The Elite, page 4
Trey swigged his beer. “Might cheer ya up to know a certain Miss Annie is right down the hall...”
Devon perked up like an excited dog. “Is she alone? I mean--”
“Did she come with someone? Didn't ask. You want me to find out? Maybe ask what color panties she's got on? Cup size?”
“Ha.” Devon put the beer aside and walked into the hall, feeling a pat on his back from Trey.
“Go get 'er.”
Annie was at the end of the crowded hall. Two girls, both gorgeous in their own right—now all but invisible to him—stood beside her. She smiled that beautiful smile when she saw him.
“Devon!” she said, excusing herself from her friends and rushing over. “I didn't know you knew Trey!”
Devon played it cool as best he could, despite his rising heartbeat. “Oh hell yeah, we go way back.”
“Really?”
“Yup, almost three days now.”
She laughed. Laughing was good. Even better, no guy had stepped up to introduce himself as her boyfriend. Not yet, anyway.
“Get you a beer?” Devon said.
“A soda would be good.”
He stepped aside and raised his arm like a maitre D guiding a lady to her table. “This way, please.”
She tilted her head back, matching his own grandiose gesture with her own. “Why thank you, good sir.”
Back at Trey's dorm Devon was pleased to see there were still plenty of Coke's left in the cooler. He grabbed one for himself as well; no sense in getting drunk and slurring his words, not when he had her to talk to.
“Thank you,” she said, cracking it open.
“So what did that asshole Murphy say to you?”
“Just the usual,” she said, taking a sip. “Says I have to score better on the next essay or I won't get full credit. And without full credit, I won't pass his class. And if I don't pass his class...”
“What a load of crap.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice trailing off. It found strength again with a new topic. “So how the heck did Trey get all this together? I had no idea he knew so many people. Seems a bit quiet, ya know?”
“Probably had a lot to do with the free beer sign outside.”
Another laugh. “So what're we toasting to?”
It took Devon only a second to figure that one out. “To new beginnings.”
They clinked their cans together and took a sip.
“Ya know, I could probably help you with that next essay. I happen to be an English major...and, well to be honest, sticking it to Murphy would make my day. If you want, I mean.”
“Oh,” she said, checking back over her shoulder, “Yeah, maybe. Listen, I'm actually here with a friend...so I should probably get back.”
Friend. Not boyfriend, or girlfriend. Just friend. “That's cool. She want a soda?”
Annie's shoulders slouched and her smile wilted like a dying flower; she knew what she said next would hurt. “Uh, no. I don't think he does.”
He.
Devon faked a smile. “That's cool. And here I was trying to hit on ya!”
She laughed again, but it was a fake one to make him feel better. “Well gosh, how sweet! Listen, it was good seeing you, okay? Don't be a stranger.”
She gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and left.
“Saw that comin,” Devon said to no one but himself. It was then that Trey, having overheard the conversation, walked back in.
“Dude, I had no idea.” he said, putting a hand on Devon's shoulder before giving him a good slap on the arm. “But hey, lots of fish--”
Devon ignored him, having heard the fish in the sea line one too many times. He walked back into the hall, hoping for a glimpse of the mystery man. He found him by following Annie as she walked through the crowd. She threw her arms around her boy-toy and planted one right on his lips.
Son. Of. A. Bitch. He was one of the football players, as evidenced by the varsity letters he wore on his jacket. A big one too. Pretty-boy wavy hair, pretty-boy blue eyes, and pretty-boy clear skin. He was the kind of guy that would pants you in the locker room for a laugh. A guy you didn't dare argue with lest you meet the business end of those arms that looked more like sleeves wrapped around bowling balls.
“Curt Myers,” Trey said. “Dude's such an asshole even Tri Zeta doesn't want him.”
Loverboy kissed her right back, picked her up, and twirled her around. Christ, it was like he hadn't seen her in years, Devon thought. Then he felt like puking.
He hated Curt before he even knew him.
At some point, he couldn't quite remember when, he'd made his way down to the lobby. There he sat on the sofa, staring at the television as The Facts of Life droned on completely unnoticed. Beer number nine was in his hand. He took one sip, two, three—just not enough. He wanted liquor, but beer was all he had. Who the fuck drinks Coke? Well, Annie. Awesomely sweet Annie. And he couldn't be mad at her.
