is about standing on your own two feet.
Following your dreams.
Learning about life and love.
It’s supposed to be safe. 

 

But sometimes it’s not.

Inconstant Moon deals with mature subject matter.
Reader discretion is advised.

“Inconstant Moon” is being serialized in reading order here, at the rate of one chapter each day, until complete. You can read the novel in order beginning here, and advance to the next chapter by clicking the arrow at the bottom of each page.

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~ a novel ~

Laurel L. Russwurm

for
Nienke Hinton
with love

“O, swear not by the moon!
The inconstant moon,
that monthly changes in her circled orb,
lest that thy love prove
likewise variable.“

~ Juliet

Romeo and Juliet, Act II, scene ii

Given a choice, he’d be anywhere but here.

Although quite close to the street, the thick stand of trees means the road noise is almost nonexistent. A paved pathway meanders through the woods, interspersed every so often with concrete stanchions bearing street lights. The worst of it is all the leaf mold. Tree stink. Fresh air. Cold. Who needs it. At least there’s this stump to sit on.

But there isn’t a choice.

Resting elbows on knees, deep in forest shadow, he takes a deep drag on the cigarette he’s just lit.

He hears giggling and tenses a moment.
False alarm.
Relax.
Too loud, gotta be a pack.

He needs a cull, packs are dangerous. He draws deep on the cigarette and quietly strokes himself as he watches the long limbed college girls sweep past his hidey hole, never once glancing his way. After all, why would they? The world is theirs for the taking. Look at that firm flesh, so casually parading past. Teasing glimpses of breast and buttock make him stiffer than ever. He knows that he’ll never be allowed to touch; so he touches himself as he watches them. On parade. Just for him.

Then that bunch is gone, and he’s left alone again. A smile touches his lips and he drags deeply, watching wisps of smoke curl sensuously in the air above the cigarette. Watching the smoke he luxuriates in the cherished memory of that time in the elevator, the day the ice queen from the seventeenth floor got on the elevator with him.

The unattainable goddess who never registered his existence didn’t see him. They never did. As the car filled up, everyone pressed more tightly in the confines of the corporate box and she brushed her buttocks deliciously against him. Teasing his penis, she swayed with the elevator’s rise. And she smelled so good. He felt his blood rising. He knew it was impossible but he couldn’t stop.

Was it her soap or perfume or her very own girl smell? Whatever it was he tightened his grip on the briefcase and tried to hold his breath, to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

She leaned back into him and stiffened as his hardness strained into her softness. An unexpected rush of pleasure– he knew she could feel him. She froze in place, tantalizing, connected. He couldn’t breathe … blood was pounding in his ears … pounding. He closed his eyes as she squirmed, rubbing against him deliberately. He couldn’t believe it. Surely this was more than any man should have to bear. He breathed in deeply, more of a shudder as he could feel he was about to …

He bit his tongue to stop from crying out as the elevator stopped. Tasted the blood as she went, waving those buttocks saucily at him as she left the elevator with the others on the seventeenth floor. Had she done it on purpose?

As if nothing had happened. He tried for nonchalance, angled the briefcase in front to hide the painful erection from the other passengers. She’d done it on purpose. Was hurrying off to laugh about it with her friends. He was the last out on nineteen and it was all he could do to make it to the privacy of the bathroom stall to finish up. But the memory of her … it was glorious.

He breathes heavily, warmed by the memory of actual contact. The corners of his mouth twitch as he admires the memory, and savors its … deliciousness.

Footsteps. He snaps out of his reverie into the here and now. Listen. Footfalls clattering. Good. Stupid girl shoes. No giggling, no talking even. That means it’s just one. A cull. Perfect.

He smiles and rubs. Coming into view around the bend, she heads into the zone. A little plump, that’s good. Wavy brown hair, pulled back severely, tendrils escaping around the heavy looking backpack. Straps pull her sweater taut and emphasize juicy squeezable breasts. Cellphone strapped to her waist. Hell, they all have them. Not good, but what can you do. She won’t use it.

Perfect. A quick tug and the pantyhose leg is tight over his head, distorting his features. She won’t be able to recognize him. Best of all, she’ll be scared. This is gonna be so good.

He pulls open his coat, and he’s ready. It’s now or never.

His manhood thrusts forward like a sword, swelling with power as he steps out of the shadow and into the sunshine. He feels like a god.

Startled by his sudden appearance out of the bushes, the girl starts to smile an automatic greeting but she realizes right away that something is wrong. She registers stocking mask, the open coat … then she sees the out-thrust penis. His weapon of love.

He’s breathing harder now. She bites her lip, and he takes a step closer. Is she going to cry out at the sight of his power? He takes another step … she’s shaking now, bowing to his …

Startled by the snorting noise she makes– that’s so unfeminine– peering at her through the distorting fabric– he realizes she isn’t doubled over in fear, she’s … shaking with laughter. She’s snickering, spluttering … guffawing.

What the fuck? He is totally disconcerted. This is not right. He feels his masculine power draining away.

Her laughter gets louder. She lifts up a hand and points directly at his suddenly faltering manhood, still laughing, her other hand rubs the tears of laughter from her eyes and she says, “Is that the best you can do?”

This is wrong, he thinks, wrong, wrong, wrong, as her laughter gets louder and louder. What is the world coming to? He whirls around and sprints back into the safety of the trees, trying to stuff himself back inside his pants. He has to get away from this woman. The bitch. Get away from her laughter. Away. Just away.

He grabs the bicycle from its cover and runs back toward the path, past where she stands and laughs. He heads in the direction she’s just come from to get away. Out of her reach.

He throws a leg over the bike and grunts at the unexpected stab of pain generated by the impact of his sensitive bits with the bike’s cross bar. His back to that dreadful hyena, he rips off the stocking mask and stuffs it in his pocket.

Grimly gripping the handlebars he rides like the hounds of hell are after him.

When, really, it is just a little bit of laughter.

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Liz complains, “I don’t know about this, guys, we’ve got a nine a.m. lecture and I am just not a party girl.”

Boris says, “Aw c’mon, Liz, it’ll be fine. You don’t have to stay late, but you have to go out at least some of the time. You’re supposed to get rounded.”

Natasha gushes, “But Boris, Dahhlink, Liz IS rounded.” Liz feels a blush rise to her cheeks as Jake and Boris laugh.

Natasha gathers her friend in a hug. “Just try it, OK? It isn’t like high school where you have to smoke up or drink yourself cross-eyed to be cool. You might hate it but maybe you’ll have fun. It isn’t a party, so there is no social commitment. You can stay ten minutes or two hours. It’s up to you.”

“It’s hanging out,” says Jake.

“Unwinding,” adds Boris.

Natasha grins. “Socializing”

Liz nods. “Okay, okay.”

They go in and the music is loud, although not as bad as Liz thought it would be. Boris and Natasha lead the way through the crowd to a group of tables at the back. From here Liz can see the dance floor but the speakers aren’t right in her lap either. Looking around, she recognizes a few of the faces.

One of the catchier Beatles songs is blasting; Natasha mimes dancing to Boris, who nods and they head out to the dance floor. As Liz and Jake settle, they watch Boris and Natasha step on the dance floor just as the song ends and the high energy dance number is replaced by the notes of a slow tune as the jukebox changes over. They keep on gamely, although Boris glares darkly at the jukebox, maybe hoping to frighten it into a song with a faster tempo.

Clearly Boris and Natasha have never slow danced together, and Liz knows all too well what that’s like. Still, she can’t help but smile as she sees what a hard time Boris has trying to figure out where to put his hands while Natasha manages to stay just far enough out of range to ensure they don’t accidentally wind up in full body contact.

The pub’s terrible acoustics mean that she only hears snatches of song lyrics over the hubbub. Something about dreams and desires. As if on cue, another couple she recognizes from Fyfield House dance through her view. In stark contrast to Boris and Natasha’s awkward circling, Eric and Elsie are engaged in a sinuous mating dance. As this couple sways in perfect unison it is clear Eric has no trouble knowing where to put his hands. Moving easily together, their synchronous movements appear almost choreographed as they float across the room. It would be a kick to photograph them.

Liz finds herself swaying and tapping her toe to the beat of the music, drawn in so she almost doesn’t register Jake asking her if she wants to dance. Snap.

Liz looks over at him with trepidation; she so hates this. They never believe her when she says, “Sorry, I don’t dance.”

Jake is crestfallen. “But I’m a good dancer.”

Liz smiles. “You probably are but I am not. I don’t dance.”

Jake sucks it up and shrugs pragmatically. “Okay. Want something to drink? I don’t think there’s table service here.”

Liz nods. “Oh sure, just a ginger ale or something.”

Liz digs for money but then realizes Jake’s is already off to the bar. Still, she pulls out a Toonie and sets it on the table for when he gets back. She does not want Jake thinking this is a date. Jake may be a brilliant photographer but he’s too young for her. Well. She’s almost twenty three, and Jake is maybe eighteen.

Sitting back, Liz’s eyes are drawn to a flash of auburn hair as Elsie spins into Eric’s arms like something out of one of those old black and white musicals she likes watching with Mom. Elsie draws Eric in, running her hands over his face then pulling him into a long slow kiss. They seem so secure in their own world, and Liz realizes their dance isn’t so much composed of skill as foreplay.

Maybe that’s what dancing is for, Liz thinks. Like a human mating ritual. It’s getting more erotic by the moment. Liz is starting to feel just a little hot and bothered, even.

Suddenly feeling like a voyeur, Liz turns away, flushed. With a start she realizes it’s not just the make out dance. It’s that the dance made her think about Ethan. Because she’s half hoping Ethan will magically arrive.

Wait a minute. Where did that thought come from? Ethan. Huh. Ethan.

Like that isn’t the last thing she needs. It’s a good thing he isn’t here. Except a bit of reflection makes her realize he’s the real reason she allowed herself to be talked into coming. That she had the idea Ethan spends most evenings here. With the other stoners. Serves her right to be wrong.

But what on earth is she thinking? Well. Apparently she isn’t. Thinking, that is. Well, not with her brain, anyway.

Being back in school isn’t like she thought it would be, that’s for sure. In some ways its a chance to be a kid again, without having to relive the hell that was high school. But everything happens so fast, who has time to think? Hmmm. But Ethan? She knew he made her smile, but, apparently that’s not all he makes her feel.

At least he’s older than Jake. Liz wonders what it would be like to feel the way Elsie and Eric do. Those two are so obviously in love. Wonders how dancing like that feels, wonders how dancing with Ethan like that would feel. Again her eyes are drawn back to the lovers dancing in total disregard of the rest of the world. The world that doesn’t seem to exist for them.

An acrid mix of cold air and smoke gets up her nose, and Liz looks up as Miese leads several smokers in from the cold.  Miese is another Fyfield housemate, inevitably nicknamed “Mouse.” Liz wonders momentarily if it bothers her that no one calls her by her real name. But Mouse is perpetually cheerful, the kind that takes everything in stride.

Liz doesn’t know any of the other smokers settling in at the adjacent table until she sees Ethan bringing up the rear. Liz feels an involuntary tingle at the sight of the guy she’s just been entertaining impure thoughts about. She looks away, afraid he’ll see her telltale blush. Where’s Jake. Or Natasha? She needs distraction.

Liz has no idea why she has a crush on Ethan. It makes no sense. But maybe it’s because he’s so relaxed. Liz herself is anything but. Ethan is a housemate too, and he’s a fine photographer, just not in Jake’s league. But then, no one is. Ethan is Professor Mol’s teaching assistant. Liz doesn’t really know him, just something about Ethan makes her mouth go dry. She’d like to run her fingers through his wild and curly mop of hair.

She glances furtively over but he looks up just as she does and catches her eye. Ethan winks right at her, inspiring another tingle. It occurs to her that part of what makes the wink so great is the sexy dimple it brings out in his cheek.

Doesn’t really matter anyway. Liz has been too tall for most guys since the second grade, and now she’s too old, too. But that’s good though. She doesn’t need complications. She’s not here for romance, she’s here for a degree.

But then Liz is a little surprised to realize that Ethan is sitting over there juggling. Juggling. How cool is that?

Liz pinches herself under the table. She’s got to stop this, it’s getting ridiculous. Any minute now she’s going to haul Ethan onto the dance floor. Which would be nuts because she really can’t dance. It would be fun to be able to do a make out dance except that she has no rhythm. None at all. Maybe she just wants to make out.

Jake sets a glass in front of her and Liz grins in relief.

Sipping innocuous ginger ale, she glances nonchalantly over and sees Ethan has finished juggling and is now listening to one of the computer geeks. What’s so striking about it is that that Adam guy is about as far from being a druggie as you get. Even dressed casually his neck cries out for a power tie. But somehow Ethan puts Adam at ease.

Liz can’t stay. She rubs her eyes; tell her friends the music is giving her a headache. Boris and Natasha come back to the table. Happy because now she can leave, Liz gets up and slips on her jacket. Natasha asks, “Heading home?” Liz nods.

“You want us to come?” asks Natasha.

Liz shakes her head. “No, that’s alright. It’s just a little loud for me. The quiet outside will do me good. See you later.”

“Wait a minute,” says Jake. “Why don’t we blow this pop stand. There’s this guy I want you all to meet, and since it’s so mild, tonight it would be perfect. There might not be another chance for a while.”

“Who is this guy Jake?” asks Boris.

