
“I had the most amazing day!”
Kiri is leaning against her desk, her bob cut swaying over her eyes. “I love my professors, Nora! My History of Rock & Roll teacher came to class barefoot, Nora. Barefoot! I knew we’d hit it off right away and we did. It’s a small class so there’s lots of discussion.
We were all talking about our favorite rock bands.”
I smile pleasantly as she goes on, only half listening. My thoughts are a scattered array of everything – Kiri, Gabriel, class, my dad… Fuck! I have to call Dad tonight. Or was he going to call me? I can’t remember.
“I’m a music major,” Kiri explains, gesturing to a large case on her bed. “I play the cello. I’m hoping they’ll let me into the orchestra. I mean, I think I’m pretty good…” She trails off for a second, swiping her bob to one side, her eyes bright and alive behind glasses. “What’s your major again?”
“English,” I remind her, taking a seat on my bed. For some reason I feel tired all of a sudden. It’s not like I worked hard today. Shit, I haven’t even done any studying yet. I can’t turn in already.
But your anxiety, my alter ego says. It’s been bothering you all day…
With some difficulty, I manage to ignore my alter ego and spend half an hour discussing classes with Kiri. But I can’t ignore my conscience when it comes nagging so I excuse myself to make the call. I have half a mind to do it tomorrow, but Dad is pretty serious about keeping up consistent contact. Mom, despite her tears, is flaky when it comes to calling.
Out in the hall, I dial Dad’s cell. Two rings and an answer like always.
“Nora.” Dad’s voice is warm. I’m already glad I called.
“Hi, Dad,” I say automatically. “How are you?”
His laugh is subtle. “It doesn’t matter how I am, Nora, what matters is how you are. I’m not the one away at school for the first time.”
“That’s true,” I say. “But I’m fine, really. Had a couple classes today. I have a couple more tomorrow. Looks like I’ll have a ton of reading to do, but nothing impossible. If I manage my time I should be okay. Anyway, how was your date?”
“Oh, that,” Dad says, his voice losing its confidence. “It was a date, Nora Rae. I always hated them, even back when your mom and I first started going out. One of the great things about marriage was not having to date anymore.” I can tell from his tone that he’s attempting at humor, but it’s not working. His heart is showing through.
“Is Mom alright?” I ask shyly.
I can almost see his characteristic shrug. “I suppose. Is she ever alright, Nora? Best as I could leave her yesterday. What a mess.”
I hope he’s talking about the whole situation and not just Mom.
“Why are we talking about me?” Dad asks. “How did this happen? What about you? Make any new friends? What’s that roommate like?”
I can’t fight off the image of Gabriel grinning mischievously beside me on a bench, the turquoise of his eyes burning into me. I gulp.
“Well?” Dad follows up.
“She’s really nice,” I say without thinking, my mind somehow operating on autopilot. “Her name’s Kiri and she plays the cello.”
“Ha, while you’re trying to sleep I bet,” Dad guffaws.
I grin despite myself. “No – uh – that hasn’t happened yet. But I think it would be peaceful. Might send me to sleep rather than keep me up.”
“I hope so,” Dad says, his tone quickening. “I’ve got a call coming, I should take it. It’s one of my suppliers. Lots of love, Nora Rae. Stay well and study hard.”
“Love you too, Dad,” I say.
“Oh, and expect a package from your mom and I. We teamed up for once and got you something cool. Treat the package carefully.”
Something cool? What could it be?
“Geez, thanks, Dad,” I say, winded. “Like – what is it?”
“Gotta run,” Dad says, and he hangs up.
Frowning, I gaze at my phone. I’m not even sure where to get packages here. There’s probably a post office in or near the student union, I could check there. Or just ask Kiri. Making a mental note to find out where my package will be waiting for me, I go back into my room to get ready for bed.
* * *
My first class today is English 301: The Art of the Essay. This class is going to be work, I can tell. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind writing essays. But it’s not like writing fiction, it’s not nearly as enjoyable. It seemed like my teachers in high school were competing to see who could put the most red ink on my pages.
Kiri is up and away before I open my eyes. This morning I have less time to fool around. No time for breakfast. I probably wouldn’t have been up to it anyway. My stomach is still in knots, I think it’s growing worse. Trying not to think about it, I make my way to the bathroom and hastily put my contacts in before showering. After my daily dousing of perfume I’m ready to go.
The rainless sky is a relief, but clouds still scatter the sky and cover the sunlight. Trying to ignore the pain in my stomach, I walk and check my schedule on my phone. Oh good – the building isn’t too far away. I’m not sure I’m in good enough health to walk very far, let alone eat anything.