Of course she had a boyfriend. How could she not? She was gorgeous! A girl like that went one, maybe two weeks without a guy. Either she had a few on standby, or she met one at the first club she went to.
“Not the end of the world, man.”
Devon raised an unsteady gaze over his shoulder to see Trey standing there, offering him beer number ten. For a second he considered refusing it, but then came that strange urgency to hurt himself a little bit more. True alcoholics knew the feeling well; a masochistic desire to no longer drink pain away, but to self-inflict more. He took the can and let the empty one drop to the carpet.
“You talked to her once, right?” Trey said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Big deal.”
Devon shook his head. “Wanna go home.”
“Where's home?”
“Connecticut. Little town called Stratford,” but his words were slurred. Trey couldn't be sure if he said Stafford or Stratford.
“I know how it is. You get used to a way of life, and then wham, everything changes. Shit, I've been there myself. I was the picture of happiness until I turned eleven, then my dad took off. Don't know where, and don't know why. Suddenly everything just changed. But ya know what? You adapt. You accept the change and move on.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Shit. Bryerson might be a little isolated, but there's lots of good shit here. If you're gonna get all drama queen over one girl, maybe there's no helping ya.”
But it wasn't one girl, not really. Devon had been here before. The last time it was a girl named Callie. A cute blonde, eighteen, with golden hair that hung halfway down her back. They'd gone to the prom together, shared more than a few dances, but that was it. Two days later Devon had called her to ask her out, and she answered the phone sounding short of breath. He said hi, asked if she was all right, and then heard a guy asking her who she was talking to. She hung up a second later.
“Fuck it,” Trey said. “Do whatever you want.”
What if Devon didn't want to change? Sitting there, his bladder so full his stomach hurt, his head spinning, all he wanted was to call his mom and get the hell out of there. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe the alcohol was just showing him the way he really felt. He didn't know, nor care. A part of him was even angry with Trey for having the damn party, but thankfully he recognized those thoughts as alcohol-induced delusions. Trey was a friend, and you don't turn on your friends.
“Here's to ya, Trey,” Devon said, raising his can.
Trey tapped his beer can against the one Devon held, but now regretted giving it to him. His breath reeked of beer, and his face was a pale white. Puking was almost certainly in Devon's future.
Behind them the elevator doors opened and Annie emerged with two of her lady friends. They were laughing, having shared an inside joke on the ride down. Annie, however, fell silent when she saw Devon sitting in the lobby.
“I'll be right back,” she said.
Trey saw her coming and figured it was time for him to go. He gave Annie a brief smile, followed by a quick glance to Devon. It was a look of warning.
“Devon?” Annie said.
Startled by her voice, he looked back at her. “Oh, hey. I was just talkin to Trey.”
“I'm sorry if I upset you.”
“Upset me?” he said, swiping his hand at the air like it was no big deal. “Nah, just had a bit too much to drink. Kinda embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Listen, if you're still willing to help me with that essay...”
The elevator opened again. This time it was Curt who exited.
“Sure,” Devon said. “I'll do what I can.”
“Cool. Here.” She then grabbed a Sharpie from a nearby end table, took his hand, and scrawled her phone number on his palm. “Give me a call, okay?”
Devon looked at his open hand, and the number written there. “Kay.”
Curt grabbed Annie by the arm and yanked her back. “Annie? Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, clearly startled. “Everything's fine.” The response caused Curt to squeeze her arm even tighter.
“Yeah? That why you gave him your number?”
Devon saw Curt's knuckles turning white. If he squeezed her arm any tighter, hell, he might snap it.
“Curt, come on, he's just helping me with my essay--”
Curt looked at Devon, his face calm, almost ice cold. “That all, kid? You just helping my girl with her essay?”
Devon was on his feet, and now a whole lot more sober than he had been. “Yeah, that's all,” he said, fearing anything else would result in Annie having a broken arm.
“You guys getting together sometime this week?”
“Don't have to. No big deal.”
Curt loosened his grip, but did not let go. His expression was calm, and totally in control, but Devon could see he was a pot ready to boil over.
“Good. Glad you see things my way, kid.”
“Curt, please,” Annie began, but Devon raised a hand to stop her.
“It's fine. I'm sure Curt here can help you. Dude must know a lot about Shakespeare.”
Curt got in his face. “What'd you say, shit stain?”
“I said you probably know a lot about the Bard. Course, she actually has to write this essay, so it's probably best if you don't break her arm.”
