Chapter Two: TJ
Tuesday, 11:40 am (earlier that day)
Swish.
The ball slices against the hard court. I lunge to return the shot, then swing. The ball whooshes into the net. Damn it. I’m not the kind of guy who misses.
Bobby and I lose five–seven.
I failed to get my first serves in. My angle was off. Anyone watching wouldn’t have known I was offered a full ride to a division-one school for tennis.
I tease the strings on my racket, hunched over on a bench at the campus courts.
“Fifteen minutes till class,” one of the guys from the opposing team mutters. Regina University’s grade-school late policy has them hustling to the buildings on the other side of campus.
Next to me, Bobby elbows my shoulder. “You lost your lane. All good?”
I lean against the wood, the brim of my cap shielding my face from the sun’s glare. During my silence, Bobby wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He stands and steps over to block my view of the courts. “You bummed about the game?”
If only that were it. This morning I received my score for the LSAT. It’s a reminder of what hasn’t transpired. I stand and kick a stone, eying the path as it sails through the cool autumn air. “We’re juniors. We should have seen the girls by now.”
He rolls his shoulder back, par for the course. Bobby always gets uncomfortable every time I talk about the mission. If it were up to him, he’d wipe it from his memories. I can’t say I blame him.
He glances behind us, then to the side. No one’s around.
It’s been two years since Bobby and I ran into each other as freshmen. By now all four of us should have been reunited.
“I must have overlooked something,” I mutter.
“It was a long time ago. Who knows what could have changed between then and now.” Bobby yanks on his sweatshirt. “Want to get lunch?”
Typical Bobby trying to change the subject when I bring it up. I grab my racket. “I can’t.” My sneakers scuff the pavement as I head toward the administrative office building.
“TJ.” Bobby jogs to catch up. “Where you going?”
“To see Father Timothy. Catch you later.”
I pass the Belgian marble male dorms and make it across the grounds to the dean’s office for our bi-monthly meeting. The door is open. He’s seated behind an antique desk with a big computer monitor on it.
“Thomas, please come in.” Father Timothy stands, crosses the stone floor. He motions to the two chairs facing his desk.
I settle into one of the high-backed seats, lean my racket against it. He takes the one next to me, tilting his head. “How are you?”
“Fine.” It comes out sharp.
“I know this time of year can be difficult,” Father Timothy says delicately.
“It’s not about that.” Two months back marked the anniversary of my parents’ death. Even though it’s been over twelve years, early October is always tough. Another year of birthdays my parents weren’t able to celebrate.
He sits back, waiting for me to elaborate.
I grip the handle of my racket. “Did you know the day I met you, I was set on Harvard?” I received the invitation from RU at the start of my sophomore year in high school. Another invitation had followed, then a call from Father Timothy himself. It was flattering. It’s not normal to get recruited by a dean of an honored school like RU.
He folds his hands. “I am not surprised.”
“Yet you seemed convinced I would go here.”
“Do you regret your time here?”
I knew I’d end up at RU as soon as I drove through the gates. There was something about this place, about Father Timothy. Then, on my first day, I ran into Bobby. This was definitely the right school. Over the last two years, Father Timothy has been somewhat of a mentor. “No.”
“Thomas, what is it?”
“I got my LSATs back. One seventy-eight.”
He nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a closed smile. “Well done. I cannot say I am surprised.”
Most don’t take the LSAT until their senior year. It was Father Timothy who suggested I take it early.
At my silence, Father Timothy leans forward. “You do not seem enthusiastic about it.”
“I am.” At least, I want to be. With this score, I can have my pick of any law school. “Do you believe the devil can possess someone?”
Father Timothy’s mouth falls open but he recovers quickly. “The church believes demons can twist the minds of a human, or even physically take over the body. However, it is rare for either of these to occur.” He props his thumb under his chin, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. “Why do you ask?”
“Damato, the guy who killed my parents, claimed the devil took control of his body and made him run them over.” He pleaded insanity.
Father Timothy eases back into his seat. “You have never talked about this with me before.”
True. Our meetings usually center on my career, with pockets of family, friends, and school sprinkled in. “It was in the past.”
“Was.” Father Timothy emphasizes my word. “What has changed?”
