We've Always Got New York

by Jill Knapp

  “Hi, it’s just going to be me, actually. My friend had to leave. I’m sorry,” I gave a weary smile.

  “That’s okay,” she said, completely apathetic to the situation. “Your food will be right up.”

  Within seconds, a food runner came over with my veggie burger and I suddenly realized I was going to endure the awkward task of eating at a restaurant alone. I reached into my purse, hoping I had left my Kindle in there. I hadn’t. I cursed under my breath and then I realized there was one person who had seen Cassandra over the summer when I wasn’t here. Someone who could possibly give me some insight as to why she was acting so detached. I grabbed my phone out of my purse and scrolled through my contacts. The phone rang twice before he finally picked up.

  “Hello? Hey Aaron, it’s me! How are you?”

  Chapter 18

  Olivia

  “First test of the semester, babe. You ready for this?” Alex had his arm around me as we walked into the building. I felt like one of those old fifties couples that everyone wanted to be like. We had finally made up after his father left that night, and for the past few weeks we had been closer than ever. He was even joking about us moving in together last night before bed.

  “I think I studied just about enough to get a solid B+,” I answered with a nod.

  “That’s my girl,” he laughed. He pulled me in closer and whispered in my ear, “I bet you’ll get an A. You’re destined for greatness. Plus you look really hot in that skirt.”

  I impulsively grabbed his collar and pulled him in for a kiss. He kissed me harder, and we took a few steps backwards until we knocked into a wall. His hand softly slid up the bottom of my shirt and I felt a rush of excitement. A few undergrads made cheering sounds and I pulled away as soon as I noticed one of my professors out of the corner of my eye. I cleared my throat and reached for Alex’s hand.

  “Let’s get to class,” I smiled. “Before we end up skipping it entirely.” I was completely fine with everyone knowing Alex and I were in a relationship, but I didn’t want the entire school gawking at us.

  “Would that really be such a bad thing?” he winked and pulled me in closer.

  “I think if we want to graduate on time, it would be a very bad thing.”

  Alex kept giving me the eyes as we made our way to the elevator. I playfully shoved him and giggled and, without looking, I collided with Angela.

  “Sorry!” I felt my face turn red with embarrassment. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live,” she laughed, regaining her composure. “How are you guys? I haven’t seen you since the bar that night.”

  “We’re good,” Alex answered for me. His arm was still wrapped around my waist.

  “What about you?” I asked, suddenly remembering she left the party with Michael that evening. “Is there something going on between you and Michael? I know you said he was your date to the party.”

  “Well, I-” she started, but then noticed Alex looking right at her, obviously just as interested in her answer as I was. It was hard to notice with her dark complexion, but I could see just the faintest hint of embarrassment on her face. She straightened herself out and gave us a full smile. “I should go upstairs and go over my notes one more time before this exam. But Olivia, do you want to get lunch this weekend?”

  “Sure,” I answered. “Give me a call tomorrow and we’ll figure it out.” I was glad she asked me to hang out. It was about time we got some answers about what she and Michael were up to.

  Angela looked past us and then quickly said bye. I turned around and saw Amalia heading in our direction. By the time I looked back to say goodbye to Angela, she was already on the elevator, frantically hitting the door-close button.

  “That friend of yours is a little weird,” Alex muttered as Amalia came closer to us.

  “I’m starting to notice that too.”

  “Pretty soon we’ll be brunching on Sundays with her and Michael,” Alex whispered.

  “Shh. Don’t say that.”

  “Hey guys,” Amalia greeted us with a big smile. “Where did Angela go?”

  “Not sure,” I answered. “She had to run off. Why are you in such a good mood?”

  Alex hit the up button on the elevator and Amalia began to tell us about her date with Hayden and how he asked her to go bowling with him this weekend.

  “At Bowlmor?” Alex asked as we piled into the elevator.

  “I think so,” Amalia shrugged.