Curt's lips curled back like a snake about to strike. “Cute,” he said, “real cute,” and nothing more. It was then Curt's hand turned into a fist and struck Devon's jaw with the force of a medicine ball. Knocked off his feet, Devon fell onto the couch with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
“Curt!” Annie shouted, but he paid no attention to her. The crowd that had gathered stood back, forming a circle around them.
Devon spat blood on the rug. His gums were sore and his whole head pounded like a snare drum. If nothing else, Curt had succeeded in punching the drunkenness right out of him. “Nice one,” Devon said, wiping the blood from his lips. “Best sucker punch I've ever seen.”
“Stay down, kid.”
But Devon wouldn't. In fact, he came back strong. In an instant he was off the couch and had delivered a roundhouse punch to Curt's jaw. That was followed by a jab to his stomach, and one third and final punch to his chin. Curt was stunned, nearly knocked off his feet by this scrawny little teenager.
“Whatcha got man?” Devon asked, all but ignoring Annie's pleas for them to stop.
Curt stood his ground and swung the blow that sealed the deal. A punch right to the chin that put Devon down for the count. His body fell to the floor like a potato sack, and there stayed motionless.
“Lesson learned, smartass.”
“Curt,” Annie said, her eyes watery with tears. “Leave him alone.”
“I will,” he said, then delivered a kick to Devon's ribs. Devon's body curled into a fetal position on impact. Curt grabbed Annie's arm again. “Don't ever give your number to anybody. Got me?”
Annie kept her head down as Curt dragged her out of the lobby like a misbehaving child. With their exit the crowd began to disperse, but Trey knelt beside his fallen friend.
“You need a doctor, man?”
Devon spat out more blood. His head was lost at sea, the world a white blur. He might have been hit by a car for all he knew. But no. No doctors. Doctors would ask questions. Questions would bring trouble. Trouble his mother would hear about. All he could do was mutter a very faint “no.” When he tried to get to his feet, Trey insisted he stay down, and keep his head elevated.
That was a bad day for Devon Jay. In retrospect, it would prove to be one of the better ones.
FOUR
A week passed. The leaves on the trees around Bryerson began their slow transition from green to orange as they withered in the cooler temperatures. Devon spent most of this time to himself, lounging in his room, skipping class, and drinking beer. He had yet to unpack, so whatever clothing he'd worn found itself strewn about the floor, mixed in with the clean clothes he had yet to remove from his suitcase. Why bother, he thought, was he really going to stay here long? Christ, he'd been here less than a month and already had a serious fight. What were his chances?
Feeling defeated, he grabbed the phone and dialed his mother.
“Hey there, college guy!” she said, her voice sounding a thousand miles away through the hissing connection. “Didn't expect to hear from you so soon.”
He spoke carefully, not wanting his swollen lip to slur his words. “How ya been, mom?”
“Good,” she said, but said this with hesitation. “Is something wrong?”
He took a moment to consider what he should say. “...everything's fine. Just missed ya.”
“It's Friday. I'm surprised you're not out living it up.”
“Nah, little tired.”
They talked for an hour, and through the phone Devon could hear the sounds of home. Pans clanging, blinds fluttering in the wind; he could almost smell the roast beef in the oven, and hear the fireplace crackling in the den. When the conversation winded down, his mother could still sense something was off. Maybe Devon had a bit too much to drink, or maybe he really was just tired, but something was wrong with his voice.
“You're sure everything's okay, Devon?”
There was a moment when Devon was going to confess. He wanted to, almost thought he needed to—but for what purpose? To allow his mother to comfort him, or entice her to drive out there, pick him up, and bring him home? Failure that he was...
No.
“Everything's fine! Just wanted to say hi.”
He could almost hear his mother's sigh of relief over the phone, but it could have been the sizzling of the roast beef. “Any lucky ladies?”
“No,” he said. “No lucky ladies.”
He hung up and pulled the covers over his head, but sleep would not come. His thoughts were consumed by assholes in sunglasses and football players running off with the girl...
He crawled out of bed at 7:30 a.m. to a knock at his door. He clambered out of bed, peeked through the peephole, and was greeted by Annie's face on the other side.
“Devon?” she said, her voice muffled through the door. She knocked again.
“One sec,” he said, twisting the lock. When the door opened she saw his face looked no better today than it had the night he was knocked to the floor. Swollen and bruised purple around the jawline.