But Jake is already heading for the door. “It’s a surprise.”

Following after, Natasha says, “I love surprises.”

Boris and Liz trail after, Liz is happy they’re using the rear exit because it saves her having to walk past Ethan. As she pulls the door shut behind her, Liz glances back and sees Ethan is still talking with Adam; as oblivious to her departure as he is to the solitary Eric and Elsie dancing slowly through the pools of light. Just as well.

As Liz follows her friends into the night, part of her wishes Ethan was along, while another part is relieved he’s not.

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friday

Maggie and Amelia sip coffee at the big table in the Fyfield House common room when a bleary eyed Liz comes down. She wasn’t kidding when she said she wasn’t a partier.

Maggie’s make-up bag is open with pots of this and tubes of that scattered everywhere.  Amelia reads from a very thick paperback. Maggie looks up from applying mascara to give Liz a big smile.

“Look what the cat dragged in. Where were you ’til all hours last night Miss Lizzie?”

Liz pauses on her path to the kitchen long enough to say, “Star gazing,” flash a smile and continue on. In the kitchen she gets out a cup then starts a fruitless search of the fridge for milk.

There is milk.

Liz knows there is milk.

Because she bought a litre yesterday and hasn’t even opened it. But where is it? It is not here. It’s gone.

She feels herself tensing, then takes a deep breath and opens the cupboard where the disgusting powder cream substitute lives. Funny how that never runs out. She sighs and pours herself some coffee.

Liz can’t stomach black coffee at all but she sure needs coffee this morning. The gritty powdered cream she dislikes is better than nothing. Sighing, she adds it to her cup then takes the disgusting concoction back out to join the others.

As always, Amelia’s nose is in her book. Focusing on the title, Liz sits down and says with a smile, “Don Quicks-Oat? Sounds like a breakfast cereal.”

Maggie looks at Liz with a creased brow, then realizes Amelia is reading Don Quixote and Liz is talking about Amelia’s book. Amelia looks up, then she gets it too. Amelia and Maggie share a look and begin to smirk … then splutter … then howl.

Liz watches them. Irritated.

“What?” she says. Amelia and Maggie just laugh harder.

“What!?” Liz says again in frustration.

Amelia is laughing, hugging herself trying to draw breath. Maggie brushes the tears of laughter away and says “Don Quicks-Oat,” then doubles over again.

Liz purses her lips, and sits back watching them, shaking her head in annoyance. Any trace of her normally sunny disposition is gone.

She waits.

Finally they start calming down, getting under control.

Maggie grins at Liz and says, “Lizzie, you have just provided the laugh of the day.” Catching a glimpse of her raccoon eyes in the makeup mirror Maggie says, “Shit, I’m gonna have to start over.”

Liz narrows her eyes. “Wanna let me in on the joke Mary Margaret?” Venomous.

Maggie scowls. “There’s no call to get mean.”

Liz can’t believe it. The urge to slap Maggie is strong.

“Slow down,” says Amelia, realizing Liz is not a happy camper. “It’s funny. Truly. The name is Spanish. The book is Spanish. You pronounce it ‘Don Key-Ho-Tay’.”

Liz rolls her eyes, getting it. “The crazy old man and Sancho Panza all that? Man of La Mancha.”

Nodding, Amelia says “That’s the one, yeah. I know, I know, you’ve just never seen it written down. Part of what made it so funny is I remember the first time I saw it written. You’re not the first to sound it out English style.”

“Okay,” says Liz, “but tell me this. You’re an English major. Why study Don Quixote if it’s Spanish story?”

“It’s thought to be the first novel, and we’re studying the novel form. Before there were only epic poems and theater.”

“Oh.”

“The musical is great, but the novel is the story Cervantes tells in the jail during the play.” Waving the thick book she grins. “There’s an awful lot more of it for one thing. The musical is about Cervantes being arrested for writing his seditious book ‘Don Quixote’ during the Spanish Inquisition.”

Maggie pipes up in perfect mimicry of the Monty Python faux Spanish accent, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!” and the three girls crack up. Together this time.

When they’re quite done, Liz stirs her coffee and takes a sip. “My mom took me to see that show on Broadway when I was in high school. It was so great.”

“That sounds awesome. Wanna trade moms?” asks Maggie, “mine would never do anything like that.”

Smiling, Liz thinks maybe Maggie isn’t so bad.

“It was just us girls. It was fun taking the train to New York and then staying in a hotel. My Dad wouldn’t go to a musical to save his life, so he stayed home with the boys. And it was great. I was bawling my eyes out by the end.”

“Wow,” Amelia smiles, “I’d love to see it done live.”

“The music was beautiful but it rocked visually, too. The set was amazing, I mean it was a dungeon and all but it was like… um … grotty, but artistic. And the lighting was amazing.”

“Broadway.” Amelia says almost reverently. “That is so cool. The closest I’ve come is the Peter O’Toole movie.”

Maggie asks, “Who’s Peter O’Toole?”

“An old movie star … he played Orlando’s dad in Troy.”

“Okay, yeah. He was good as Quixote but his singing was dubbed. You know, the play is as fictional as the novel, the musical was a way to make points about the importance of free speech.”

Maggie asks, “Isn’t free speech always important?”

Amelia says, “I think so, yeah. But the original play was actually a TV broadcast back in the days of the McCarthy witch hunt the Americans had in the 1950′s. The play showed how nasty the Spanish Inquisition was, so they could imply that the McCarthy ‘Un-American’ crap was just as bad.”

Liz says, “Kinda like that Wikileaks business is now.”

“Oh yeah, lots of similarities, out of touch government, erosion of civil liberties, like that. The irony is that there’s no evidence Cervantes was ever jailed.”

“It’s still a good story,” adds Maggie.

“Absolutely,” smiles Liz, mostly restored to good humour, until she looks at her coffee and grimaces.

“You know, I swear I bought a litre of milk yesterday and now there isn’t any.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Maggie nods, “Mouse got a care package from her mom with weird sugar cube things she calls anise blocks.”

“Anise. Isn’t that some kind of funny smelling veggie?”

Maggie says, “That’s it, the one smells like licorice. Anise blocks are like licorice sugar cubes you put in warm milk.”

Liz says, “Well, I like licorice. But putting it in milk?”

“I can’t stand black licorice and that’s what it smelt like. But you know Mouse. Everybody had to try it and that was pretty much it for your milk.”

Liz rolls her eyes, thinks about a year of powdered cream.

“Guess you don’t like ouzo either,” says Amelia.

Maggie shudders. “No way. Disgusting stuff.”

Liz grimaces as she finishes her coffee. “Now I know why people buy those over priced mini fridges for their rooms.”

“If you decide to get one,” says Amelia, “you might want to make sure to get one that comes with a lock.”

Liz stares at her in surprise. “What, I can’t even trust my own roomie?”

Amelia laughs. “Yeah, you can trust me. But we’re neither of us very good about keeping the room locked. There wouldn’t be any point in having a private fridge without a locked door.”
“Nobody swipes my knickers, just my food.”

Amelia laughs. “Probably because you’re the only one who goes shopping on a regular basis. You’ve gotta realize that most of us are used to having magically filled fridges.”

“When you live alone you darned well know house elves don’t fill your cupboards at night. It’s annoying, not to mention hell on my budget,” says Liz.

“So,” says Maggie, pretending nonchalance as she peers over the top of her glasses at Liz. “What’s this star gazing deal? I haven’t heard about any stars being in town since they shot that Justin Bieber video last month.”

Amelia’s eyes widen. “Justin Bieber, you’ve gotta be kidding right? That boy looks like he’s twelve years old.”

“Yeah, but what can I say, I like his music. So sue me.”

“Wrong kind of stars,” explains Liz, pleased to know something Maggie doesn’t for once. “You know, ones in the sky. The Seven Sisters, Betelgeuse, Mars, the Big Dipper. Like that.”

Maggie looks aghast. “Its one thing to lay out under the stars in summer but at this time of year? Baby it’s cold outside.”

“Maybe that’s why God invented winter coats.”

“Meow,” says Maggie swiping her talons through the air..

“What was it like?” asks Amelia.

“Pretty cool actually.” Liz raises her eyebrows in Maggie’s direction, “although not in a temperature kind of way. Jake’s friend built his own telescope.”

Amelia says, “Mars is a planet, not a star, though.”

“Wait a minute, Jake?” Maggie turns to Liz. “You mean that little guy could pass for Justin Bieber’s younger brother? The one looks all of 14?”

“Yeah, Jake. He may look young but he’s an amazing photographer. Ferociously smart too.”

Maggie says, “You’re not … I mean …” rarely at a loss, Maggie stumbles, and Liz suddenly understands the question.

“No, we’re not dating if that’s what you’re getting at. We’re friends. If its any of your business, it wasn’t just me and Jake. There were other shutter bugs too, like Natasha and Boris.”

“Mmmm. Boris is pretty hot,” says Amelia.

“Way too many muscles for me.” says Maggie. “But I’d walk softly there ’cause Boris and Natasha are joined at the hip.”

“I took some pretty cool shots of Mars through that telescope. They actually came out better than I thought. Not as good as NASA shots, but still, how cool is getting to take my own Mars picture. Jakes’s friend Larry thinks the visibility is better this time of year. You should see his telescope, it’s huge. Almost as tall as I am. Larry told me the mirror alone cost hundreds of dollars.”

Maggie says, “Sounds like a mirror for Barbie.”

“Barbie? Like the doll?” asks Liz.

“No, like the pre-med student.”

“Barbie? There can’t possibly be a real live girl who actually goes by the name ‘Barbie’? In med school? No way.”

“In pre-med.” Maggie nods. “Can you believe it? She’s even blonde. Boobs out to here, perfect skin, teeth, big blue eyes. Kate saw her file. It’s not a nick-name, it’s her honest-to-god name. I ask you, what kind of parents would name their kid after a doll?”

“Luckily, not mine,” says Liz, “Never saw the point in those dolls myself.”

“Yeah, talk about weird shaped.” Amelia nods, “I mean forget the physics of how wide her bra straps would have to be just to hold those babies up. Have you looked at those feet? The damage to those poor little doll feet is as bad as Chinese foot binding thing. Barbie doll feet look like they are in major pain. Can you imaging having to walk on tiptoes forever?”

“Physics?” asks Liz. “What do you know about physics?”

Amelia nods. “I was a Physics major last year. Just I lost my way in the math, so I flunked out. Only choice was English.”

“That’s a big jump.” says Maggie.

“Not really. The plan was always to be a science fiction writer,” Amelia tells them. “You know, maybe Barbie’s mom is one of those crazed Barbie doll collectors you hear about.”

“But a blonde,” Liz snorts, “named Barbie. I mean, what kind of place IS this. I’d have shopped around for another school if I’d known what kind of students came here.”

Amelia says, “You can’t hardly hold it against her, Maggie. Her parents named her, and if she’s pre-med, she must be smart.”

Liz shudders. “I dunno, if my folks saddled me with a name like Barbie I’d have legally changed that sucker by now.”

“Yeah really. Me too. Or at the very least told everybody my name was something like ‘Moonbeam’ or ‘Peaches.’ You know something with a bit more credibility.”

Liz snickers. She especially likes ‘Moonbeam.’

“There’s a reasonable probability Barbie may not actually be pre-med smart,” says Maggie. “Nick thinks Barbie is in med school to shop for an MD, not become one.”

“You mean marry a doctor?” asks Liz. “For real?”

“God. I thought we stopped doing that generations ago,” grumbles Amelia. “Don’t you need good grades for pre-med?”

Maggie says, “not as good as you need to get into the U of G Veterinary College but still …”

“You need better marks to be a vet than a people doctor?”

“Absolutely. The smart ones become vets.” says Maggie.

“Bet you wouldn’t say that if Kate was here.” says Amelia.

“Of course I wouldn’t.” Maggie rolls her eyes. “I want to live, don’t I? Doesn’t mean it isn’t true though.”

Amelia says, “You have to be plenty smart and dedicated either way. More people want to be vets. After all, your patients are guinea pigs, bunny rabbits and puppy dogs. They don’t talk back. I bet malpractice premiums are lower for vets too.”

“I don’t know about that. You should have seen all the blood the first time I tried to give our cat a bath,” says Liz.

Amelia grins. “Well, cats…”

“I miss my cat.”

Maggie says, “I wouldn’t mind having a cat around, Lizzie.”

Liz rounds on Maggie and says, “For the last time, my name is not ‘Lizzie’, Mary Margaret.”

Maggie narrows her eyes. “Fine. Be that way. Liz it is.”

Liz nods. “While we’re clearing the air, what I do and where I go is my business, so I’d appreciate it if you would stop giving me the third degree all the time.”

“Third degree? That’s called ‘making conversation. Sometimes I get worried when people aren’t in when they ought to be. Last night I was up way late and you still weren’t back. Then I thought maybe you had a hot date. So shoot me, I was just asking. You don’t have to get your knickers in a twist.”

“I don’t meddle in your love life, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stick your nose in mine.”

“I wasn’t meddling, girl, I was just hoping.”

Liz scoops up her cup, and stomps off to the kitchen.

Amelia shoots Maggie a look.

“What?” Maggie asks, defensive. “She’s mad at me for worrying about her?”

Amelia shakes her head, glancing pointedly at the clock. “Don’t you have a computer to fix, or a class or something?”