  “Then you should absolutely go,” he pressed the button for the third floor. “That place is awesome.”

  “It’s pretty cool,” I agreed. “It’s usually adult-only at night, and they serve interesting cocktails right to your lane. Unless you’re looking for reasons not to go out with him again?”

  “Go out with who again?” Michael materialized just as we were about to board the elevator.

  Amalia and I exchanged a quick glance and Alex went completely silent. Michael shifted his weight as he waited for someone to answer him.

  “Go out with this guy Hayden that I know,” Amalia finally answered. “We’ve only been on one date but he’s asked me to go to Bowlmor with him this weekend.”

  I squeezed Alex’s hand, a small way of telling him that I loved him and I was so glad we didn’t ever have to have awkward conversations like these.

  The elevator stopped at the third floor and we all exited together, Alex putting his hand in front of the door to make sure it didn’t close on any of us.

  “Sounds like fun,” was all he said. He walked straight toward the classroom and scanned it for an empty row.

  Amalia looked deflated. One wrong word from Michael and her whole demeanor had changed. I wondered when she was finally going to let him go.

  “Yeah,” she said with her head down. “It sure does.”

  “Almost as much fun as this exam’s going to be, Hastings!” Alex chimed in with an over-the-top smile. “I definitely think you’re going to turn it around this semester and surprise us all.”

  “You are so lucky you’re my friend’s boyfriend, Alex,” Amalia said through tight lips. “Or I’d be forced to hate you.”

  “Likewise,” he smiled.

  I lightly hit Alex’s shoulder and he defended himself by saying he was just joking.

  “Don’t you have your meeting with Dr. Greenfield when this test is over?” I turned to Amalia.

  “Don’t remind me,” she rubbed her temples. “I have my work-study papers all in order to give in to him. But I’m pretty sure I could have three letters of recommendation, a copy of my transcript from Rutgers, and a signed note from my mommy saying what I good student I am, and that man is still going to eat me alive later.”

  “Just don’t do your southern accent in front of him and you’ll be fine,” I chided.

  When we entered the classroom, I saw Angela sitting at a desk, going through her notes like she said she would be. Michael led the way and sat down next to her. Amalia seemed to tense up as he lowered himself into the chair. The rest of us followed and filled out the remaining seats in the fourth row.

  Before any of us could say another word, Dr. Greenfield walked down the row with a huge stack of papers in one hand and his old beat-up briefcase in the other. His T.A. followed him in complete silence, holding another large stack of papers. I could only assume those were our exam booklets. I felt a bead of sweat roll down my back.

  “Please clear your desks of all study materials,” Dr. Greenfield said loudly as he approached the lectern. “You have exactly one and a half hours to complete this exam. If you do not finish in the time allotted, then the questions you don’t answer will be marked incorrect. You may begin as soon as you receive your test booklet.”

  “First exam of the semester. Here we go,” I said, reaching in my bag for an extra pen. “Good luck everyone.”

  “Thanks, Olivia,” Angela nodded. “We should probably do a group-study session before the next exam.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Olivia,” Amalia mumbled, ignori
ng Angela’s comment. “I’m more nervous about my meeting with him after class.”

  “I heard he’s notorious for not giving out anything higher than an A-,” Alex said to all of us.

  “You’re all going to do fine,” Michael said, unexpectedly. “Just relax.”

  Amalia and I smiled at each other.

  “Thanks. Love you too, man,” Alex patted him on the back.

  We all started snickering and a few students turned around to look at us. I just shook my head and for a moment felt truly grateful to have these crazy people as my friends. I looked over at Alex and felt a warm fuzzy feeling that I could only identify as love. Finally, things were back on track.

  “Okay,” I said, receiving the test booklet from the T.A. “I’m ready.”

  Chapter 19

  Amalia

  “Believe it or not, I think I may have aced this one,” Olivia declared as she handed her finished test booklet back to the T.A. “Want to go grab a drink and celebrate, babe?”

