Chapter 9 Malena
Malena
Istacked Winchester: A Student Anthology on top of the pile I’d gotten through.
The back of the Amherst Building was my favorite place to study.
Its west wing was a library and the rest of the building was dedicated to workspaces for the arts.
Between the wooden beams that stretched up the high ceilings, the smell of old books, and the muted amber light that shone through the stained-glass windows, the cathedral-like building was the right mix of cozy and uncomfortable to get solid studying done.
“Malena.” A voice lifted me from the stack. I looked up.
In a neatly ironed pencil skirt and matching merlot-colored blazer, President Packham’s presence cast a dim shadow over my study cubicle.
“Oh, hi.” Delight and surprise pulled my whisper up an octave.
Before her promotion last semester, Caroline Packham was the faculty advisor for the paper. She’d become a bit of a mentor to me, she’d also been the one to suggest my writing minor. I was used to seeing her at the paper, not in her new role as president.
“I’m here to finalize the plans for the president’s annual fundraising dinner in the atrium,” she explained, probably noting the confusion lining my forehead.
“The job of a university president is becoming increasingly less academic, I’m afraid.
” She observed my stack of books with a look of pride. “Research for the paper?”
“Yeah, working on my next feature.” I sat up a little straighter.
Since I’d already gone through the newspaper archives, I came here to look at historical texts.
I had a clearer picture of the different secret societies on campus.
There was Cloak I just didn’t agree with it. Not that it mattered.
“It’ll look good on my applications next year. And I need to study,” I repeated firmly, for the third time. Translation: I wasn’t going to miss my first Scroll & Ivy event.
A long sigh came through the line, an indicator that I hadn’t heard the end of her grievances. “Okay.”
She hung up.
Cora looked at me with a pitying smile. “Everything all right?”
I knew seeing my struggle made her thankful for her parents. They were the “what do you think?” kind of parents, while mine were the “what will people say?” kind.
“Just my mom being my mom.” I shrugged.
I handed my phone back to Cora and she swiped through more of the slightly blurry pictures I got from that night. “So, the catacombs are a real thing?”
“Wild, right?”
The warm September air gave way to a crisp breeze that whipped past us, and I took a deep, settling breath. Despite the phone call and my academic responsibilities piling up, I couldn’t wait for whatever came next.