I let go of my racket. From my front pocket, I pull out the email printouts of my LSAT score and parole notification. “I received two emails this morning.” Just two. I can’t recall the last time I only received two emails in a morning. I drop both sheets on the small table between us.
Father Timothy glances at the papers, keeping his face expressionless. “How do you feel about the parole?”
I fist my hand. “He hasn’t even been in jail for ten years. I want justice.”
“What would that be?”
“Death. But I’ll settle for life in prison.”
“It is understandable that your acceptance would be marred by the parole hearing, Thomas. Perhaps receiving both letters on the same day is God’s way of reinforcing your calling to be a lawyer. If Damato is not granted parole and stays in prison, would you forgive him?”
“He mowed down my parents like they were nothing more than roadkill. I will never forgive him.”
“Matthew Six says if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespass.”
I hate to disappoint him. “I can’t do that.”
#
The night air is chilly as I make my way back to campus. Some girl found a textbook I left behind in class. Rather than give it to the professor—that would have made too much sense—she took it with her.
The students in the female dorm are all young, giggly. They eye me like I’m their last piece of steak. I head straight for the fifth floor, collect my book, leave. At the elevators, I punch the button several times, wait, walk inside. I hit the button for the bottom floor. Again, I wait. My fingers tap against my book.
The doors ding, then slide open on the first floor. I step out.
Dark hair, something about the shininess of it, draws me in, holding me in its grasp. She stands outside the elevator, waiting to enter.
Her face is pale, beautiful. She’s not wearing any makeup. Not trying to look like something she’s not. I jerk my head back and blink upon meeting her eyes. Green.
I swallow, my voice stuck in my throat.
April.
Something leaps in my stomach. A shot of adrenaline speeds through me as I stumble out of the elevator.
Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens. No words come out.
I’ve played this scenario over in my mind countless times: what I’d do, what I’d say. Even so, I don’t act quickly enough. The girl standing next to April pulls her into the elevator. The doors close.
I strike the up button. Once. Twice. Three times. I missed my window to catch that elevator. It doesn’t register what floor it stops at. I could run up the staircase, check every floor, knock on all the doors until I find her. There are what, ten floors in this dorm? About twelve rooms on each floor, minus the first. One hundred and eight rooms. It’s doable. Then what? How would she respond? What if she acts like Bobby did when we first ran into each other? It took a month to get him to talk to me.
I pace the floor, hitting my fingers against my leg. My other hand curls around my textbook. She recognized me.
Everyone walking down the hall has me doing a double take. I can’t—won’t—leave this dorm until I talk to her. A day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t thought about our mission.
Back, forth. Up, then down, the foyer. Come back.
The dorm monitor eyes me for the umpteenth time. “It’s past curfew.” She’s got a hand on her hip. “You need to leave.”
Curfew. I’d forgotten what it’s like to live in the dorms.
“Now,” she says when I don’t move.
I meander to the door, peering over my shoulder. Nothing.
Once in my car, I dial Bobby. It goes to voicemail.
“Sorry to disappoint, but now is not a good time. Later might be. Leave a message if later works.”
I hang up. This isn’t something to leave in a recording.
It was her. Now I’m doubting myself. Not something I’m used to.
I open Chrome on my cell. Bobby will want more information too.
RU has the names and photos of all students on their secure log-in site. I’ve checked it after every semester, after I ran into Bobby freshman year. Except this year.
I don’t know her last name, but the school isn’t that big. I’ll review every photo of the freshman class. Hell, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to locate her.
A minute later, I come across her photo in the M section. Martin. My heart rate skyrockets, like a jumpstarted engine that suddenly catches and roars. I find myself staring at her photo much longer than I want to admit. She has an oval face. Her hair flows past her shoulder. I’ve thought about her—never like this, though. The last time I saw her she was seven years old, and the times before that we were still on the island.
Damn. She has really grown up.
There isn’t any other information in the online school directory but I have what I need.
My cell buzzes. Penny.
“Hey,” she says after I finally answer. “Did you forget about me?”
I’d told her I might swing by, tired of getting needled for working too much. We didn’t have definite plans.
“If you knew what I was wearing,” she continues, “you’d run every red light to get here.”
