5. Haven
Chapter 5
Haven
“Hey, you’re holding up the queue.”
I jerk out of my thoughts, glancing at the guy behind me. He rolls his eyes at me, and I snap my attention back to the cashier. The bored-looking girl glances down at my bottle of orange soda and then back at me.
“That all for you?” she drones.
“Uh, yeah, thanks.” I’m already smoothing out the rumpled bill I found in my jean pocket and handing it to her.
The food in the cafeteria smells fucking delicious. It looked even better. I walked past lasagne, pizza slices, mac ’n cheese, health rolls overflowing with lettuce and tomatoes. But despite my growling stomach, this crumbled bill is all I have on me at the moment. I’m hoping the sugary soda will see me through the rest of the day. I only have two more classes, so I should be fine.
Right?
The cashier hands me back much less change than I’d expected. At the impatient sigh of the guy behind me, I don’t hang around to make sure. I just move the hell out of his way.
A low drone fills the cafeteria.
Students chatting to each other or on their phones. Chairs and cutlery scraping.
I twist open my soda cap and take a few big slugs as I work my way toward an empty seat. Two sets of large glass doors lead into what looks like a garden on the west side of the main building. They’re open to let in the last of the warm summer breezes we’ll be getting this year.
Winter comes early in Agony Hollow, and there’s always two to three weeks of heavy rains before fall sets in.
I should probably sit outside, but that means winding my way through a bunch of tables, and I’m really not in the mood to make eye contact with anyone?—
“Great,” someone mutters.
I’d been staring out at the garden, reaching to pull out a chair on automatic, but I stop at the sound of a voice a foot away from me.
It’s the redhead from Professor Rooke’s class. She has her phone in her hand, and she’d been reaching for the same chair as me.
We stare at each other a second before she says, “Share?”
I give her a quick nod, and we both pull out a chair and take a seat opposite each other.
Light glitters off the metallic thread on her designer top, the black fabric covered in gold doodles that look like abstract art. She’s not the first student I’ve seen wearing clothing I’d expect to see in a Wall Street investment firm.
I guess the kids around here dress for the CEO position they want, not the non-existent jobs they have.
She brushes invisible lint off her fitted beige slacks, glances at the soda in my hand, and then gives me a millisecond-quick smile. “Soda’s really bad for you,” she says, holding up her can of diet cola.
My bark of a laugh turns some heads, and heats my face. The redhead just shakes her head and takes a sip from her can.
“I’m Haven.” I twist my cap on, then off. On. Off.
“Melissa.” She holds out her can, and I tap my bottle against hers. Brown eyes immaculately slicked with gold eyeliner narrow at me. They’re almost exactly the same shade as her rust red dye job, and it looks intentional. “I don’t remember you from prep. You live out of town?”
I huff quietly to myself. Of course she doesn’t recognize me. People living in Hillside would rather pretend Riversiders don’t fucking exist. All we do is drain the economy and make them uncomfortable when they dare to venture down to the Agony River.
“I went to Ashwood High.”
Her eyes widen. “Huh.”
“Social Change Grant,” I say, because Melissa seems okay and I wouldn’t want her staying up all night wondering how the hell a lowlife like me ended up in a nice place like this.
“Ah.”
No wonder she’s only drinking cola for lunch. Limiting your communication to brusque sentences or single vowels must really cut down on energy consumption.
I put my books down on the table, trying to look comfortable, even if I’m not. Melissa’s eyes dart to my things. She uses a single finger to drag my pink STFU pad out from under Rooke’s spiral notebook. Then she turns it to face her.
“Hm.”
“What?”
She taps the notepad. “Cute.”
“Pink’s not really my color, but I had limited options.”
Melissa sighs. “This town fucking sucks. I order all my shit online. But like weeks ahead of time.” She rolls her eyes. “You know our postal system. Swear Mailman Bob’s a crack head.”
“His name’s Ted, and he’s definitely not a crack head.” I don’t mean to sound so harsh, the words just rush out of me like steam.
When she frowns, I hastily add, “But yeah, he’s hella sketchy.” She’s still frowning, forcing me to look away.
My eyes land on the notebook. The words ‘Activity Log’ are printed on the cover in white. “So what’s up with this? I zoned out when Professor Rooke was explaining it.”
“Yeah, Rooke…” Melissa sighs, her delicately arched eyebrows lifting as she swaps out my STFU pad for the black notebook our teacher gave me. “Fuck.” The last is almost a groan.
I suppress a laugh.
And here I was thinking what a fucking degenerate I am because I think my professor is hot.
Maybe every girl, and even some guys edging toward the more bi or pan-sexual side of the spectrum, has the same reaction. Why wouldn’t they? He’s so damn easy on the eyes, and then there’s that boatload of confidence bordering on arrogance.
He makes every guy I’ve ever known look like an awkward, hopeless teen or a sad, washed out man.
Except Kai.
Great. And he’s back in my head again.
But thank God Melissa starts talking, because I haven’t had nearly enough time to unpack that mess.
“You got what he said about defining cruelty?” She uses the tip of her nude, perfectly manicured fingernail to flip open the cover of the notebook.
“Yup.” That part of the lecture is embedded in my mind.
“Great.” She sounds relieved that she doesn’t have to explain it. “He wants us to record anything ‘cruel,’” her finger hooks into a mini air quote before she drags it down the lined page, “someone does, and then define it with the three Is.”
Her eyes meet mine as she sits back to sip at her cola. “Like him making such a big fucking deal about you being late.” Her eyes dart back to the book. “You could put that in there.”
I purse my lips, take a sip of soda, shrug. “Cruel? Really?”