“Hey,” she said, initially turning away but forcing herself to look him in the eye. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry about Curt...and I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner.”
“No need. I ran my lip, and my lip got split. Not the first time, trust me.”
“Still...”
“Listen. I know I'm crossing a line here, but why do you put up with that guy? The dude looked like he was ready to strangle you.”
“I know, but he's not always like that,” she said, but sounded like even she didn't believe her own words. “...listen, I know you probably won't want to help me with that essay, but--”
“I'll help you,” he said. “Hell, it'd be my pleasure. Mind if we work on it over here though? Don't think your boyfriend's figured out where I live yet.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Would you mind if a bruised dude walked you to class?”
“I'd be honored,” she said, and now smirked. “Might want to put on some pants, though.”
Devon's eyes shot downward when he realized he was still in his boxers. “Ah!” he said, pushing the door shut so it was open only a crack. “Just woke up!” he said, his face tingling with embarrassment.
In the hall, Annie grinned. “Not a problem.”
The walk across campus was a tense one for Devon. Sure, for the most part they were two anonymous faces in a sea of people, but he felt like they stood out. Like that small zit on your face that only you notice, he was sure everyone was staring at them. It felt like Curt could see them everywhere they went...and if he happened upon them, what then?
He didn't, but class went by slower than usual. Professor Murphy looked more like a conductor before a disobedient symphony as he lectured, his hands waving about wildly. Devon found it rather amusing, at least when he was actually paying attention. The rest of the time, his eyes were on Annie. She chewed the eraser of her pencil and would occasionally look at him and smile.
“And that,” Murphy said, his voice again thundering through the hall, “brings us to the end of yet another examination of the works of the world's greatest poet, William Shakespeare.”
Class was over and almost instantly the aisles were filled with students on their way out. Devon made his way down to Annie.
“Hey,” she said, “boring as usual, huh?”
“Actually I thought the part about Hamlet was pretty riveting.”
“...he talked about Macbeth.”
“Ah.”
Annie was about to laugh when she heard her name called. “Ms Salm!” Murphy again. Always fucking Murphy.
“Yes?”
“My office, please?”
Annie gave Devon a saddened look. “See ya later?”
“Yeah, but--”
She was gone, and with absolutely no explanation of what Murphy wanted.
Devon perked up like an excited dog. “Is she alone? I mean--”
“Did she come with someone? Didn't ask. You want me to find out? Maybe ask what color panties she's got on? Cup size?”
“Ha.” Devon put the beer aside and walked into the hall, feeling a pat on his back from Trey.
“Go get 'er.”
Annie was at the end of the crowded hall. Two girls, both gorgeous in their own right—now all but invisible to him—stood beside her. She smiled that beautiful smile when she saw him.
“Devon!” she said, excusing herself from her friends and rushing over. “I didn't know you knew Trey!”
Devon played it cool as best he could, despite his rising heartbeat. “Oh hell yeah, we go way back.”
“Really?”
“Yup, almost three days now.”
She laughed. Laughing was good. Even better, no guy had stepped up to introduce himself as her boyfriend. Not yet, anyway.
“Get you a beer?” Devon said.
“A soda would be good.”
He stepped aside and raised his arm like a maitre D guiding a lady to her table. “This way, please.”
She tilted her head back, matching his own grandiose gesture with her own. “Why thank you, good sir.”
Back at Trey's dorm Devon was pleased to see there were still plenty of Coke's left in the cooler. He grabbed one for himself as well; no sense in getting drunk and slurring his words, not when he had her to talk to.
“Thank you,” she said, cracking it open.
“So what did that asshole Murphy say to you?”
“Just the usual,” she said, taking a sip. “Says I have to score better on the next essay or I won't get full credit. And without full credit, I won't pass his class. And if I don't pass his class...”
“What a load of crap.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice trailing off. It found strength again with a new topic. “So how the heck did Trey get all this together? I had no idea he knew so many people. Seems a bit quiet, ya know?”
“Probably had a lot to do with the free beer sign outside.”
Another laugh. “So what're we toasting to?”
It took Devon only a second to figure that one out. “To new beginnings.”
They clinked their cans together and took a sip.
“Ya know, I could probably help you with that next essay. I happen to be an English major...and, well to be honest, sticking it to Murphy would make my day. If you want, I mean.”
“Oh,” she said, checking back over her shoulder, “Yeah, maybe. Listen, I'm actually here with a friend...so I should probably get back.”