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The leaves crunch satisfyingly under foot, filling the air with the tang of autumn. The rich golds and reds seem to glow as they strike a satisfying contrast with the deep forest greens. The scents of trees, leaves, and mossy forest floor mingle with the last lingering sweetness of wildflowers.

Liz breathes a little easier, walking through the quiet forest, kicking at a drift of leaves makes her smile even as the tension slowly melts away.

Unslinging the oblong case from her shoulder, she unzips it, then slides out the tripod, setting it up efficiently in the small clearing alongside the creek. Liz has been doing this for years, which is why the necessity of getting a degree galls her.

Dad gave her her first camera before she even started school. When the pictures came back everyone laughed at how her perspective was so different, but being under three feet tall gave her a different world view and it showed. It made her realize, too, that people see the world differently. It was empowering to photograph her world. Addictive, too.

It wasn’t long before her photographs started showing signs of technical mastery. The yellow plastic kiddie camera with the cute little gorilla face didn’t have any manual settings. She learned how to position herself just the right distance from the subject.

She had to figure out light by trial and error.

They gave her a real single-lens reflex camera for her seventh birthday. The grown up camera was amazing, but it was awkward and heavy for her small hands. She emptied her bank account to buy a light but flexible tripod because she couldn’t wait until her eighth birthday. From then on her allowance always went on film and developing. She couldn’t get enough.

The folks wouldn’t allow her to set up a darkroom at home because they worried the chemicals would be too dangerous to have in the house with the boys. They said. Liz thinks the real reason is Mom wanted her to take dance lessons, be more of a girlie girl.

But in high school she started a camera club and it didn’t take much to get a darkroom up and running. Enlargers, developer trays, timers and other darkroom gear was cheap because so many people were going digital. Suddenly the popular girls wanted to be friends — because they wanted her to photograph them for the paper or school yearbook.

Screwing the camera on top of the tripod she perches on a fallen log to survey the terrain. There’s pine, a bit of maple, a stand of larches. Peripheral motion catches her eye and she gets a few snaps of a raccoon as it lumbers across the clearing before disappearing into the woods.

It is so nice to be out in the real world breathing real air. Warmed by the sunlight Liz peers through the zoom to see what else there is to see in the forest. A flash of movement draws her eye to three playful young squirrels chasing about. Maybe litter mates. Or perhaps it’s just a bit of adolescent flirting. Whatever they’re doing it’s sure not territorial warfare.

Not for the first time she wonders if winter will surprise the critters. Instinct ensures they gather food for the time ahead, but surely instinct can’t prepare them for the cold desolation of snow. She often wonders about the natural world when she’s out taking photographs, although she rarely engages in any follow up research. Sometimes just knowing the questions is enough.

The long lens and the low light of the forest interior make it impossible to get good sharp shots of the little guys from this far away, but she fires off a series of photographs in burst mode for some interesting motion shots.

It’s so easy to be cavalier about how many digital pictures she actually takes. It’s never the taking that is the problem, it’s all the the sorting and filing later that eats up hours on end. Or days. Doing everything on a computer instead of in a dark room is still a little weird to get used to. But she is learning.

Rubbing her neck ruefully she idly wishes she had a boyfriend. It would almost be worth the annoyance to have someone around just to give her a neck massage when she needs one. Since she wants to relax, Liz tries to avoid thinking about Ethan. To not think about his dimple that comes and goes, or the single silver skull earing that peeks out at her from under the curly dark hair he usually restrains in a ponytail.

Although her initial tension has dissipated, there’s still a dull ache at the base of her neck. Maybe she should see if she can find a more comfortable perch. Hoisting gear packs over her shoulders she stands and snaps the tripod legs together with practiced ease before tucking it, still extended, under her arm.

As Liz moves back into the forest proper she realizes that the forest is just a little too tidy. Although there are different kinds of trees and complimentary vegetation, the groomed wood chip paths are the big tip off. Probably the lawn mower guys come here to shovel wood chips. The forest floor is somehow too manicured, that’s what’s wrong. No decaying logs, no moss, mold, or fungus. Fallen logs are probably hauled away for free firewood. City people don’t realize fallen trees are a natural part of forest renewal.

It is more a park than a forest, then, but better than a parking lot. There is some wildlife. The new subdivisions going up probably means the school won’t care about forest renewal as much as selling off this ‘empty space’ to pay for new buildings. The forest is a part of why she chose Christie, but Liz knows she’s the minority.

At the creek, Liz sits on the wooden bridge, dangling her legs over the side. Taking the camera off the tripod, she hangs it round her neck and slides the tripod back in its case. Who is she kidding? She doesn’t need any more nature shots. The assignment is covered and then some. As always.

That’s not what’s brought her out here today. What she really needs is a break from people. It’s hard getting a chance to think when you’re living in a house full of strangers.

Liz knows her folks would have a conniption if they understood she was living in a co-ed residence with boys on the lower level. It was weird at first, but not much different from living with brothers. The girl’s floor is supposed to be off limits to guys but they all share the downstairs common room. And though she’s a grown woman who makes her own decisions, Liz is well aware that her dad would not best be pleased.

She’s seen Eric sneaking up to Elsie’s room, nights; and Elsie sleeps down in his even more. Sleeps. Right. It may not be allowed but it’s an open secret. Thing is, Liz doesn’t want to know who’s sleeping with who. Or who’s smoking up. Or who snores. She quit Facebook back in high school because of that stuff, but it’s even worse here. Sometimes she thinks half of the students are here for the soap opera, with education coming last.

Although she’d thought she was well out of it, she’d found out the hard way she wasn’t going to get anywhere in the ‘real world’ without a degree. Proving herself over and over didn’t make a difference.

Her boss thought the only reason she brought in good pictures was luck. She’d never seen him even holding a camera, but he could judge her because she didn’t have a degree, and he was the boss. Did he turn down her best shots because he was jealous? He killed her low angle time-lapse Ferris wheel shot— called it ‘artsy-fartsy’— then was furious when that same shot won the Canadian Geographic contest. That was the straw that sent her to Christie. So here she is back at school with all these kids.

Because if she had to go to back to school the only choice was here to study with award winning photo-journalist Annie Mol. Liz grew up poring over the world framed through the eyepiece of Mol’s award winning photos in This Magazine and Maclean’s.

Making good pictures is what it has always been about for Liz. Focal lengths, f-stops, and developing your own. But now those heady chemical smells are gone— Christie doesn’t even have a darkroom. The closest you come is printer ink, which is not the same thing at all. Everything she’d known about cameras and chemicals and photographic paper is different.

Although digital is still photography, it comes with a different set of problems. It requires new technical skills and competence with a computer to get it all in hand. So, okay, there is stuff she needs to learn. All the computer background she’s missed. Which means she is motivated after all.

But it’s too expensive to not live in residence. Even after moving home last year and banking near every cent she made, between tuition and digital equipment that will be obsolete by the time she graduates, funds are tight. The government has only just begun giving grants to needy students, and it’s more on the order of a gesture than actual help. Maybe it’ll get better. Her folks aren’t poor exactly, but with Mom staying home with the younger sibs it means there isn’t family cash to help out.

It’s frustrating nobody warned her that most scholarships aren’t even open to mature students. She’s already decided to apply for a student loan next year, but she might need to take a part time job like Amelia this year.

Even so, money is not the real problem. It’s more an annoyance. Even if it takes years to pay off, she will be able to get work at the other end, and a degree will ensure she’s paid what she’s worth. Onward and upward to the big time. Maclean’s maybe. Canadian Geographic? Sky’s the limit. She knows very well what it will mean to her quality of life. She might even be able to help the folks send the boys to college. The ones that want to, anyway.

Not Randy, he’ll go into an apprenticeship, be the one making big bucks fitting pipe.

No, Liz’s real problem is living in the dorm. What they call “the Res.” It’s not the same as living with family, even hers, which is big by today’s standards. You can shut the door on brothers.

All the other students. Strangers to share bathrooms with. Communal showers are not her idea of fun. Different showers for men and women isn’t enough, it’s group bathing. Always being too tall made her an easy target. She isn’t comfortable being stared at.

It’s different when it’s your own family. It’s a lot harder with roommates, particularly the one who sleeps in the same room you do. She says a little prayer for being blessed with Amelia as a room mate. Liz knows she wouldn’t have lasted five minutes with Maggie.

Maggie is a trial. Just thinking of Maggie makes Liz tense. Like most of her residence mates, Maggie came to Christie straight from high school. Even though she’s years younger than Liz, Maggie seems to have elected herself house mother, wanting to know where Liz is going, what she is doing.

Is it prurient interest or is it what Maggie says, that she just wants to know if she should worry? Either way it’s driving Liz around the bend.

Okay, maybe, it makes sense to have some idea where people are. But that’s why they have sign in sheets. It’s not Maggie’s job, she’s just another student.

They aren’t even in the same program for God’s sake. Back home, Mom and Dad trusted her to come in when she said. They never gave her the third degree. Why can’t Maggie? It’s none of her business.

And although Maggie is the worst, the city slickers s think their life experience is more cutting edge because they grew up in the city with drug dealers on every corner. And although Liz knows things most of them never will, to them she’s a hick. Inexperienced. Just because she grew up in a small town she lacks ‘street cred’.

Liz attended a school so small that all the teachers knew her name, so for sure it was harder to get away with anything.

But the biggest problem for small town kids is no public transit. Going to the movies requires a ride from somebody’s parents, not fun for a date. So everybody rushes to get a driver’s license at the crack of their sixteenth birthday.

Farm kids have the edge over townies because they get a chance to boot around on the back forty, sometimes years before they’re sixteen, like her friend Gabe’s brother. Liz and Gabe had been inseparable since the third grade. Gabe’s brother loved driving the four by four, and their Dad let him take it to the Hallowe’en dance before he’d graduated to the full license.

Except he was just a little bit cocky, and wrapped the truck around a bridge abutment. Although Gabe was thrown clear, his brother was killed on impact. And you know how it is, even though Gabe lived he wouldn’t see her anymore after the accident. It’s tough being a fourteen year-old paraplegic.

Liz knows she hasn’t exactly been wrapped in cotton, but it’s seems to make it worse that she doesn’t do drugs or drink. Sure that’s how she was raised but what’s wrong with that? Her parents don’t drink or smoke. She’s seen people drunk and been around people wasted. She knows what can happen. Meh.

Besides, she knows she’s capable of being stupid all by herself. She doesn’t need alcohol or drugs to help, she can manage it all on her own, thanks.

Many of her classmates assume she’s naïve because she doesn’t try to fry her brain cells. But she knows she’s not. She’s just smarter than they are. Liz smiles to herself. Maybe that is enough.

Don’t let them. — especially don’t let Maggie — get to her.

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Kate looks at Maggie, canted to the right, her head resting on her fist, eyes closed, softly snoring. Kate gives her a shake and Maggie’s eyes snap open. Kate glances down to read a text message.

Oscar:
How about this one: ‘Women can discover everything except the obvious.’

Maggie drifts off while Kate gives Oscar the evil eye and texts back:

Kate:
Ooooooh. That one was catty, Oz. You could get in big trouble repeating stuff like that.

Oscar:
Wilde was frequently catty. Um Maggie’s snoring again.

Kate tries nudging Maggie, but it just changes the timbre of her snores. A sharp kick to the ankle yields a better result. Maggie wakes enough to realize Kate kicked her, so she glowers.

Kate whispers, “You have to stop snoring.”

Maggie’s eyes narrow. “I don’t snore!”

Kate nods. “Sure you do, I’ve got witnesses to prove it.”

Maggie smacks herself in the head, “No way.”

“Way,” Kate smiles back, “Even the teacher cracked jokes about it. Good thing you have nice little ladylike snores. If it’d been Elsie’s honking he’d have fled screaming.”

“But I don’t snore.”

Kate grins. “If you want I can get a show of hands.”

Maggie holds up her hand. “No no no. Okay, shhhh, I believe you. So what’s the assignment?”

Somehow Maggie lives through the rest of her sleep deprived morning. Compensating with double doubles from the cafeteria keeps her moving, but she is in a fog nonetheless.

Only as the school day is ending does she begin to feel conscious. A bit more wired than awake, but it will do. Oscar comes in trailing Jake and Kate. He peers at Maggie, then bends over, cups her chin, gently tilting her head back and forth as he examines her face in the afternoon sun.

“Hate to tell you this, wee girl, but they’re called ‘the whites of your eyes’ and not ‘the reds of your eyes’ for a reason.”

Maggie wrenches her chin away and sticks out her tongue. “Sez you. It’s the new look, Oz. Get with the program.”
Kate says, “Maybe we should reschedule?”

Oscar is firm. “Can’t do it. If we pack it in, we’d make Linux look bad to all the noobs who might’ve switched over.”

“Oscar’s right” agrees Maggie, “We can’t. Every Ubuntu group in the world is having their release party today. I was just too excited to sleep. No way do we reschedule.”

“You were playing Farmville, weren’t you?” teases Jake.

“Of course I was. But only because I couldn’t sleep.”

Kate rolls her eyes at Maggie. “How about this then, you nip home for a nap.”

“No, no, no. It’s my party, I gotta be there.”

“Look at it this way, kiddo, if you sneak a nap you’ll have the pleasure of being conscious for your release party.”

“I’m awake now, I will be then. Don’t worry. If I slap on some war paint I’ll even look conscious. It’ll be fine.”