  “Absolutely,” Alex said with a wink. He and Michael were both in good spirits. I could tell they were thinking the same thing as Olivia. That the test was a piece of cake. Which only left myself and Angela, who was currently just staring at the floor at this point, in the minority. I almost felt sorry for her. She might have even done worse than I had.

  Just as the last student handed in their finished exams, I stood up and gathered my belongings.

  “Hey,” Michael lightly touched my arm. “I don’t have any other classes left today, do you want to get a cup of coffee when you get done talking to the professor?”

  I paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. I glanced over at Angela to gauge her reaction, but she was still immobile. Before my brain could say no, my mouth told him I’d meet him at Grounded in an hour.

  “That’s on Jane Street, right?” he asked.

  I looked back at him. His dark eyes flickered in the dimly lit classroom. He gave me the smallest hint of a smile as he waited for me answer. Why did he always have to look so sexy?

  “Yes,” I stammered. “See you in a bit.”

  I silently kicked myself for saying yes, but as soon as I approached the front of the room, a new fear set in. Dr. Greenfield was already packed up and waiting for me. It seemed my two-second conversation with Michael had been holding him up. His lips were pressed into a straight line, and as I stopped directly in front of him, he dramatically checked his watch.

  “Ms. Amalia Hastings,” he dragged out my full name in a long drawl.

  “Yes, professor,” I nodded. I fiddled with the clasp on my bag for a second, and his eyes immediately darted over to my hand. This man didn’t miss anything.

  He narrowed his eyes and stood up a little straighter. He was wearing black slacks and a grayish-green tweed jacket with brown patches over the elbows. His gait was strong and he held his head high. “Alright. Follow me,” he motioned for me to start walking. We walked out of the classroom and about ten feet down the hallway until we reached a tucked-away strip of offices. The corridor was narrow, and from what I could see, had about six or seven offices inside. We were immediately greeted by a perky receptionist at the entrance, but Dr. Greenfield passed by her without so much as a grunt. I glanced around the doors of the offices and noticed the names of two of my professors from last year. This must be where they all went when they were hiding from us. He led me to his door, which was the last one in the corridor. It was set back, away from the receptionist and away from any windows. For a moment I felt sorry for him and wondered if he got lonely back here. As he fiddled with his key to unlock the door, I felt my phone buzz in my bag. Dr. Greenfield shot me a look and I let out a sharp, breathy laugh. “I’m sorry! I’m turning it off,” I said, holding down the power button.

  Entering his office, I took a quick look around. It was musty, obviously due to the lack of fresh air, but apart from that it was in pristine condition. There was a red Persian rug on the floor to make the room cozier. Perfectly hung abstract art decorated the plain-white walls. On a small desk was a coffee-maker that was completely cleaned out. I wondered if he ever even used it or if he was so fastidious that he cleaned it after every pot he made. A single mug sat next to the coffee machine with the words Yale Alumni printed on it. I looked around his office some more and noticed his diplomas. He not only went to Yale for undergrad, but he had obtained his doctorate there also. I felt myself nod and realized that I should probably stop being afraid of this man and start listening to whatever it was he had to say. Dr. Greenfield ran his hand over his desk, unaware of my snooping.

  “Do you have you work-study forms?” he asked, breaking me out of my daze. He took a seat behind his large, wooden desk and I scrambled to sit down in the black-leather chair that was positioned across from him.

  “Yes,” I said, trying to sound professional. “I have them right here.” I reached into my computer bag and pulled out a plain manila folder, which housed most of my loose papers. As I handed them to Dr. Greenfield, he made an unidentifiable sound.

  “Is everything alright with them?” I suddenly wondered if I forgot to fill out the back page.

  “Yes,” he neatly placed them on top of a file on his desk, in between a clock and one of those sand-filled hourglasses. “Everything appears to be in order. Now we can start the interview.”

  I placed my bag on the floor, crossed my legs, and sat up as straight as possible. “I’m ready.”