Friend. Not boyfriend, or girlfriend. Just friend. “That's cool. She want a soda?”
Annie's shoulders slouched and her smile wilted like a dying flower; she knew what she said next would hurt. “Uh, no. I don't think he does.”
He.
Devon faked a smile. “That's cool. And here I was trying to hit on ya!”
She laughed again, but it was a fake one to make him feel better. “Well gosh, how sweet! Listen, it was good seeing you, okay? Don't be a stranger.”
She gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and left.
“Saw that comin,” Devon said to no one but himself. It was then that Trey, having overheard the conversation, walked back in.
“Dude, I had no idea.” he said, putting a hand on Devon's shoulder before giving him a good slap on the arm. “But hey, lots of fish--”
Devon ignored him, having heard the fish in the sea line one too many times. He walked back into the hall, hoping for a glimpse of the mystery man. He found him by following Annie as she walked through the crowd. She threw her arms around her boy-toy and planted one right on his lips.
Son. Of. A. Bitch. He was one of the football players, as evidenced by the varsity letters he wore on his jacket. A big one too. Pretty-boy wavy hair, pretty-boy blue eyes, and pretty-boy clear skin. He was the kind of guy that would pants you in the locker room for a laugh. A guy you didn't dare argue with lest you meet the business end of those arms that looked more like sleeves wrapped around bowling balls.
“Curt Myers,” Trey said. “Dude's such an asshole even Tri Zeta doesn't want him.”
Loverboy kissed her right back, picked her up, and twirled her around. Christ, it was like he hadn't seen her in years, Devon thought. Then he felt like puking.
He hated Curt before he even knew him.
At some point, he couldn't quite remember when, he'd made his way down to the lobby. There he sat on the sofa, staring at the television as The Facts of Life droned on completely unnoticed. Beer number nine was in his hand. He took one sip, two, three—just not enough. He wanted liquor, but beer was all he had. Who the fuck drinks Coke? Well, Annie. Awesomely sweet Annie. And he couldn't be mad at her.
Of course she had a boyfriend. How could she not? She was gorgeous! A girl like that went one, maybe two weeks without a guy. Either she had a few on standby, or she met one at the first club she went to.
“Not the end of the world, man.”
Devon raised an unsteady gaze over his shoulder to see Trey standing there, offering him beer number ten. For a second he considered refusing it, but then came that strange urgency to hurt himself a little bit more. True alcoholics knew the feeling well; a masochistic desire to no longer drink pain away, but to self-inflict more. He took the can and let the empty one drop to the carpet.
“You talked to her once, right?” Trey said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Big deal.”
Devon shook his head. “Wanna go home.”
“Where's home?”
“Connecticut. Little town called Stratford,” but his words were slurred. Trey couldn't be sure if he said Stafford or Stratford.
“I know how it is. You get used to a way of life, and then wham, everything changes. Shit, I've been there myself. I was the picture of happiness until I turned eleven, then my dad took off. Don't know where, and don't know why. Suddenly everything just changed. But ya know what? You adapt. You accept the change and move on.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Shit. Bryerson might be a little isolated, but there's lots of good shit here. If you're gonna get all drama queen over one girl, maybe there's no helping ya.”
But it wasn't one girl, not really. Devon had been here before. The last time it was a girl named Callie. A cute blonde, eighteen, with golden hair that hung halfway down her back. They'd gone to the prom together, shared more than a few dances, but that was it. Two days later Devon had called her to ask her out, and she answered the phone sounding short of breath. He said hi, asked if she was all right, and then heard a guy asking her who she was talking to. She hung up a second later.
“Fuck it,” Trey said. “Do whatever you want.”
What if Devon didn't want to change? Sitting there, his bladder so full his stomach hurt, his head spinning, all he wanted was to call his mom and get the hell out of there. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe the alcohol was just showing him the way he really felt. He didn't know, nor care. A part of him was even angry with Trey for having the damn party, but thankfully he recognized those thoughts as alcohol-induced delusions. Trey was a friend, and you don't turn on your friends.
“Here's to ya, Trey,” Devon said, raising his can.
Trey tapped his beer can against the one Devon held, but now regretted giving it to him. His breath reeked of beer, and his face was a pale white. Puking was almost certainly in Devon's future.