Kate asks “Gonna paint eyeballs on your eyelids like Captain Jack?”

“Ha ha.” Maggie rolls her eyes.

Oscar’s flipping though the school paper with a frown. “Wasn’t Krystal doing publicity? I thought she said she’d get something in the paper.”

“Yeah, I thought she had it all set up.”

“Nothing in here.” Oscar lays down the paper.

“Are you sure she’s even coming?” asks Kate. “She wasn’t in Gates’ class this morning.”

Maggie shakes her head. “You’re right, she wasn’t. I don’t know. She said she would.”

“Cheer up girl, Adam says, Canada’s got a higher proportion of Linux users than the States. How cool is that?”

Maggie grins at Kate, “Pretty cool. Look, save my spot and guard my coffee with your lives, ’cause I know I’m gonna need every drop today. Back in a flash.”

Maggie heads for the washroom where she splashes water on her face. Yup, Oscar’s right on the money. She could be the poster girl for a horror movie. Much more red in them thar eyes than white. Another splash.

Coffee coffee and more coffee is just what this girl needs to get through the rest of the day.

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The double lecture hall in the Arts Centre is quiet but for the tapping of hundreds of laptop keys. Behind the lectern the English prof is skimming her notes to make sure that everything’s covered. She glances up at her audience. Smiling at the sight of all those students typing furiously, she she shuts down the PowerPoint presentation.

“That’s it for today. If anyone needs to see me about the assignment I’m back on regular office hours this week.” As the professor packs up her materials, a general exodus is underway in the cheap seats, as notebooks are shut down, and personal effects are gathered up.

Mouse looks over at Eric, bent over his cellphone. “You take very good notes. Maybe I could borrow the ones from the days I missed last week when I was sick?”

She watches Eric peering at the tiny screen then thumbing in a quick message before nodding to her.

“Sure thing Mouse. Monday and Tuesday?” She nods. “Email later, okay?”

“Excellent, yes, Eric, thank you. That will be a big help.”

A text flashes on his phone screen and suddenly Eric is in a hurry, nodding as he pockets the phone and snaps his laptop closed and stuffs it into the case. “Later” he grins and is gone in a blur.

Mouse turns to Amelia, who seems to be having a job repacking her computer case. Isn’t it funny how everything that came out doesn’t want to fit back in.

Mouse asks, “Would you care to join us for a walk in the woods?” but Amelia shakes her head no.

“Sorry, Mouse, I’ve got to work.”

“OK,” Mouse smiles. “Maybe next time,” and Mouse follows Jose up the steps. Amelia watches them go. Or rather, watches Jose go. Watches his nice tight buns ascending the stairs. Too bad. A walk in the woods would have been nice. Especially with Jose.

Amelia sighs, hoists the case over her shoulder.

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Maggie heads toward the corner cafeteria table where Oscar’s laptop is open at the Oscar Wilde Quotations Page.

Oscar pronounces, ” ‘Education is a wonderful thing, provided you always remember that nothing worth knowing can ever be taught.’ ”

Jake laughs, then chokes on the pop he’s drinking. Kate pounds him on the back until he can breathe normally again. Jake grins, then asks, “Got any more, Oz?”

Oscar laughs. “That’s the spirit. You’ll be pleased to know there are scads of them. Wilde was the undisputed king of wit.”

“So tell me another,” prompts Jake.

“‘The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.’ ” says Oscar,

“Mmmm,” says Kate, “I like that one. It’s wonderfully wicked. Gives you permission to do pretty much anything.”

Oscar does a Groucho Marx eyebrow waggle as he says, “How about this one: ‘The book of life begins with a man and a woman in a garden; it ends with Revelations.’”

Maggie laughs. “I don’t think Liz would like that one.”

“Or this, one of my very favorites: ‘Women are meant to be loved, not understood.’ ”

“Boo! Hiss!” Kate tosses a French fry at Oscar, who deftly catches it in his mouth.

Maggie slides in beside Oscar, who laughs, and says, ” ‘Nothing succeeds like excess.’ ”

Kate looks over at Maggie. “Krystal still hasn’t showed. I thought she was really up for the club.”

Maggie shrugs “She is. I don’t know what happened but I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can. How’s everything else?”

Jake says, “Liz is coming to take photos for the paper, and Amelia will write the article.”

“How we doing for food?”

“We’ve laid in a few cases of pop and chips, cheezies and pretzels. I thought instead of charging for it, we just leave a glass jar for people to drop donations in.” Says Kate “And maybe order pizza if that isn’t enough.”

“No beer?” asks Oscar.

“No license. The computer centre doesn’t have a liquor license. If we’d set it up earlier we’d have had time to apply for one, but we didn’t. So, no license, no beer.”

“Too bad, it would have been a good fund raiser.”

“I doubt Gates would let us use the room if we had beer.”

“Good point. Cootes would’ve gone for it, though.”

“Of course Cootes would go for it. He left most of his brain cells in the sixties. I swear the old geezer still thinks he’s a student. We’d all be so much better off if he retired.”

Oscar looks over at Maggie. She still looks a bit rough. “You sure you’re up to this Mag? Still time for a nap.”

She sticks out her tongue again but this time Oscar leers. “Don’t tempt me girl.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, Maggie gathers her things to cover her embarrassment. “I’m fine, lets just start. I’ll sleep later.”

They gather their things and head out, waving at Eric seated by the glass wall overlooking the oval.

Eric smiles and waves back at Maggie, then turns back to his laptop. A quick re-read of the draft email doesn’t pass muster, so he deletes it. He doesn’t want to sound whiny is all.

Beginning again, he types:

Where are you? You said to meet you here. I thought we were going to get something to eat before the computer party. I could have eaten without you but now it’s too late, they’ve shut down so only the vending machines are open. Joy. Rapture even.

He looks up and scans the room again, but it’s emptying fast. With everything closed down nobody is coming in.

If you weren’t coming why did say you were? I could be working on the essay due tomorrow, or researching my thesis, but no, here I am. Waiting for you.

He sighs. Elsie never wants to go out. Not that he minds staying in with her. The sex is incredible.

But.

He doesn’t know what her favorite color is or even if she likes jazz. Just sometimes he’d like to be able to talk with her, find out what makes her tick. He smiles to himself. Well, besides that.

O.K. look, how ’bout this. I’m heading over to Callaghan’s. If you want me to bring you something let me know. I have my cell. Call. Tweet. Something.
xo eric

This time Eric doesn’t read it, he just hits ‘send’ then shuts down the laptop.

Pulling on his jacket, he zips up, feeling in his pocket for his car keys. Not there. Must be back at the Res. He stuffs the laptop unceremoniously into the bag, shouldering it and heads back to Fyfield House. It’s a long way to Callaghan’s without wheels.

At the building Eric waves at the night porter and heads for the stairs. He’s been sitting too long and energy is bursting out of his pores so he takes the stairs two at a time, running all the way up to the fifth.

A swipe of his card and he’s in.

Heading for his room, he thinks how quiet it is. Not a soul in the common room. Everybody out and about doing something or other. As he should be … would be … will be when he finds his keys. He’s left the room open as usual, and drops the computer case on the desk, then roots through the knee hole drawer but they aren’t there either. He frowns, where? Checks the floor by the desk, bedside, closet. Nothing.

Nobody would bother to steal his keys. His car is a beater.

Eric thinks. Last night after the pub with Elsie. He could hardly believe she came out with him. Damn the girl can dance. He smiles. Dancing was so great. Gotta do that again. He probably left the keys in her room. God knows he couldn’t see straight when he came back down after. Maybe she’ll be there and they can go to Callaghan’s and get a bite together. So he heads back through the common room and up the stairs to the girl’s floor.

Strictly speaking, it’s off limits. But as Romeo says, “with love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out.” Eric smiles to himself as he heads down the corridor toward Elsie’s room. Who is he to argue with Shakespeare?

There’s a crack of light under the door. Good.

Elsie must have come back, great. Maybe she’s changing for him. He smiles, taps softly once and pushes open the door to the room he knows as well as his own.

Except it looks a bit different just now. The point of view is just wrong.

Well.

There’s Elsie’s unmistakable cascade of auburn hair fanned out over the pillow in soft erotic waves of spun silk in contrast with her pale skin, adorned with a delicate tracery of faintest blue veins. Her face is flushed, her eyes closed as she undulates on the bed.

Her long legs are bent and spread and her red polished toes knead the bedding. That’s his Elsie all right. The thing that’s not right is the sweaty guy kneeling at the side of the bed, head buried between her legs.

They’re going at it so hot and heavy they haven’t even heard him. Elsie did a good job training him to move quietly so he can slip in and out without disturbing the dorm mates. Right. Softly, on little cat feet.

Eric watches a moment, stunned, not really taking it in.

At first.

Not until the guy’s hands begin to slide up her torso.

Shaken by the enormity of the betrayal, Eric chokes back a sob and withdraws, softly pulling the door closed. He leans against the wall and squeezes his eyes closed. Trying to breathe.

Well.

That’s a picture that’ll be hard to get out of his head.

Like ever.

Eric shudders and starts shuffling down the hall in a daze. It’s hard work, pushing his way through the heavy air. As though walking under water.

He stops at the fire door to the stairwell and it hits him that Elsie was…

As the anger wells up he knows he can’t even think about going back. Pushing open the door he thunders down five flights of stairs and bursts out into the chill of the evening. Outdoors. Fresh air. Clean air. Not like the shit in his head.

He breathes in great gulps, suddenly feeling nauseous. Blowing air out his nose he decides to jog to Callaghan’s. Only a couple kilometers. What the hell else is there to do?

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Jake uses bluetac to stick up arrows reading “Ubuntu Party” to direct people down to the basement computer lab. They’re hoping for a decent turnout of non-nerds; it’s reassuring that there are already a handful of early arrivals.

Technically speaking he himself is not a computer nerd. He takes photography. Right. Like that saves him from nerd-dom?

Not.

Jake knows he’s a nerd to his toes and always will be. And maybe the jocks got the glory and the girls in high school, but more and more it’s the nerds who are running the world.

One of the things Jake likes best about being a university man is the discovery that there are girl nerds.

He doesn’t know why he never knew any girl nerds in high school, maybe they had better protective coloration then. Or maybe because he was too busy lusting after cheer leaders to notice them.

Well, he’s sure noticing them now. He hears the rattle of the exterior doors and the security guard talking, then a handful of students start down, following Jake’s arrows.

A cute girl waves at him. Wow. This is so great. People are coming out for this and he is one of the organizers.

Heck, in high school you didn’t dare even think words like Ubuntu, let alone suggest people might wanna dump Windows for FLOSS.

All done, last arrow stuck, time to head to the lab. Maybe he’ll be able to help the cute girl with her installation.

Another clump of customers follows him down. As Jake enters the room he sees Maggie settling people around the tables so they can plug in at the central power outlets. From the slide show running behind Oscar’s presentation at the back of the room, Jake can tell Oz is giving a fairly standard talk about free/libre open source software.

Adam is set up in the corner, answering questions, showing people how to set up hard drive partitions so they can try Ubuntu.

A touch on his shoulder makes Jake’s heart race, and when he turns he’s not disappointed because it’s Krystal giving him a big smile. “Hey there, Jake, sorry I missed the meeting.”

“That’s okay. The important thing is you’re here now. We don’t even officially start for ten minutes yet and look at the turnout. Excellent.” Jake produces an ‘organizer’ badge out of his bag and passes it to Krystal. His is clipped to his belt.

Krystal lights up. “Wow, these are great,” snapping her badge to her lapel. “Guess I’ll wander and see who needs help.”

“Good idea,” Jake agrees as he glances at his watch. “Liz isn’t here yet, so I’ll take some pictures to cover until she is.”

“Gotcha,” says Krystal as she heads into the room. Maggie smiles and waves at her before going to help a couple who look lost. Jake sets up his tripod as Oscar greets a group of students he recognizes from Fyfield House. Oscar grins and bows, doffing an imaginary hat to Mouse and Barbie, who naturally giggle while Ethan, Quentin and Jose roll their eyes as if on cue.

“Great to see you. Thanks for coming out to the Christie Computer Club Ubuntu Release Party. There are power bars in the center of each workstation, so find a place to settle and we’ll get you loaded up in no time.”

Quentin raises a hand tentatively and Oscar smiles at him. “How can I help?”
“My wife couldn’t make it out tonight, and I wonder if I’ll be able to hook her up with this stuff when she has the time?”

Oscar laughs. “Of course, Ubuntu is available free all year round. There’s a variety of different kinds of GNU/Linux distros. You might be happier with Fedora or Mint. But you’ll be able to download any flavour you like off the Internet whenever.”

Barbie says, “I thought fedora was a hat.”

Oscar answers that “Fedora is made by a company called Red hat,” and Barbie laughs.

“Okay,” Ethan asks, “Just, what if I don’t like it?”

“Ah” Oscar raises his eyebrows, “A virgin.”

“Woo hoo” Mouse and Barbie hoot, and the normally self assured Ethan looks about ready to melt through the floor.

“We’ll help you download and install if you’re ready, but since you’re not sure, you’d be better off running it from one of Maggie’s “live” disks so you can try it out without having to install.”