“His intent was to embarrass you. I saw you blush. And you looked pissed.” She props her elbow on the table, counting off on her fingers. “Intent. Impact. I interpret that as cruelty. Don’t you?”
My mouth is open because I want to argue, but the words wither on my tongue.
She’s not wrong.
Fuck knows if I actually have the guts to record something like that in there.
“Thank you,” I say as she pushes the book back toward my side of the table. “I appreciate the help.”
She flashes me another smile. “Hope you ordered your textbooks. Mine only arrived this morning.”
“Textbooks,” I repeat woodenly.
What’s this dread feeling rising inside me?
“It’s on the coursework printout,” she says, waving dismissively. She counts off on her fingers again. “Human Evil, Kathleen Taylor. And Zimbardo’s Lucifer Effect.”
Well, that’s one mystery solved. Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed I won’t be delving into devilish hijinks this semester?
Melissa must pick up on my sudden panic, because she taps a fingernail against her can a few times before saying, “Try the library. They might still have copies.”
“Yeah, good thinking.” I take a quick sip of soda to wet my dry mouth. “I mean, at least just to tide me over until my shipment arrives.”
She quirks an eyebrow at this and then jumps when her phone starts blaring Taylor Swift’s Blank Space .
“God, I keep forgetting to change my ringtone,” she mutters, already standing as she takes her phone out of her sleek, boxy laptop bag and glances at it.
I watch her leave and hurriedly look away when I realize I’m staring. She sways like she’s wearing heels, but she’s in a pair of white mules.
Even if I had the money, I doubt I could pull off an outfit like hers.
I’d get ketchup all over it.
I sit around for a bit, doing some sneaky people-watching and Kai-spotting as students file in and out of the cafeteria. I even try to write in the Activity Log notebook, but I’m hesitant to make a mark on the page.
Since I don’t know when my next class is, I don’t know if there’s enough time for me to go to the library and find the books I need for Rooke’s class.
Then I remember the receptionist from this morning and jump up.
A freshman walking past me nearly drops her tray of food in surprise.
I guess I’m not the only one who’s all jittery. Although judging from the massive takeout cup of coffee on her tray, caffeine’s a suspect.
The receptionist has her back to me when I hurry to the help desk. The front door of the university is still open, and there’s a warm breeze pushing against me as I rap my knuckles on the polished wooden counter.
She swings around in her chair, glancing at me over the top of her glasses before smiling warmly. “Your ears must have been burning,” she says. “I was just talking about you.”
I laugh uneasily. “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
“Just a slight hiccup with your enrollment form, but that’s for me and your folks to worry about,” she warbles.
Folks?
“Hiccup?” My fingertips are tingling. “Anything I can help with?”
“Oh no. I just need your father to fill out an extra form. They always forget to include it in the grant package, heaven knows why.” She pushes away from her desk to collect the sheet the printer just spat out and uses her heels to pull herself back to her desk. “I’ve left him a message, so don’t you worry yourself, sweetie.”
She opens a folder branded with the college’s logo and slips the sheet of paper inside. There’s a small silver name plaque beside it lying on top of a yellow microfiber cloth. I guess she was busy cleaning it and, judging from the discarded candy bar wrapper nearby, got a little distracted.
Student Liaison
NORA
“There you are,” she says, plopping the thick folder down in front of me and patting it. “Everything you need is in there, dear.”
When I just stand there, she adds, “Was there something else?”
“Yeah…um…” I lick my lips, hoping the way my head is reeling has to do with low blood sugar and not panic. “See, my dad, he’s not in town at the moment.”
“Oh, it’s nothing urgent. As long as he gets it back to me before the end of the week, everything’s golden.”
“So, uh, what if he’s gone longer than that?” I sandwich the thick folder, my notepad, and my notebook against my chest. I really need to get a backpack.
Nora frowns. “Well, when is he coming back, sweetie?”
Never.
I swallow. “I’m not sure.”
“No problem. If you give me his email address, I’ll just?—“
“You know what? Why don’t you give me the form? I’ll make sure he signs it.”
Her brow furrows. “Won’t it be faster if I just emailed it to him?”
“He doesn’t have wifi.”
Nora giggles. “Where is he, the north pole?”
I wave away her question, stalling so I can think. “Pshh. Some…I dunno. Like spiritual retreat or something.”
“Ohhhh.” Nora’s eyebrows jump up. “One of those.”
“Yeah, but I’ll just, you know, fax it to him or something.”
She looks like she wants to keep arguing, but my orange soda is wearing off.
I slap a hand on the counter. “Let me do you this favor, Nora. You’ve been so kind to me on my first—“ I shrug “—well, second day. I’m going to save you the hassle of all that back and forth.” I scrunch up my face. “You don’t want to spend half an hour trying to convince a psychic guru that my dad has to emerge from his sweat tent to sign something for his daughter’s college.”
Nora grimaces. “No Siree Bob.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “All yours, sweetie.” She wheels her chair over to a filing cabinet and pulls out a stapled form from a drawer.
I take it with a smile, and vamoose before she can change her mind, heading for the library. I need to find a place to dump all this stuff so I can go through my enrollment packet and look at my class schedule.
As I go, I’m muttering to myself like a crazy person.
“Spiritual retreat? Guru?”
The smell of old books and lemon furniture polish hits my nose.
“Fucking sweat tent, Haven? Really?” I mutter to myself.
God, I’ve got to get better at lying. Maybe they’ve got something in the self-help section.
Lying for Dummies.
The Subtle Art of Not Telling the Truth.
Or, maybe even, How to Win Friends and Lie to Them.