Behind them the elevator doors opened and Annie emerged with two of her lady friends. They were laughing, having shared an inside joke on the ride down. Annie, however, fell silent when she saw Devon sitting in the lobby.
“I'll be right back,” she said.
Trey saw her coming and figured it was time for him to go. He gave Annie a brief smile, followed by a quick glance to Devon. It was a look of warning.
“Devon?” Annie said.
Startled by her voice, he looked back at her. “Oh, hey. I was just talkin to Trey.”
“I'm sorry if I upset you.”
“Upset me?” he said, swiping his hand at the air like it was no big deal. “Nah, just had a bit too much to drink. Kinda embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Listen, if you're still willing to help me with that essay...”
The elevator opened again. This time it was Curt who exited.
“Sure,” Devon said. “I'll do what I can.”
“Cool. Here.” She then grabbed a Sharpie from a nearby end table, took his hand, and scrawled her phone number on his palm. “Give me a call, okay?”
Devon looked at his open hand, and the number written there. “Kay.”
Curt grabbed Annie by the arm and yanked her back. “Annie? Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, clearly startled. “Everything's fine.” The response caused Curt to squeeze her arm even tighter.
“Yeah? That why you gave him your number?”
Devon saw Curt's knuckles turning white. If he squeezed her arm any tighter, hell, he might snap it.
“Curt, come on, he's just helping me with my essay--”
Curt looked at Devon, his face calm, almost ice cold. “That all, kid? You just helping my girl with her essay?”
Devon was on his feet, and now a whole lot more sober than he had been. “Yeah, that's all,” he said, fearing anything else would result in Annie having a broken arm.
“You guys getting together sometime this week?”
“Don't have to. No big deal.”
Curt loosened his grip, but did not let go. His expression was calm, and totally in control, but Devon could see he was a pot ready to boil over.
“Good. Glad you see things my way, kid.”
“Curt, please,” Annie began, but Devon raised a hand to stop her.
“It's fine. I'm sure Curt here can help you. Dude must know a lot about Shakespeare.”
Curt got in his face. “What'd you say, shit stain?”
“I said you probably know a lot about the Bard. Course, she actually has to write this essay, so it's probably best if you don't break her arm.”
Curt's lips curled back like a snake about to strike. “Cute,” he said, “real cute,” and nothing more. It was then Curt's hand turned into a fist and struck Devon's jaw with the force of a medicine ball. Knocked off his feet, Devon fell onto the couch with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
“Curt!” Annie shouted, but he paid no attention to her. The crowd that had gathered stood back, forming a circle around them.
Devon spat blood on the rug. His gums were sore and his whole head pounded like a snare drum. If nothing else, Curt had succeeded in punching the drunkenness right out of him. “Nice one,” Devon said, wiping the blood from his lips. “Best sucker punch I've ever seen.”
“Stay down, kid.”
But Devon wouldn't. In fact, he came back strong. In an instant he was off the couch and had delivered a roundhouse punch to Curt's jaw. That was followed by a jab to his stomach, and one third and final punch to his chin. Curt was stunned, nearly knocked off his feet by this scrawny little teenager.
“Whatcha got man?” Devon asked, all but ignoring Annie's pleas for them to stop.
Curt stood his ground and swung the blow that sealed the deal. A punch right to the chin that put Devon down for the count. His body fell to the floor like a potato sack, and there stayed motionless.
“Lesson learned, smartass.”
“Curt,” Annie said, her eyes watery with tears. “Leave him alone.”
“I will,” he said, then delivered a kick to Devon's ribs. Devon's body curled into a fetal position on impact. Curt grabbed Annie's arm again. “Don't ever give your number to anybody. Got me?”
Annie kept her head down as Curt dragged her out of the lobby like a misbehaving child. With their exit the crowd began to disperse, but Trey knelt beside his fallen friend.
“You need a doctor, man?”
Devon spat out more blood. His head was lost at sea, the world a white blur. He might have been hit by a car for all he knew. But no. No doctors. Doctors would ask questions. Questions would bring trouble. Trouble his mother would hear about. All he could do was mutter a very faint “no.” When he tried to get to his feet, Trey insisted he stay down, and keep his head elevated.
That was a bad day for Devon Jay. In retrospect, it would prove to be one of the better ones.