“That’s cool.” Ethan nods and people start helping themselves to the freshly burned Ubuntu DVDs stacked on the table. Jose drifts over and sets up in an empty spot and Barbie squeezes into the corner beside Adam, flashing him a big smile as she sets up.

Maggie sets out bowls of munchies on the side counter while Kate builds a soft drink pyramid at the end.

Krystal crosses over to Jose, and looks over his shoulder, asking, “How are you doing there?”

“I want to try this Ubuntu stuff, and I’m up for the partition thing. But I could use some help, you know?”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Krystal sits beside him, covering the hand holding his mouse with her own.

Jose asks, “It’s not going to mess up my Facebook, is it?”

“Not at all.” Krystal types in the password and connects the Wi-Fi. “Let’s get started.”

More students drift in and set up along the benches.

Adam is looking at Barbie’s laptop screen with dismay. Her desktop is a mess of icons. “So what do you think?” Barbie asks.

“Ah, maybe the best thing would be to run off of a live disk for now, and see how that works for you. But you really should be better organized. How can you find anything? It looks as though all your documents are on the desktop.”

Barbie looks up at him, tilting her head and frowning prettily. “Well yeah. What’s wrong with that? I mean, that way I can find everything.”

Adam frowns, “May I show you?” She nods and he slides over beside her. Reaching for her keyboard he creates a folder.

Adam says, “We will call this one assignments. Inside it we can make another for biology. We can make a folder for each of your courses so you can keep the work separate.”

“You mean the way I keep my notes in binders?”

“Exactly.”

Barbie’s frown is replaced with a smile just for Adam. “Huh. I never really got the whole computer folder thing, but binders makes sense. It might be a good idea. Thanks Alan.”

Liz and Amelia stand in the doorway, amazed at the turnout. The room is awash with students. Amelia carries a mic attached to a digital recorder clipped on her belt. Liz starts taking photographs before even stepping through the door.

“Wow,” says Amelia, “looks like close to a hundred people in there. Let me see if anybody’s done a head count. This is a good turnout for any club.”

“I can’t even see Maggie.”

“There’s Oz. I’ll go talk to him first.”

“Okay,” Liz is just lifting her camera again when a touch on her shoulder startles her. She jumps with a little shriek, then glowers at Jake.

“Sorry. I just wanted to tell you I’ve that I’ve already taken some pictures. Won’t do it again,” raising two fingers, “scouts honour”.

“You were a boy scout?” she asks, curious.

“Nawww,” he grins, “You know they don’t let in nerds.” Liz laughs as he starts stowing his camera. “This is way more people than Maggie expected. And more are coming in all the time. Gotta go do my computer club job now.”

Liz nods and edges around the room, photographing students helping students. Some faces are pensive, some squint in concentration, some are vacant with boredom. Others glance shyly at people they like, sparkle as they tell jokes, flutter in outrageous flirtation, discuss theories or argue with animation. Close shots of hands on mice, fingers tapping on keyboards.

Liz’s camera captures them all, making sure to capture quick shots of faces for a photo essay she’s been playing around with. Funny, she seems to be taking more photos of Ethan than just about anybody. Stop it girl. Do you really want to go there?

Ethan catches her eye and winks again. She can feel the flush starting at the roots of her hair. Down, girl. She turns away but she feels him watching. She tries to ignore him and concentrate on taking pictures. For the first time in her life, that isn’t easy.

The crowd ebbs and flows throughout the evening, and Maggie is pleased with the level of interest. As it gets late, although she is well into her second wind people start drifting away.

Around about midnight the last of the release party guests straggle through the front doors of the Computer Center and fan out in various directions. Barbie emerges into the cool night air flanked by Jose and Adam. Jose’s glance lingers on Barbie, but it’s late, and he’s tired. He’s not worried about Adam as competition. The guy is like Dilbert come to life.

“That’s it for me.” Jose says. “Later.” and Barbie waves as he sets off along the path that will take him to the Fyfield House residence.

“I’m parked in “C”, Barbie tells Adam, “How about you? Do you live on campus or off?”

“Oh, I live at home.” confesses Adam, wishing for the first time that he didn’t.
But Barbie giggles, “Me too. I thought I was the only one.”

They walk companionably toward the parking lot, Adam lugging a laptop on each shoulder. They get to her car first, a shiny new looking compact car.

She pushes the button to unlock it, and opens the door, turning to Adam and giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks for all the help Alan, I really appreciate it.”

Adam flushes and looks away, bashful under her intense blue eyed gaze. “It’s no problem Barbie, I’ll have it finished and back to you Monday, good as new. Better.”

“That’d be great. I’ve got a family thing this weekend so I won’t hardly even miss it. Just call me when it’s ready and we’ll get together. You’re an angel,” and she ducks into the driver’s seat. Barbie flashes Adam a smile, then the lights, and away she goes.

Dazzled, Adam watches her drive away, head spinning as he makes his way to the back to his own car. Funny, he never cared what a hunk of junk it was before. He smiles to himself; he doesn’t even mind she got his name wrong. Barbie kissed him! He’s in such a good mood he pats his beater fondly on the roof. His car is so old there isn’t a remote — you actually have to put a key in the lock. He opens the door and tucks Barbie’s computer carefully behind the seat. Then he slides his computer in beside hers.

He can’t help but grin as he slams the door. Barbie wants his help. She even gave him her phone number. And her computer. Adam is simply amazed that a girl like that would even talk to him. He’s in a daze as he buckles the seat belt, then turns the key in the ignition. Before disengaging the emergency brake he touches his cheek in awe. “She kissed me,” he marvels. “Me.”

As Adam drives out of the lot his lights illuminate Krystal and Jake emerging from the Computer Center. He taps the horn and they wave as he goes past.

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Maggie is curled up in bed, speaking softly into the cellphone.

“Oh I’m sorry babe … I can imagine … it’s good you saved the kittens … just a minute, Stu.”

Dropping the phone on the bed, Maggie brushes her eyes with a tissue, then blows her nose before picking up the phone again.

“No, I haven’t said anything to Kate or Oz. Krystal asked me not to say anything. And I understand why, really, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I mean, Oz was ticked because she never got the release party plugged in the school paper, but since I’m sworn to secrecy I can’t even stick up for her without saying anything.”

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Elsie sits at her computer, organizing her notes. Glancing at her watch, she rolls away from her desk, wondering where Eric is. He gives a mean massage and she could use one, but has to settle for neck stretches and rotations.

Surprising, really, he hasn’t called or anything. Just as well, she has to get this done, and he’s been becoming a bit of a pest lately. Pah. Men are supposed to be the ones who want sex without ties.

Except Eric. He wants commitment.

But she simply can’t afford it. Sex is all she has time for. Some fun to ease the stress. Med school is the only priority. She simply does not have time to spend in relationships and emotional negotiations. Which is not to say she doesn’t want a nice uncomplicated roll in the hay every so often. Maybe a little more. Twice daily is good. She smiles at the memory of Chuck this afternoon. Very talented, that one.

Distracting, even, so she checks email to see if Eric … shit. She was supposed to meet him for dinner but, well, Chuck was a temptation she couldn’t pass up.

Dinner date interruptis, so now there’s petulant email from Eric. So much for a massage.

She’d thought a dalliance with Eric would be just the thing, but maybe it’s been a mistake. He has such wonderful skin though. Smiling a Mona Lisa smile she thinks about him, then shakes her head to realigns her focus.

Work. This has to be done for tomorrow. Maybe she should think of cutting him loose. Not yet though. She’s not done enjoying him just yet. There’s something about the boy, addictive almost. Stop thinking about him. Get the work done.

He probably just wants to punish her for standing him up.

But he won’t be able to stay away. Rolling back to the desk she stubs her her toe on something hard and irregular. Twisting around and under Elsie sees what it is.

Eric’s keys. Hmmm.

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Mouse drops anise blocks into two mugs of milk before putting them in the microwave, bopping to music only she hears through her ear buds while it counts down. When it beeps she takes the steaming mugs out and stirs them vigorously, shuddering in happy pleasure as she inhales the rich licorice scent of home. Tucking her well thumbed copy of Don Quixote under her arm, she pops the spoon in the sink then carefully picks up the mugs and navigates the stairs to the common room.

Mouse sets one mug on the table in front of Amelia curled up on the sofa. Looking up from her own Don Quixote, Amelia smiles her thanks, not asking whose milk it is. Mouse settles at the other end and begins reading. Producing a pencil from behind her ear she makes margin notes now and again.

Mouse is just taking her own first sip of anise milk when she hears a thud from the stair door followed by giggling. Amelia and Mouse exchange glances. “I thought everybody was in already.” whispers Amelia.

“Seems not,” says Mouse, setting her mug back down, she stands and pulls her fuzzy robe tight and starts for the door. Amelia lays her book face down on the sofa to preserve her place and follows, curious.

The door creeps open as they approach and Amelia gasps– there’s a body on the floor. But then more giggling.

As they arrive at the door the “body” is revealed as an extremely inebriated Eric. The giggling comes in equal parts from Natasha and Liz.

“What happened to him?” hisses Amelia.

“Isn’t it obvious? This is one plastered puppy,” says Natasha, which encourages another round of giggling from Liz.

“Boris and I found him at Callaghan’s passed out in the back booth. The waitress made us bring him home.”

“Where is Boris?” asks Mouse.

“Putting away the car. When we got here Liz was on her way in so we drafted her to help,” says Natasha.

Liz giggles. “He was conscious then. I guess the elevator rocked him to sleep. It was all we could do to get him out.”

“He can’t stay out here in the hall, he’ll get in trouble. How about everybody grab corner?”

Natasha and Liz struggle to get Eric’s dead weight elevated enough so they can get a grip under his arms, while Mouse and Amelia each hoist a foot. They stumble through the door and manhandle Eric onto the sofa.

“Funny,” says Liz, “He didn’t look that heavy.”

“Thanks for your help, guys, but that’s it for me.” says Natasha. “G’night all.”

Liz yawns, catching the scent of licorice she notes the two mugs of steaming milk on the coffee table and in a blink decides to let it go. “I’m calling it a night too. Sweet dreams,” and she follows Natasha up.

Amelia and Mouse exchange glances.

“Well.” Amelia says, “We could move to the chairs.”

Just then Eric begins to snore. It’s a substantial sound, and Mouse shakes her head.

“Since the Incredible Hulk seems to have appropriated the room I think I will call it a night too.”

Amelia nods. “Like we have a choice.” She snaps off the reading lamp, and they pick up their mugs and start up the stairs. Amelia glances back at the sleeper. “I’ve got an extra blanket I can bring down for him.”

Mouse smiles at her. “You’ve a good heart Ami. G’night.” They separate at the top, heading to their rooms.

Amelia shares one of the big corner doubles with Liz, so she gives a quiet tap before entering. As she sets the mug on her desk she sees Liz is nearly asleep. Amelia pulls a fleece blanket down from her closet.

“I’m gonna run this down to sleeping beauty,” she whispers.

Liz mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over, so Amelia turns the desk light off and slips out with the blanket. Boris is just coming in as she comes down the stairs.

Boris asks, “He’s out again?”

Amelia grins. “Yup, and that was as far as we could get him.” Taking an end of the blanket, Boris helps her drape it over the sleeper. Eric takes a deep shuddering breath and snores profoundly.

Boris and Amelia both cover their mouths in an effort to keep their laughter from waking the dead, and Boris whispers, “I hope I get treated so nicely when I show up in that condition.”

“You?” whispers Amelia, “You’re far too cool to end up like this, Bo. Goodnight.”

Boris grins and gives her a courtly bow before he heads under the stairs on the way to his room. Amelia heads back up and is about to go into her own room when she realizes Don Quixote is still downstairs. And she’s not finished the chapter. Damn.

So much for a quiet night to catch up on her reading. Back down the stairs. She looks at Eric sleeping so peacefully. Where would the book be? She had been sitting at the door end, meaning the book is probably somewhere under his neck. What are the odds on getting it out without waking him or wrecking the book?

Giving up is not an option if she’s to finish the chapter and start the essay tomorrow. Gently peeling the blanket down she’s rewarded with a glimpse of her book tucked in behind the small of his back. She tries to wriggle it out but no go. Sliding her hand under doesn’t work, so she tries to roll him. A blast of beery breath in her face does not thrill her. Yuk.

Around the back of the sofa to try and get a hold of the book she reaches down and snags the corner, and is jiggling it to pull it out when Eric rolls off the sofa onto the floor.

Now Amelia’s book is free, but she feels guilty for pitching the guy on the floor. Still, there’s no way she is getting him back on the sofa by herself. Too bad Boris is gone.

Boris probably bench presses more than Eric weighs. He could pick Eric up easy. No way she can. She takes a cushion and wrestles it under his head. He snuggles in and looks so sweet.

Too bad he reeks of stale beer. Reaching over she pulls the blanket across him again before heading back up the stairs for the night.

Pulling the door closed she sets the book on her table, drapes her robe over the chair and angles it to block the bedside lamplight. She switches it on. Not a twitch from Liz. Good.

She can finish her reading here. Curling in with Cervantes, she finds herself thinking about Eric. She’s never seen him drunk. He always seemed to have it together Most of the other guys get shitfaced, just not Eric. At least not ’til now. Guess everybody takes a turn. Wonder what did it.

Elsie, probably.

Poor schmuck.

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The good thing about Saturday morning shifts is there aren’t many customers before noon.