The classroom is empty as I walk in. Once again I choose a middle seat by a window. I’m beginning to get stuck in my ways. I really shouldn’t. I’m too young to be this consistent. I pull a notepad and pen from of my backpack. Leaning back in my chair like a high schooler, I wait for class to begin.
The second person to enter the room is a boy – tall and muscular with dark, russet skin. His black eyes match his hair and T-shirt. I’m surprised when he comes and sits right beside me, his eyes never finding mine. Bizarre – the unspoken rule is to give everyone as much space as possible until room runs out.
I stare down at my notepad, taking in the soft parallel lines and the space for possibility between them. On my left I notice the boy with russet skin scratching the back of his neck. He taps the floor with his foot impatiently, his whole body seeming to pulse with static electricity. Restless.
“I hate writing essays,” he says, staring straight ahead for a moment after saying this before turning to look at me.
“Oh,” I say in response, surprised he’s speaking. “You should switch classes.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says, “I’m an English major. This class is required for English majors.”
Geez, he has fantastic, full maroon lips. They’re like rose petals waiting to be kissed.
“You should switch majors,” I tell him.
“Heh,” he says humorlessly. “Would if I could. I’m not good at anything else. I’m good at writing, I just don’t like it.”
“Oh,” I say again, at a loss for what to say. “I – I understand.” I don’t really, actually. “I’m also an English major. You weren’t in any of my classes yesterday, were you? I may not have noticed. I’m not the most observant person ever.”
The boy shakes his head. “Nope. I’m only taking one class.”
Geez, what is it with all these fucking slackers? Am I the only person on campus with a full schedule?
“Why just one?”
He shrugs, his dark eyes roving over me ceaselessly. “No reason, I just have other stuff to do and stuff. Activities and stuff. You know?”
“I suppose,” I lie. “One class sounds manageable.”
“Yeah, well,” he begins, looking tense all of a sudden, “I’m still stressed the fuck out most of the time. I have other things on my mind besides writing essays.”
I stare at him, utterly at a loss. It’s official – I picked the school with all the crazies and now I can’t leave. Not for three months, anyway. I’m fucked. Oh well – at least Kiri is pretty normal. Or I think she is. No sooner do I decide to ignore the boy for the rest of term than he stretches out a russet hand.
“Wolf,” he says, a crooked grin revealing perfect, sharp teeth.
Shaking his hand, I’m instantly stunned by his strength. He isn’t even squeezing me – I can just tell by touching him. “Nora Saynt-Rae,” I reply. “It’s good to meet you – uh – Wolf. That’s a strange name.”
“Mom had a sense of humor.”
“I can see that,” I reply.
“It’s short for Wolfgang.”
A flash of recognition. �
�That’s not so odd, then,” I tell him. “That’s like a real name. I’ve heard of it before.”
“Yeah?” Wolf asks, sounding doubtful. “Name a Wolfgang.”
“Wolfgang Petersen,” I tell him, not missing a beat. “I love The NeverEnding Story.”
“That’s a gimme,” Wolf says with a frown. “Name another.”
Oh shit.
I think hard. I think harder. I give up. “You,” I say, and I can’t stop a smile from splashing across my face. This boy has some serious charm despite my initial misgivings.
Still, my alter ego says, he’s an oddball.
True, I respond. A muscular, angst ridden oddball. Hot counts.
“Your mom was right in her choice of a name,” I tell Wolf. “Nothing humorous about it. It’s a good name.”
Wolf’s full maroon lips stretch in a smile. “No – trust me – she had a sense of humor. Because, well – I guess I can’t tell you that, can I?” he says, almost as if asking himself. I stare at him in utter confusion. “No,” he answers himself, averting his eyes to the ceiling, “can’t tell her that…”
He’s crazy. Goddamn it, why do all the cute ones have to be fucking insane?
The classroom door bangs open and two students enter. More follow, and before long there is hardly an empty seat. A man who looks like a professor enters. He appears to be in his forties with glasses and hair that’s still a sleek black. Briefcase in hand, he makes his way to the front of the class.
“Welcome to English 301 everybody,” he says, his demeanor demanding attention. The little amount of talking going on ceases. “I’m Dr. Tuten and you are students who are here to learn how to write an essay,” he deems, his eyes falling over the class as his hands open the briefcase. “Many of you may think you already know how to write an essay. I can assure you that you’re wrong.
“The essay is an art form,” Dr. Tuten continues, gazing around. “Get that into your heads because if you cannot, there is very little I can teach you. The essay is the greatest of the forms the written word can take. At once more erudite and concise then the novel and more punctual and realized than the poem, the essay is the finest vessel for any opinion about anything. It is nothing less than the highest, most learned art form humanity has ever engineered. And I will be teaching you how to craft it.”