  “Well, Amalia, there is no doubt you qualify for eligibility on my program,” he began. I knew that wasn’t a compliment, but I still took the opportunity to smile. “Having said that, what I am really interested in is why you want to be a part of my research team. I am hoping it isn’t merely to make a few extra bucks.”

  I tried not to laugh at the way he said the word bucks. I couldn’t tell if he was being ironic or not.

  “Well, sir, I have been reading up on the research you’re doing with Observational Learning, and I find myself drawn to it,” I announced. That was a lie. Sure I found it interesting enough, but I wouldn’t say it was calling out to me in my sleep. “I also haven’t gotten any research experience yet while I’ve been here at NYU, and I thought this research study would be a great opportunity for me.”

  Dr. Greenfield put his hands in the steeple position and rested his chin on top. He looked me up and down as he contemplated my response.

  “Tell me, Ms. Hastings, what is it that you want to do with your life?” he leaned forward in his chair.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Are you asking what I want to be when I grow up?”

  “I mean once you graduate with your Master’s degree, what do you want to do? Career-wise?” he continued, ignoring my joke.

  “To be honest with you, I haven’t settled on any one thing just yet,” I said. It was the truth. There were many aspects of my field that I found interesting, but nothing had really reached out and grabbed me. I knew I didn’t want to take any of the hard science classes, and the idea of being a therapist never really crossed my mind. I offered Dr. Greenfield a small smile. “But your class has definitely opened my eyes to the world of Social Psychology. Maybe one day I could become a professor like you.”

  He seemed utterly unimpressed with my answers. He merely kept glaring at me. Not that I expected a man with a degree from Yale to be impressed by the likes of me.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re at least starting to think about your future. Although most students here probably know what they wanted to do from the moment they first enrolled.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to keep my anxiety at bay.

  “If you are accepted in my research study, it will take up a good deal of your time.”

  “I know that,” I said with a nod. “I mean, I’m prepared for that.”

  Dr. Greenfield gave me a nod, followed by a long, hard look. I tried my best to smile, even though I was terrified of this man. Being in school as an adult is so much more complicated than wh
en you’re younger. Even just a few years ago, when I was at Rutgers, I felt completely comfortable with the pecking order. When you’re a child or a teenager, you just assume that your teachers know more than you. That they’re, in some way, better than you. You have to listen to and respect them because at the time you’re just a child and that’s what you’re taught. But when you’re obviously smart enough to be in graduate school and almost twenty-four years old, that respect for your teachers doesn’t come as easily as it did when you were sixteen and naive. You begin to look at things differently, the teacher needed to start earning your respect. And for the first time, you start to wonder why your teachers aren’t respecting you in return.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he stood up and held out his hand. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. I had no idea if I had impressed him or been an utter disappointment.

  “I hope to hear from you soon,” I shook his hand. He gave me a tight-lipped smile and I let myself out.

  As I exited the building, I turned my phone back on and was happy to see that the vibrating sound from earlier had been a text message from Hayden confirming our date for Saturday night. I felt an energetic rush when reading his message. Even though bowling wasn’t exactly my idea of a rocking Saturday night, I was more than willing to go out with Hayden again. I quickly replied and asked him if it was indeed Bowlmor in Union Square that he was referring to. He wrote back yes, confirming my suspicions. I instantly had a flash-back to my eleventh birthday party where I rolled nothing but gutter balls because my parents told me I was too old to use the bumper lanes. This was different, though. Something told me he wouldn’t laugh at me if I bowled terribly. So I bit the bullet and told him I’d love to go.

  Heading toward Jane Street, I scrolled through my text messages and emails to see if I had anything from Cassandra. There was nothing. I was still reeling from the way she acted at lunch, so callous and aloof. Like our entire friendship was just an afterthought to her. I didn’t want to let it slide, though, we had to talk it out. I opened my text messages on my phone and decided to compose a message.