But it’s still hard when you were up too late the night before. Amelia unpacks a box of books, checking the contents against the shipping manifest. Lifting out a handful of physics texts she carries them out front to shelve.

When the bell tinkles she looks over to see that it’s Adam. “I need a spindle of writable CDs this morning” he says.

“They’re over here. Sure you want CDs? You know they’re more expensive than DVDs because of the levy, right?”

“Yes, I do know, but I need them for an old laptop that only takes CDs.”

“Ah. Too bad,” commiserates Amelia. “Anything else?”

He thinks. “Let me look around a bit. There might be.”

“OK,” she says, “I’m just putting out some new books. Just give a holler when you’re ready.”

Adam looks through the rack of greeting cards, wondering what card you would get for the most beautiful girl in the world. These cards are all too foolish. Some have sexual implications that make him a little uncomfortable. Maybe a card isn’t quite right anyway.

He’s skips the iPad display. Even if they weren’t beyond his price range the Apple toy doesn’t fill any real need he knows of. But when Adam sees the Ubuntu mug he knows it is just perfect.

Not the big clunky travel mug, the delicate porcelain mug. It will remind her of him every time she sees it. Drinks from it. Every time her lips touch … wait a minute.

Calm down.

Surely it would be obvious to anyone how smitten he is with Barbie. Glancing around guiltily, Adam is relieved to see that Amelia is still in the back room.

Breathe deeply, from the belly, get a strong ki flow. Adam feels himself coming back under control. Once in balance, he carries the mug back to the register just as Amelia emerges with more text books.

Amelia asks “All set?” and he nods agreement, smiling. She sets the pile of texts on the counter so she can ring his purchases through.

Adam feels a little sorry for this drab, ordinary girl. She seems pleasant enough but she’s so … colorless. Poor thing, not blessed with golden hair like beautiful Barbie.

It’s too bad all girls can’t sparkle like his Barbie.

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Boris, Natasha, Liz and Jake are walking along the creek, enjoying the great outdoors on the Christie campus grounds. Although there are still leaves on the trees, more are on the ground.

Jake says, “I can’t believe how warm it is still.”

“So where is this surprise?” asks Boris.

Natasha lightly punches his shoulder, “Stop buggin’ her, Bo. We’ll see it when we get there.”

Liz knows there is no way any of them will capture any wildlife in their photographs today. Jake isn’t bad but Boris and Natasha are simply too loud. City slickers.

Every critter for miles is holed up somewhere else, hiding until these large noisy intruders go away.

Still, Liz can’t help but grin. She’s actually having fun here.

She can’t wait to show them. Her friends. People she has stuff in common with.

Now that was something worth coming to Christie for.   Imagine, people as interested in photography as she is.   Heck, Jake is way ahead of her.   For such a young guy he knows so much.   And he’s on top of all the digital stuff, too.

Boris and Natasha run ahead, throwing leaves at each other. Liz starts snapping shots of the leaf fight. Hah.

Liz doesn’t notice Jake backing up behind her, taking pictures of her taking pictures. But when she does she whirls around to catch him dead on, camera obscuring much of his face but none of his intensity.

Natasha runs on ahead again, leaving Boris far behind. As she crests the hill she stops, and Liz knows she’s seen it. Snapping on her lens cap, she tells Jake, “Come on!”

Liz turns and runs up the slope after Natasha, her long legs easily outdistancing Jake and passing Boris. Jake jogs over to Boris then drops into a walk beside him.

“Aren’t you curious?” Jake asks, since Boris hasn’t increased his walking speed at all.

“I expect whatever it is will still be there when we arrive.”

Jake nods, and they continue up the sloping path. As they reach the top, they can see the hill follows the creek down the slope to a little valley. Beside the meandering creek at the bottom they can see Natasha under a huge old oak tree. She is pushing on on an enormous tire swing suspended on a thick chain from one of the massive branches. A humongous tire.

The tire twists as it swings and they see Liz spreadeagled inside, arms and legs outstretched to hold on to the inner lip.

Boris grins and snaps off some shots as they start down the hill. “Good surprise. Think it’s a tractor tire?”

“Monster truck maybe.” And Jake realizes that even Boris will probably fit in that thing.

Cool.

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Slowly he opens his eyes and gazes at the far away spot.

Extending his arm he stretches and points toward the spot until the exhalation begins to wane. He allows his eyes to close and relaxes his arm, allowing it to fall to his side.

Adam inhales deeply, beginning ki breathing as he focuses internally now.

Until he feels a touch on his shoulder. Without altering his breathing, Adam reaches up and grasps the wrist of the hand that’s touching him. Turning evasively while breaking free of the shoulder grip, he puts his attacker on the mat.

His brother angrily protests, “Hey!”

Adam stops and blinks, releasing the wrist. “What are you doing here?”

His brother shakes his head and says, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. Could you maybe try to remember that I live here too?”

“But you snuck up on me.” Adam is annoyed to hear the whine in his own voice. The problem is that his brother always makes him feel like a little kid.

There has never been any doubt that Adam was the smart one. But his brother has always had the far more valuable gift of sociability. Sometimes Adam has to quell a touch of jealousy for this older sibling who glides so effortlessly through life, as suave and charming as any Hugh Grant character.

Adam extends a hand and helps his brother up.

“I wish you wouldn’t keep doing that. I just want to work out. That’s why I put in the weight room.”

“Sorry.”

“You wanna spot me?”

Adam nods, “Alright.”

Adam loves his brother. He just doesn’t like to be startled.

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Eric watches Elsie sitting in the window of the coffee shop, sipping her cappuccino. The sun angling through the plate glass lights her auburn mane afire like an erotic halo. He sighs heavily as he emerges from the bathroom, walking over to slip into the seat across from her.

This was ‘their place’. The only place outside bed they ever frequented together with any regularity.

God, she is so gorgeous.

Alabaster skin, sea green eyes. He smiles at her until he remembers, and then he looks away. He tells himself to stop it. Be a grown up here.

She smiles and says, “Hey, Eric.” Like nothing’s changed. He looks at the table. She’s gotten him his usual dark roast with a sprinkle of chocolate, biscotti arranged on the side dish.

He can’t stop the sigh. “Missed you at Callaghan’s Friday.” He looks at the coffee as he picks it up. Not looking at her. Blows on it, sips, sets it down. Stirs.

She looks at him closely. His skin looks gray this morning. Particularly in this glorious sunlight. Amazing sun for October. She can smell the alcohol wafting off him. Watching him not looking at her, she takes in the uncharacteristic stubble, the red rimmed eyes looking here, there, not knowing where to rest.

He licks his lips. Such lovely lips he has too, she thinks. Eric is possibly one of the best lovers she’s ever had. “I got held up.” she says, watching him, seeing his jaw clench. Not a good sign.

He’s still not meeting her eye.

Eric is looking at her reflection. Stirring his coffee, looking out the window.

Anything but to look in those eyes. She’s so achingly beautiful. Maybe it was just a bad dream.

Stirring.

That’s all she’s going to say. Maybe it was all in his imagination. Yeah right. He’s got a great imagination but he’s not a masochist. Wake up and smell the coffee.

She’s acting like it’s an everyday thing.

He stops, freezes, as an awesome and monstrous thought enters his mind. Eric’s fingers go slack as the thought sucks all the air out of his heart. He lets go the spoon, it clatters to the tabletop, flinging a few drops of coffee on his shirt. Like he cares.

Monstrous.

Maybe it is an everyday thing.

She’s bent over the table, digging for something in her bag. The waves of glorious hair fan out around that perfect neck. She purses those lips as she finds what she’s looking for. Withdrawing her hand, clasping it tightly she reaches across the table then opens it. An offering of his keys cupped in the palm of her hand. He just stares at them with dead eyes.

“You forgot these the other day,” she says.

As though nothing has happened. Her voice sounds exactly the same. As if everything is the same.

But it isn’t.

Yesterday he loved her and thought she loved him.

Today he knows better.

He raises his eyes and meets hers. She drops the keys on the table, and withdraws her hand.

She knows. He knows. And she’s still the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. She’s probably the most beautiful girl he will ever see. And she’s got such a brilliant mind. God she is smart. He thinks that was maybe more important than anything.

But.

She looks at him and sees him seeing her. Really seeing her for the first time, not the pedestal woman he had made of her, but the real woman.

She can see the lust in his eyes, mingling with the hurt and pain. The disgust. But the lust is still there.

And it’s making her feel … she feels so … it’s an arousal so strong she can’t believe it. She bites her lip as the flush spreads across her face. She wants to knock all the bloody coffee stuff off the table and fuck him silly right here on this table in the window in front of god and everybody. She’s never wanted anything this badly in her life.

He picks up his keys and hooks them over his little finger, just like always, then he pulls out his wallet and throws some bills on the table. He walks out.

Elsie grabs her bag and follows him out into the sun.

“Eric,” she calls. “Wait.” He stops. Frozen. Still tense.

She runs after him, comes around in front of him. Standing inches away. She stares in his eyes a moment, then reaches up and pulls his face to hers. And the kiss is the most amazing thing she’s ever felt, the most sexually charged kiss she’s ever had, she can’t breathe, she needs him— needs him— right now. She doesn’t want it to end.

But he wrenches free and walks away.

“It didn’t mean anything.” she calls after him. She can’t believe it as she watches him walking away.

From her.

Bastard.

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The sun is shining, the trees are flaunting their glorious autumn plumage, but Maggie and Krystal walk in the woods oblivious to the beauty all around them.

Maggie asks, “So what did the doctor say, Krys?”

They keep walking, Krystal doesn’t say anything for a bit.

Just thinking, they scuff their way through the fallen leaves. As they approach the bench beside the wooden bridge that spans the creek, Krystal says, “Let’s sit a while, O.K?”

Maggie nods and they sit. Krystal clears her throat, but doesn’t look at Maggie, stares into the creek instead.

“Nothing’s changed. It’s not growing as fast as they thought. But it is growing.”

“Can’t they zap it with radiation or something?” Maggie asks hopefully.

Krystal sighs sadly. “Maybe there will be a breakthrough down the road. But there’s nothing to be done now.”

Maggie doesn’t say anything. She’s not sure what to say. She’s still not sure that she understands.

“Look I’m sorry I told you, Maggie. I didn’t mean to. It just kind of slipped out.”

“What can I do to help, Krystal?”

“Just keep being my friend, Maggie. It’s great to have some support, you know? But there isn’t really anything else anyone can do at this point.”

“Oh god, Krystal, I’m sorry …”

Maggie’s tears are flowing and Krystal reaches over and pulls her into a hug. Patting her awkwardly on the back, Krystal says, “Don’t cry, Maggie. Please don’t cry.”

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Ensconced in his basement domain, Adam works hard; clearly, in his element.

Computers in all states of being, some live and Internet ready, others gaping with all their chips exposed, are set up along the wall to wall work bench.

Motherboards, cables and capacitors are tidily stored in boxes and bins.

But the only computer he has eyes for today is Barbie’s. He spent the weekend getting it done. Such chaos; files scattered all over the laptop.

It was close, getting it all done for today, but that’s what he promised. Now every thing is backed up and the defrag is finally done. Adam can’t wait to give it to her.  To Barbie.

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The circle of friends reclines on the grass in their special clearing off the beaten track.  They are soaking up rays  beside the creek running through the woodlot.  Barbie languorously passes the joint to Jose, stretched out beside her.  He takes a satisfying drag and smiles.

“Nice of Mister Sunshine to drop in for a visit, eh?”  He passes it on to Tamara, who takes just a light pull before handing it off to Quentin.  Q takes a couple of tokes and passes it on to Mouse.

Tamara sits up, feeling just a bit spinny, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to clear her head before the dissection lab she has this afternoon.  She smiles down at Quentin, who flashes his own pearly whites in a wolfish grin.

“You’re not leaving,”  he asks.

“Yeah, babe, I can’t afford to miss the lab.”  She leans over and gives him a kiss before she struggles to her feet.  She looks down at Barbie laying there.  The girl is totally wasted. “You coming Barb?”

“I don’t think it’d be such a good idea Tam.  I think they’d notice.” And she starts in giggling.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.  Later.”  Tamara waves to the group and hurries off to the Bio building.  The air feels good, the sun is soft and warm but she’s got a bit of a head.  That’s it for me, she thinks, not for the first time.  Can’t afford to toke up at lunch any more. No way no how.

Tamara has wanted to be a doctor since she was small.  Since her brother got the doctor kit she wanted for Christmas.

But she’ll have a real doctor kit soon.

She’s worked too hard and too long to get here. Slaving night and day to get the math, but she did it.  And now Tamara realizes that she has to get her head into the program or she’s gonna end up booted out.  That is not in the plan.   Stick to the program.  Get it done.

Yes.

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Adam stops, and starts slowly scanning the sea of humanity. She said she’ would be here. As his eyes travel from group to group, always looking for the brightest blondes, he simply can not see Barbie anywhere.

It is a poser. She said she would meet him here. But it is so crowded. Her cellphone must be switched off. He has already used the cafeteria pay phone to leave messages on her voice mail, so she must know he is trying to find her.

He starts to walk along the path, careful not to trip over students or gear spread out along the way. Adam carefully checks every blonde girl, but there is no sign.

He is getting some funny looks when he makes the circuit fruitlessly a second time.

