LAILAH
EIGHT
On Sunday, I didn’t get anything done. I stayed in bed and felt like I died slowly.
Cami took pity on me and brought me food and ibuprofen to help with the pounding headache.
I think I drank a gallon of Gatorade and still felt like I was run over by a Mack truck.
I tried to work on my chemistry homework, but I just couldn’t focus on the words in the textbook, so I gave up.
Cami brought up her laptop, and we watched America’s Next Top Model and ate junk food all afternoon.
“You have a test in your chem class today, right?” Cami asked as we bussed our trays.
“She called it a quiz, but she made them all worth ten points each in the class. Professor Lark didn’t tell us how many there were either, saying that surprises were the spice of life.” I groaned.
“That’s just plain evil,” Cami said, linking her arm with mine as we walked to class.
“Oh yeah, I need to go to the library tonight after classes so I can look for that book you were telling me about,” I said.
“I have a family dinner tonight with my sisters, but I can come get you after I’m done if that works for you. That is, if you think you can find your way to the library on your own,” Cami teased.
“There are enough people on campus that I can stop and ask directions from if I need to. The map you made me really helps, though; you should add that to your skills. Cami: specialty map maker for the directionally challenged,” I said as if I were reading it off a blinking street sign.
“What is your last name? I should make sure they spell it right in the headlines.”
“It’s Whittemore,” Cami said offhandedly.
“Any relation to my psych teacher? Her last name is Whittemore, too,” I said jokingly.
Cami didn’t answer right away, so I stopped and looked down at her. “She’s my older sister; she’s one of the sisters I’m having dinner with tonight.”
“Seriously,” I said, shocked. “I was totally kidding when I asked that.”
“Yeah, I don’t like to talk about it much; people get weird when they know you’re related to a professor,” Cami said, shrugging. “Top that off with the fact that I grew up with the five guys that live in The Manor, and I make a lot of fake friends who just want something from me.”
“Except me, I couldn’t care less that you have a sister who teaches here, and I don’t really feel the need to use you to get to those five guys,” I pointed out.
“No, you seem to be doing just fine with that on your own.” Cami laughed, breaking the tension. “Come on, wouldn’t want you to be late for your ever-so-interesting freshman class.”
“You know you love all the stories I tell you. I can see the way you perk up whenever I talk about that branch-off group from the Knights Templar. I wonder if I can find more about the Elementi when I’m looking up stuff about the chapel,” I mused as we arrived at the building my class was in.
“Only one way to find out. Text me when you're done at the library, and I’ll come get you. You’ll be the perfect excuse if I need to leave dinner early,” Cami said, shoving me through the door.
My University 101 class flew by; we all spent the class researching our part of school history that we had picked out the week before.
I’d been intrigued by Ryevick’s bypassing of the church’s ruling by creating the chapel.
I was also curious to figure out why the church felt the need to monitor what the artist produced.
When the class ended, I walked up to Professor Phillips.
“Do you have a moment?” I asked.
“Of course, Lailah, what can I do for you,” he asked, setting down a stack of papers.
“I picked the chapel to research, and I just wanted to know if our library had books about it,” I inquired, not wanting to waste my night looking for something that wasn’t there.
Professor Phillips paused, scratching his chin.
“Yes, I do believe it should. It will be in the far back reference room. You need teacher permission to have access to those books since they’re one of a kind and very old.
Let me write you a note that you can give to the librarian. They should let you in no problem.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised that there would be such guarded books at the school. I should have known better though, this school was all about preserving its history. “Would this section also have any information on the Elementi?”
Professor Phillips paused in his writing and looked up at me, with a raised eyebrow. “Now, why would you want to know more about that?”
“I’m a huge sucker for history and a lover of fantasy.
I feel like with what little you mentioned about it, it sounds like a wonderful combination of both those things.
I just figured if I was already back there, I might take the opportunity to find out more.
” I was feeling shy at admitting my curious mind.
“If there is anything more about them, that would be one of the only places available for you to find something,” Professor Phillips said a little cryptically, handing me the note for the librarian.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it,” I said, bobbing my head in thanks.
I looked down at my watch and realized I was running behind for my psych class.
I hurried down the hall and took the covered walkway across to the other building.
I managed to slip in a few minutes late but didn’t draw any attention to myself.
Professor Whittemore was typing away at her computer, pulling up the slides we would be going over today in class.
I looked at her with new eyes knowing that she was Cami’s sister.
Nona Whittemore was just slightly taller than Cami; they had the same bright-green eyes, but Nona wore large round glasses.
I bet if Cami didn’t bleach her hair white, it would be the same honey-brown color as Nona’s.
For as much as Cami cared for her appearance, Nona did not; her clothes were rumpled and looked like they might have been slept in.
“Okay, class. Today we’ll be going over the study we’ve been following. Have any of you figured out the objective they settled on for this experiment?” Professor Whittemore asked.
“They’re doing a study on lying,” one student called out.
When she didn’t react to that answer, others started to call out their ideas as well.
“It’s about cheating to get ahead.”
“No, I think it’s about how lying can get you places, what power it can give you.”
“No, that was the original objective, but it changed once they got started.”
Professor Whittemore held up her hand at this last guess, cutting off the rest of the answers. “You are correct in the fact that they started out with one objective, some of you named elements of it, but failed to grasp the whole idea.”
While the rest of the students murmured amongst themselves, I went over the notes on the videos; then I saw it.
Underlined in my notes, I saw the answer Professor Whittemore was looking for.
I had been so intrigued by the idea that I made a note of it.
Taking a deep breath, I raised my hand and waited for her to notice.
She looked up at me, pushing her glasses up her nose and gave a little smirk, or at least I thought it was one before her face went neutral again.
“You think you know the answer?” she called out to me.
I nodded my head, and she motioned for me to go ahead.
“The study started out about lying to get ahead, but when they got further into the study, they decided they cared more about why they lied. What drove them to use that tactic to get what they wanted. They wanted to understand the human brain and what effect it had on it when they lied.”
Professor Whittemore clapped her hands once, leaping back to her desk in excitement. “Yes! These scientists and psychologists wanted to know what lying did to the human brain.”
She flipped to the first slide and started going into the chemical changes that happened when someone lied.
I was riveted, seeing how something we all do without even realizing it changed the way we thought and what was real.
Some people lied so much that their lies became a reality to them.
Others, in extreme cases, got sick over the guilt of lying, unable to keep the truth hidden.
Some said that when they lied, it felt like they were hypnotized or possessed into saying it.
Overall, I was pumped to follow this case study.
Once psych was over, I had enough time to head to the coffee shop and get a pick-me-up chai before my Organic Chem class.
I passed a bulletin board that had ads all over it for tutors in various subjects.
I looked over all of them and was shocked at the price of a one-hour session.
Do all tutors charge? Does the school have any on staff who will help struggling students?
I chewed on my lip absently while I looked over the board one more time to see if I missed any.
“Would you look at that? The charity case is getting overwhelmed and needs help. Too bad, she can’t afford it,” a girl walking out said to a friend.
“Maybe she should have picked an easier school to go to; elite schools are for elite students,” her friend responded.
I tried to shake it off as I walked up to the counter to order my drink. Clearly, it didn’t work because the barista gave me a sympathetic look. “Don’t mind them. They get catty any time one of The Manor boys takes an interest in a girl. It will stop once they move on to someone else.”
“That’s stupid, I didn’t ask for them to talk to me,” I complained. “What gives them the right to get upset anyway? Why don’t they make an effort to get to know the guys instead of torturing innocent people like me?”