FOUR
A week passed. The leaves on the trees around Bryerson began their slow transition from green to orange as they withered in the cooler temperatures. Devon spent most of this time to himself, lounging in his room, skipping class, and drinking beer. He had yet to unpack, so whatever clothing he'd worn found itself strewn about the floor, mixed in with the clean clothes he had yet to remove from his suitcase. Why bother, he thought, was he really going to stay here long? Christ, he'd been here less than a month and already had a serious fight. What were his chances?
Feeling defeated, he grabbed the phone and dialed his mother.
“Hey there, college guy!” she said, her voice sounding a thousand miles away through the hissing connection. “Didn't expect to hear from you so soon.”
He spoke carefully, not wanting his swollen lip to slur his words. “How ya been, mom?”
“Good,” she said, but said this with hesitation. “Is something wrong?”
He took a moment to consider what he should say. “...everything's fine. Just missed ya.”
“It's Friday. I'm surprised you're not out living it up.”
“Nah, little tired.”
They talked for an hour, and through the phone Devon could hear the sounds of home. Pans clanging, blinds fluttering in the wind; he could almost smell the roast beef in the oven, and hear the fireplace crackling in the den. When the conversation winded down, his mother could still sense something was off. Maybe Devon had a bit too much to drink, or maybe he really was just tired, but something was wrong with his voice.
“You're sure everything's okay, Devon?”
There was a moment when Devon was going to confess. He wanted to, almost thought he needed to—but for what purpose? To allow his mother to comfort him, or entice her to drive out there, pick him up, and bring him home? Failure that he was...
No.
“Everything's fine! Just wanted to say hi.”
He could almost hear his mother's sigh of relief over the phone, but it could have been the sizzling of the roast beef. “Any lucky ladies?”
“No,” he said. “No lucky ladies.”
He hung up and pulled the covers over his head, but sleep would not come. His thoughts were consumed by assholes in sunglasses and football players running off with the girl...
He crawled out of bed at 7:30 a.m. to a knock at his door. He clambered out of bed, peeked through the peephole, and was greeted by Annie's face on the other side.
“Devon?” she said, her voice muffled through the door. She knocked again.
“One sec,” he said, twisting the lock. When the door opened she saw his face looked no better today than it had the night he was knocked to the floor. Swollen and bruised purple around the jawline.
“Hey,” she said, initially turning away but forcing herself to look him in the eye. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry about Curt...and I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner.”
“No need. I ran my lip, and my lip got split. Not the first time, trust me.”
“Still...”
“Listen. I know I'm crossing a line here, but why do you put up with that guy? The dude looked like he was ready to strangle you.”
“I know, but he's not always like that,” she said, but sounded like even she didn't believe her own words. “...listen, I know you probably won't want to help me with that essay, but--”
“I'll help you,” he said. “Hell, it'd be my pleasure. Mind if we work on it over here though? Don't think your boyfriend's figured out where I live yet.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Would you mind if a bruised dude walked you to class?”
“I'd be honored,” she said, and now smirked. “Might want to put on some pants, though.”
Devon's eyes shot downward when he realized he was still in his boxers. “Ah!” he said, pushing the door shut so it was open only a crack. “Just woke up!” he said, his face tingling with embarrassment.
In the hall, Annie grinned. “Not a problem.”
The walk across campus was a tense one for Devon. Sure, for the most part they were two anonymous faces in a sea of people, but he felt like they stood out. Like that small zit on your face that only you notice, he was sure everyone was staring at them. It felt like Curt could see them everywhere they went...and if he happened upon them, what then?
He didn't, but class went by slower than usual. Professor Murphy looked more like a conductor before a disobedient symphony as he lectured, his hands waving about wildly. Devon found it rather amusing, at least when he was actually paying attention. The rest of the time, his eyes were on Annie. She chewed the eraser of her pencil and would occasionally look at him and smile.
“And that,” Murphy said, his voice again thundering through the hall, “brings us to the end of yet another examination of the works of the world's greatest poet, William Shakespeare.”
Class was over and almost instantly the aisles were filled with students on their way out. Devon made his way down to Annie.
“Hey,” she said, “boring as usual, huh?”
“Actually I thought the part about Hamlet was pretty riveting.”
“...he talked about Macbeth.”
“Ah.”
Annie was about to laugh when she heard her name called. “Ms Salm!” Murphy again. Always fucking Murphy.
“Yes?”
“My office, please?”
Annie gave Devon a saddened look. “See ya later?”
“Yeah, but--”
She was gone, and with absolutely no explanation of what Murphy wanted.