But now at least he is sure she is not here. He knows Barbie is pre-med, but he has no idea of her schedule. They have no overlapping classes. He doubts the registrar will give out her information.

He knows she does not live on campus so there is no point checking the residences. Wait a minute. He has her computer. He came where she told him to come. He’s searched diligently, and she is just not here.

But she will need the laptop for just about everything.

He smiles as he pictures her making pencil notes in a lecture hall where everyone else is using a laptop.

Barbie will want her computer back. She will come looking for him.

Having a woman like Barbie looking for him, searching him out, asking people if they know where he is, would be good.

Act natural, don’t deviate from normal. Stay in character. Go to the library.

Let her find him. Adam smiles. It is just what his brother would do.

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Tamara pushes open the door of the Med School wing of Christie General, a facility originally built in a sleepy rural backwater in the 19th Century. Deliberately removed from urban centers of industry and disease, quiet and fresh air was more responsible for the high rate of patient survival than many of the dubious medical practices of the day.

Sixty years later the institutional quiet was breached forever with an influx of casualties that no other facility had the beds to accept. Great War survivors of mustard gas, battlefield surgery and shell shock desperately needed housing and treatment. No longer just a quiet place where the railroad petered into a train yard, the town expanded to accommodate an ever increasing flow of visitors, sprawling down the valley to meet the river.

With an end to the war, several military surgeons followed their former patients to Christie, bringing with them surgical innovations developed in wretched battlefield conditions, triggering the transformation from sanatorium to teaching hospital, and it wasn’t long before Christie University grew up around the bustling hospital.

Tamara undresses in the locker room, slipping into scrubs and stuffing her clothes in the locker. She notes the quiet, but brushes her unease aside as she hurries to the Lab. It’s later than she thought. Damn.

Opening the door she’s surprised to find the lab empty.

Nobody here.

Nothing to cut.

WTF? Maybe she got the day wrong? Must have been rescheduled. Wish somebody had told her, given her a call, something. She could have stayed in the sun with her baby. Maybe she can still catch him.

She goes back into the hall when the men’s locker room door slams open and startles her. She whirls to look but it’s only Nick, backing out with a wheelie bin.

“Gee, Nick, you scared me. What happened to the dissection?”

Nick looks at her. He thinks she’s intelligent enough, but he knows if she doesn’t get it together soon she’s gonna be history. Her big brown eyes look so open, so serious. Probably because her pupils are so widely dilated.

“The dissection went off as scheduled at one, Tamara.”

“At one. I thought … it’s after one?”

Nick nods toward the wall clock, “It’s after three.”

She stares at him, aghast. “Oh no.”

Nick starts wheeling the sharps cart away, but he feels sorry for the girl standing there, conflicted. Maybe she’ll pull it up if he gives her a word. She looks pretty devastated. So he stops.

“Look, I know you’re really smart. But if you don’t focus you’re just not going to make it. There are too many people who want your spot. If you want an easy ride you’re in the wrong program, you want to transfer to something else ’cause there just isn’t any slack for a pre-med.”

Her head is bowed and her shoulders are shaking. But when she speaks her words are steady, though her voice is thick with tears. “Can I make up the dissection with another class?”

“Come by the office after five. I’ll see what I can do.” Nick shrugs. “I think you might make a good doctor, Tamara, but maybe not. What you do on your own time is your business, but I can smell the pot from here. And that sure isn’t the way.”

Tamara says. “It won’t happen again.”

Pushing the bin toward the store room he hears her say softly, “Thanks Nick.”

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Quentin snores gently, Barbie and Jose are asleep too. Mouse gathers her things and jiggles Quentin’s shoulder.

“I have to go to a class Quentin, but somebody should be awake. Too easy to rob sleeping people, yes?”

Bleary eyed, Quentin nods, rubbing his head, “I got it, Mousie.” He struggles to sit up. “Man, that was good shit.”

She grins enthusiastically and waves before jogging back toward the main path.

Quentin flips open his phone, and scrolls through the calendar. He’s missed one class already, but probably slip into the art theory snooze without getting busted. School just makes him tired. But he wants Tamara to be happy.

So.

Much as he’d rather kick back in the sun, he knows he has to go, so Quentin reaches over and gives Jose a shake.

“Hey man, Mouse’s gone, and I’ve gotta go too.” Stretching, himself awake. “You guys probably don’t wanna sleep out here, you know.”

Staring up at the soft clouds, Jose says, “Yeah. I know.”

Quentin grins, “Later, dude,” and is gone.

Jose stretches and yawns hugely before rooting around in his backpack and pulling out a water bottle. He unscrews it and takes a swig, then sets it down beside him, crosses his arms and rests them on his knees and watches the water running along the creek bed. Jose does more stretching, then some yawning and now he’s awake. He wants something sweet. And Goldilocks is laying there waiting for him.

He sure likes the girl. What’s not to like? Does she like him though? She seems to, flirting all the time. Not a bad time to find out. Another sip of water, and he lays back again on the grass. Rolls on his side, watching her sleep. Pretty girl all right. White Anglo Saxon Protestant. Doesn’t act it though, smoking up with Catholic boys like him and Q. Hell, he’s the Latin lover type, right? The corner of his mouth turns up as he thinks about that one.

Watching the girl sleep is pretty intimate. Her breath is on him. Better wake her up. He reaches out a finger and runs it along her jaw. She smiles, mumbles something. He leans closer, to hear. Right. He touches her shoulder.

“Hey Barbie, it’s getting late, we gotta go.”

“Mmmm, just a few more minutes.”

He smiles, this time running a finger along her lips. Her eyes open, she looks right at him, “Mmmm, Jose, hey.”

He sees an invitation in those blue blue eyes, and he leans in, kisses her gently. Oh wow, she’s kissing back.

He can’t believe his luck. She pulls him close, really going to town. He hugs her back, enjoys the way she’s so aggressive, the way her curves feel against him, kinda nice. Really, really nice.

Barbie’s legs circle him, pulling him in.

He’s almost light headed from the kissing when her hands grab his and push them under her sweater … Oh my.

He can’t believe this is actually happening, maybe he’s still asleep and this is the mother of all wet dreams, oh much better than he could have imagined. This is the real deal here in his arms, this is Malibu Barbie rubbing all over him and it is sure happening. He’s rising manfully to the occasion and …

Then all of a sudden it isn’t.

Barbie sits up and tugs her sweater down, suddenly modest. Or maybe just awake. Dammit.

“Oh my god Jose, what are you doing?”

“Me?” Jose shrugs, lowering his eyes “I was just trying to wake you up. You’re the one jumping me, girl.” he smiles his soft smile at her. “Not that I mind or anything.”

She sits up and looks at him. His big brown eyes look away, suddenly embarrassed. Cast downward, those gorgeous thick eyelashes veiling those bedroom eyes. “Oh my god,” she thinks, “he’s blushing.” She doesn’t have trouble buying his story because, Jesus, she’s wet. She smiles; he is yummy. And she has thought about Jose, dreamt about him too.
More than once.

And man she’s ready for him. More than ready. He’s a better kisser than she’d expected but. Sexy as the boy is, he is just not a hustler. Jose is hot, alright. But he’s not going to set the world on fire. A hard worker, sure, but he’s not going anywhere extraordinary. And he won’t be so hot when he gets a pot belly, starts balding. He’ll teach elementary school in some nowhere town, married with a bunch of kids, be a good dad, join the Lions, PTA, have a wife, couple of kids in soccer, the works. Great life for some girl.

Just not this girl. Seeing her cousin get hitched this weekend ’cause the silly twit got herself knocked up was bad enough. That is just not gonna happen to her. Bright lights, big city, glamour and glitz, that’s the ticket.

“It’s okay, Jose. Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um, bother you.”

She glances down at his straining jeans then quickly looks away, her breathing shallow. So easy to scratch the itch, but she knows damn well Jose would expect her to be his woman. Which would mean she’d have to chuck her plans. No, no. no.

He nods. Looking over at her with those big dark eyes. Licks his lips, her turn to blush. He’s not being subtle at all as he looks longingly at her. She better watch it or she’ll be the one making babies. Uh uh. No way. No how. Not this girl.

“I gotta go.” She grabs her stuff and takes off without a backward glance.

Jose lays back and sighs. It was too good to be true.

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Natasha, stands with hands planted on her hips, “I think it’s just about perfect.”

Boris chuckles. “You can’t be serious.”

But she is serious, staring up at the black metal statue. The horseman is mightily gripping the reigns of the rearing horse delicately balanced on its two rear legs. The statue’s tail touches the concrete base making the third leg of the tripod but it still looks precarious.

“She wants us to find a new way of looking at the world, a different point of view. This will be different.”

“Well,” Boris says, “Just how in hell do you think you’re going to get up there?”

Natasha tilts her head and looks up at Boris, wearing a mischievous smile.

Boris holds both hands up in front of him, defensively. “Whoa there girl, You think I am going to help you get up on that ancient statue? I don’t think so. I like it here at Christie and I don’t really want to have to transfer out.”

“Aw Boris, don’t be such a poop. I only need a boost.”

“Oh yeah? What happens if you wreck the thing, eh?”

“How am I gonna wreck it? It’s made of metal for gods sake, and it’s bolted to a concrete pedestal.”

“Look, it’s balanced OK now, but the horse is only standing on two feet. You go up there you might unbalance the whole thing. So let me ask you, is it worth the risk?”

Natasha looks into Bo’s eyes. A big smile spreads from ear to ear, and she nods vigorously. “Oh yeah.”

Boris claps himself on the head. “You’re certifiable. Jeeze, Nat. If you get caught they might throw you out.”

“Come on, Bo. I won’t hurt anything … and nobody will catch me. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re missing a really big point though.”

“And that would be?”

“You take your shots from up there it would be evidence. Not a good idea. The pictures you hand in will bust you.”

“Gee, that’s an interesting point, Bo. I never would have thought of that.” Natasha carefully winds the small camera bag around her wrist then scrambles up the side of the plinth, hoisting herself onto the pedestal.

“Wait, Nat, wait, you’re not still gonna do it!”

“Sure I am.” Natasha wraps one arm around the horse’s near hind leg and reaches her other hand to Boris. “Now are you gonna help me or not?”

Boris looks at her outstretched right hand and her expectant face. Damn. “Okay okay.” Boris waves away her hand, planting both of his on the top of the pedestal so he can vault up to join her.

Balancing precariously on top of the damned thing, he draws himself up to his full height and looks around.

From this vantage point Boris does in fact have a better view of the oval, pretty empty now in spite of the fabulous weather. Students are back in class or off campus this late in the day. Nobody is looking over this way. Seems safe enough.

“I just need you to give me a little boost up Bo.”

Natasha extends her arms upward over her head, her fully extended fingers just brush the bottom of the saddle. She won’t make it without him. Unless she jumps, which would be incredibly dangerous. Boris sighs and takes one more stealthy glance around before reaching down and gently picking her up by the waist and raising her above his head. Natasha grasps the horse’s metal mane, gets a good grip then throws her leg over the statue’s withers, squeezing in between horse and general. Boris drapes his arm over the horse’s rump while scanning the Oval, miserably hoping that they won’t be caught and kicked out.

Natasha’s camera is out, she aims here and there, checking the framing on the screen back against her view of the wider world. She looks around until she is satisfied that she is really seeing. Only then does she begin taking photographs. Getting the view from here, the buildings, plantings, scattered students hurrying along the paths.

“Are you almost finished?” Boris hisses urgently.

Making sure she’s got a couple of incriminating shots of Boris, Natasha slips the little camera back in its bag. “All done.”

She slips out of the general’s grip and starts lowering herself down the side of the horse until Bo’s hands encircle her waist. He carefully lowers her half way down so she can make a gentle jump to the grass below, then shakes his head, still surprised he’s been dumb enough to go along with this crazy girl. His head is spinning, his heart racing as he glances around, certain that a contingent of campus cops will be coming for him any minute. But the coast is clear, so he jumps down, landing rather less gracefully. Rolling onto his back on the grass, weak as a kitten, he stares up at the impossibly blue sky, giddy with relief.

Natasha again offers him a hand, and this time he takes it, and she helps him up.

“Okay”, she says brightly, “I’ve got mine, what’s yours?”

Boris laughs, happy no one is slapping handcuffs on his wrists. Oh, it’s good to be a free man. “I have no idea.”

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Cameras slung around their necks, Liz follows Jake up the back stairs of the Art Center. At the top Jake pushes open the door leading into a dimly lit corridor.

“So what’s up here anyway?” Liz asks.

Jake smiles, touching a finger to his lips, then crooking it to indicate she should follow. Exasperated, she follows him anyway. Midway down the hall he stops and pushes a door inward, then walks into the dark.

“What is this brilliant idea anyway, Jake?”

He pops his head out, holding a finger to his lips, this time actually “shushing” her before disappearing inside. Liz doesn’t know what to do, but follows him into the dark anyway.

Liz feels a little guarded. It’s dark and there’s a kind of weird ambiance. And what sounds kind of like … maybe water falling? She just feels more confused. But Jake is already making his way through the darkness. So Liz trails after. It’s a long, room, or maybe a hallway? Hulking shapes huddle along the walls. Some kind of containers. Barrels maybe? It’s weird. Jake was so excited, he wouldn’t steer her wrong. Would he?

Of course that’s what everybody always thinks in the slasher movies. Reaching down to her fanny pack she makes sure she has her cellphone. Just in case. And she has the tripod if she needs some kind of a weapon. And she’s a lot bigger than … Wait a minute, this is Jake here. What is she thinking?

Ahead the dim light from the camera’s screen back illuminates the shadow that is Jake. Light stabs through the darkness and the sound volume swells. Liz realizes Jake is very cautiously opening yet another door. Suddenly she can clearly hear the rumble of a crowd, and puts it all together in a rush of relief. Vaguely Liz recalls Amelia saying something about the drama department hosting a play.

It’s easier going now that there’s some illumination. Liz moves up to stand beside Jake. They look out at a lighting catwalk strung between large theatrical lights suspended from a latticework of metal struts mounted on the ceiling. Compared to the storeroom it’s bright, but it’s realy just the spill, with the lion’s share of illumination pouring down onto the stage.

Jake moves silently onto the catwalk to set up. There’s no one else up here, so Liz assumes the lights have all been preset. Probably being run from a control board somewhere, maybe backstage. She watches Jake. He’s clearly aiming straight down at the audience, sure to get some great shots of the tops of heads. Bald spots, dandruff, who knows what he’ll capture, but whatever it is it’ll sure be different. She smiles as she realizes he has come up with an interesting new perspective.

Liz fires up her own camera, adjusts her settings, feeling a little foolish for being worried.

About Jake.

She feels like an idiot.

Instead of stepping out onto the catwalk herself, Liz crouches and takes a series of photographs capturing Jake at work. Retrieving her cellphone from the fanny pack she turns it off. It wouldn’t do to disrupt the show being put on below. Liz feels a bit of a stomach flutter as she steps out on the catwalk, moving away from Jake, toward the stage.

Jake brought her along so she can’t very well poach his idea. She needs her own spin, make her own distinct images. The Stratford Touring Company, that was it. It is warm here. A little hard to breathe. Overheated by powerful lights and body heat from the audience below. No wonder.

One of the big Shakespeare plays probably. Was there dancing in Macbeth? Doesn’t matter, she feels supercharged as she applies herself to her task, photographing the mammoth lights that are so close she could almost touch them as they cast their magical glow on the stage below.

Liz feels a chill, but she’s too busy, so she pushes it aside. She wants to get some good shots. She focuses on the stage, filled with masked revelers in flashing colours twirling to some kind of medieval music. Following the colour and motion from this angle is interesting. A little dizzying. When she’s got enough pictures, Liz shuts down her camera and stows it in her pouch. Why is her heart racing like this? So hot. Turning back the way she came she doesn’t see Jake at all. He must have finished. Maybe he’s gone.

Now the work is done Liz realizes that she’s having a bit of a problem. She tries to take a step in the darkness but … she can’t make her foot rise. Now that she’s looking through her own eyes and not the camera, she realizes the edges of her vision are ragged.

The dizziness is making her feel nauseous, along with a kind of falling sensation, pulling her to the side, drawing her to the audience. Down there. Now that she’s not taking pictures, she realizes the physical discomfort she feels isn’t excitement, it’s fear. She does not want to be this high up. No. Her hand snakes out and grabs the catwalk railing.

This is silly. She walked out here, she should be able to go back again too. Looking down at her feet she can see the people below. Reflected light from the stage reveals them clearly through gaps in the metal mesh floor. Liz can feel the little holes in the floor through her shoes, she’s mesmerized by the sight.

Heart pounding furiously Liz realizes she can’t stay here.

She can’t move either. Where is Jake? She can’t lift her foot. Not the other one either. Lifting it off the floor is too scary. The nearly invisible floor. Not an option. Maybe she can slide it. Her death grip on the railing helps pull her forward a step. Progress. Slide the hand, slide the feet.

The heat is intense, Liz feels sweat running down her back. Got to get out of here. Dizzy.

The pounding in her chest is bad, now there’s a pounding in her head, the rushing of the ocean, the blue of the water … white froth … Liz slumps to her knees, held upright by her mechanical grip on the rail.

As consciousness wanes, her fingers relax and she sprawls on the catwalk.

In the store room Jake is scrolling through the thumbnails of the images he’s photographed. Looking good. He packs up his camera and wonders what’s taking Liz so long. He goes back inside and takes a peek through the doorway. She’s not there. Where did she go? He heads back out through the store room and into the hall. She must have left. That’s annoying.

Not like Liz to just take off without a word though. Maybe she just thought it was stupid and didn’t want to say anything.

He shakes his head in frustration, but he should be used to being ditched by girls by now. He starts down the stairs, feeling an increasing sense of annoyance. Just he didn’t think Liz was like that. She been a good friend until now. One of the very few here who don’t treat him like a little kid.

As he reaches the exit door, it hits him.

When he was here this afternoon helping the crew set up the lights, he was all over the lighting grid. There is no other way out of there. The only way Liz could have left would have been to go right past him. And she didn’t. So Liz must still be up there. But where was she? He turns and starts back up again.

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Adam is tucked away in a study carrel in the back of the library, totally caught up in creating his software architecture plan. Crunching numbers, verifying, testing, he’s totally oblivious to the world around him. Which is why he hasn’t noticed it’s getting dark. Or Barbie, when she finally makes an appearance.

Standing in the doorway, Barbie scans the room, trying to spot the computer guy who has her laptop. She’s never been in here before, and it’s bigger than she thought it’d be. If she had actually looked for him in the oval she’d have it now.

She could be home already. But it was so warm and snuggly in the sun, too much fun laying in the grass smoking up with her friends to go hunting up her laptop. Of course if she’d got her laptop from Alan things wouldn’t have got out of hand with Jose. That’s gonna be so awkward.

It’s one thing to lust after him in her head and mess around with that great body in her fantasies, but she knows she’s damn well given Jose ideas now. Hell, she’s given herself ideas. That was too close, she needs to get laid.

And soon.

But goddamn she is not gonna end up like Tam, stuck with some loser. Or her dimwit cousin. God, who is stupid enough to get knocked up these days? Even if you don’t want an abortion, there’s always adoption. You don’t have to marry the guy and wreck your whole life. She will just have to steer clear of Jose. Don’t think about it now. Just find the guy with her computer.

She walks through the main area, there are a few guys who might be him, but she’s not really sure what Alan looks like actually. Ordinary looking. With a tie. But it’d probably be a different tie today, so that might not help very much.

Barbie cruises around the perimeter. Some of the possibles catch her checking them out and look up hopefully, but she ignores them.

He had brown hair. Or was it black? Not blond anyway. Maybe dark, uh dirty blond. Um. No glasses. Kinda like Dilbert, actually. Duh. For sure he isn’t any of the guys working at the common tables in the center of the room. She walks along peeking in the carrels, looking for her computer case. That she’ll recognize.

And finally, Barbie sees it. She comes up behind the guy, taps his shoulder. Skinny, not muscular like Jose. She’s pleased to see she was right, he’s got brown hair. He turns around and smiles when he sees it’s her. Yup. He is wearing a tie too, with some kind of … what is that spaceships? … yeah, spaceships on it.

“Hey, where were you? Couldn’t find you at lunch.” Barbie bestows one of her brightest smiles.

“It was so crowded and I looked but you weren’t anywhere. I think the whole school was out in the sun.”

“I am sorry, Barbie, I did try. We probably missed one another because it was crowded and we were both moving.”

“Probably. Then I had a class. Sorry I missed you.”

Adam smiles happily, “Oh that’s fine. Have you got a moment now? We can go over it.”

Barbie frowns prettily, “I wish I could but I promised my Dad I’d have dinner with him. My folks are divorced and I don’t get to see him very much.”

“That’s alright.” He pulls her computer case out from under the carrel desk and hands it to her. “Let me just tell you, I’ve installed the new Ubuntu distro, and upgraded all your open source software, Open Office, Gimp, and Firefox. I set up a directory structure I think you’ll like but if you have any problems give me a call and I’ll get you fixed up, okay.”

“Oh wow, you did all that? That’s amazing.” she gushes. Adam smiles, feeling terribly pleased with himself.

“Hey, you know,” she says glancing down at the computer bag, “There’s one more thing you could help me with, that is if you’ve got the time?”

“Yes, I have some time tonight. How can I help?”

“It’s these,” she says. Fishing a couple of CDs out of her purse she hands them to Adam.

Adam looks at the cases, Black Eyed Peas ‘The E.N.D.’ and Coldplay ‘Viva La Vida’. “What is the problem? Do they skip in your player?” he asks.

“No they’re fine. My friend loaned them to me but I always have so much trouble making copies, I thought maybe you could put them on my MP3 player. Or even just show me how to do it?”

Adam’s face isn’t happy any more. “You can’t do that.”

Frowning. “I know, that’s why I’m asking for your help, because when I try to do it something always goes wrong. The Peas aren’t supposed to sound like the Chipmunks, you know?”
“No, that’s not what I meant at all, Barbie. I meant that it’s illegal to make copies of CDs.”

She shakes her head, frustrated. “I don’t think so. Everybody does it, and that’s why she gave these to me so that I could copy them. She knows I’m gonna, she said it was okay.”

“That doesn’t matter. She can’t give you permission, she doesn’t have the right to …”

“Of course she does, they’re her CDs. I was with her when she bought them.”

“She may have bought them, but that doesn’t mean you can copy them. That’s against the law. You could get in trouble. She could get in trouble. If I copy them for you I could get in trouble.”
Barbie stands up, frustrated “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. She owns them, and she gave me permission.”

Adam purses his lips and frowns. “Please let me explain. She owns the compact disks, right?”

Barbie’s eyes narrow and she looks at the guy. She knows he likes her. Why is he giving her a hard time? It doesn’t track. She’ll give him one more chance. So she says tentatively, “Right.”

“But that’s not the same as owning what’s on the CDs.”

Barbie just stares at him, confused, like he’s some kind of little green man getting out of one of the spaceships on his tie. She tosses her hair in frustration. “They aren’t blank CDs. If they were blank CDs they wouldn’t have cost as much.”

“Yes she bought them,” he waves the CD, “But she didn’t buy the right to copy them.”

“Of course she did. She owns them. Who else would have the right to copy them?” she asks, amused.

“Whoever made the CD.”

Barbie crosses her arms, and looks at him, no longer confused or amused. “You’re telling me the only one who can copy The E.N.D.” Barbie snatches the CDs from his hand and waves them in front of his nose, “is the Black Eyed Peas? That’s ridiculous. How am I supposed to ask big stars for permission?”

Adam says, “Of course not, that is not what …”

But Barbie can’t hear him. She won’t listen. “I mean just ’cause I can follow will.i.am on Twitter doesn’t mean he has time to talk to all the Peabodies. I mean, he’s brilliant but he’s busy writing music. They don’t print their phone number on the CD.” she says, petulantly now. “Even if they did, am I gonna call up will.i.am or Fergie and ask if I can copy Tamara’s CD? They’d be on the phone all the time, not making music anymore.”

“It is unlikely that the band would be allowed to give permission anyway. It would be the record label or …”

“Wait a minute. I may be a blonde but I am not dumb enough to think that will.i.am can’t give me permission to copy his own freaking CD. That’s just nuts. Why are you giving me such a hard time? Are you mad I missed you at lunch? I said I was sorry.”

“I am not trying to give you a hard time, but my brother is an Intellectual Property lawyer. Could I just show you?”

She looks at his outstretched hand and hesitates a moment. Just she really doesn’t have any more time right now. Not after having had to chase all over looking for the guy. So she stuffs the CDs back in her purse. “Look, just forget it.” She grabs the laptop case, mutters, “Thanks,” then turns on her heel and stalks away.

Adam sits there, stunned. Watching her walk away.

Barbie is annoyed. No, not annoyed, angry.

She’s really, really, angry.

How could he be so stupid? She liked him. She even kissed him once. Why couldn’t he just enjoy it? Why does he always have to be so anal? Barbie was happy he fixed up her computer.

All he wanted was to help her. He doesn’t want her to get in trouble. Why doesn’t she understand? Now life is truly miserable.

It was better when she didn’t know he existed. He could quietly admire her and hope she might talk to him some time. Now she knows who he is and he’s made her hate him. Adam buries his face in his hands.

He didn’t even have a chance to give her the mug.

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Maggie is laying on her back in bed, staring at the ceiling with red rimmed eyes when she hears her cellphone vibrate on the night table. She grabs it and rolls onto her side to talk into it softly.

“Hey baby. No that’s Okay, I was awake. How was it?”

She listens to his stories for a while. Then it’s her turn.

“I’m just having a bit of a hard time sleeping.”

She listens, then, “No way, I wasn’t worried about you and the strippers.” Maggie listens to him talk a bit, then she says, “Yeah, of course I trust you. I mean you’re my guy and all but more important is you know I’d kill you stone dead if you stepped out on me.”

Stuart talks some more, and Maggie giggles. “But it’s not gonna be forever. Even if I was there no way would I be going to a stag with you.”

Maggie listens some more, then smiles sadly, “Yeah, I was thinking about her. You know me too well.”

She listens again. Then, “No, she doesn’t want anybody to know, but yeah, I told her I’d tell you.  You know she’s right. If people knew they’d treat her different.” Maggie brushes her eyes.

“Hell, I know I do. I try not to … no, not even Katie. Just talk to me …” Tears are running silently down Maggie’s face. “Yeah, I wish you were here too, babe, ’cause I could sure use a hug.”

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