An hour earlier, this sort of prompting would have been enough. It’s different now. “I can’t tonight.”
“Why?” Her voice rises. “Let me guess, work again.”
Ever since I took on more responsibility at my family’s purified water business six months ago, it’s been a sticking point with Penny. I only work part-time, although a lot of my time is sucked up with the prospering company.
“You could call it that,” I say.
She huffs, making it clear she isn’t happy. “Fine.” The line goes dead. She probably expects me to call her back. I can’t be derailed.
A minute later my cell chimes. Penny’s posted a selfie on twitter. She’s holding two shirts. Strapless or scoop neck for my date with nobody?
She’s always chasing clout. She never said my name, but it’s not like her followers don’t know who her boyfriend is. I’ll be getting @s from her crowd before long. I sigh, slide past her notification, search for April Martin. A ton of girls’ profiles show up, but not the April I’m looking for. I check the other popular social media sites. Bushels of other people appear. Again, not the one I want.
Doesn’t matter.
Time to tell Bobby. Within minutes I’m at his frat house. His jeep is parked in front. Good, he’s here.
I kick an empty beer can to the side as I make my way through the front door. “Let’s go! Go! Yeah!” people shout from the adjacent room. Sounds like the boys are watching tonight’s game. The stench of dirty socks assaults my nose as I head toward the cheers. One guy is spread out on a bean bag, another on a sofa.
Bobby’s sprawled on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table. He sits up when he spots me. “Bruh, what’s going on?”
It’s not like me to show up unannounced. I signal him to meet me outside. He jumps to his feet.
“Dude, seven forty-five left and the Knicks have no fouls,” Bobby’s roommate yells. “How can you walk out?”
Bobby doesn’t look back, and once outside, closes the front door. He leans against it awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What is it?”
“How about a drink?”
Bobby’s left eyebrow rises in confusion.
“Not here though.”
Neither of us say anything as we drive to The Back Room, a seedy dive down the road. This place never cards so we’ve been coming here since freshmen year. A beat-up Chevy and a dated Nissan Titan are the only other cars in the lot. A neon purple ‘Open’ sign flashes on and off.
Stale air permeates the dimly lit bar. We take two corner stools with a view of the last minute of the game. At the other side of the bar, two old guys nurse their beverages.
Bobby and I get our beers. I wait for him to finish his mouthful before I begin. “I saw April tonight.”
“Wh-what?”
“She’s on campus.”
Bobby’s eerily still.
“Sherman Oaks dorm,” I say.
He laughs, bumping my shoulder with his elbow. “You had me going there for a second.”
“I’m not joking.”
He searches my face as he takes another swig. “You’re capping.”
“I saw her an hour ago.”
Bobby shakes his head, finally realizing I’m serious. “No. Couldn’t have been her.”
“It was. We’ve been talking about this for two years. It’s not only us anymore.”
Bobby places his drink on the chipped wooden bar and leans away. “No. You’ve been talking about this for two years. Not me.”
I pull out my phone, punching in the letters of the school website. I get to April’s profile, thrust my cell at him.
Bobby’s eyes widen. He inhales deeply then pushes my hand aside. “How do you know?” His voice is hard, biting.
“Look at her, Mayo.”
He glances at my cell again. Shakes his head, his face hard. He looks up at the TV.
I rap my knuckles on the bar to get his attention. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“Afraid?” he spits the word out. “It’s cray-cray. We’re talking about something we shouldn’t know anything about!”
So that’s it. Bobby hates that this means he’s not like everyone else. “It’s a little late for that,” I say.
He flinches.
Without April or Olivia, it’s been easy for Bobby to forget how we really know each other. Not for me. Ever since I ran into April when I was nine years old—the same day I lost my parents—I’ve thought about our mission every day. Finding April brings us closer. Bobby won’t be able to ignore this.
He moves his fingers restlessly on the phone.
I push my beer away, lower my voice. “Since you turned up as my roommate freshman year, this day was inevitable. Don’t flake out.”
His shoulders curl downward. “What do we do?”
“Find out what she knows.”
“How do we do that?” he asks.
“Whatever it takes.”
Swish.
The ball slices against the hard court. I lunge to return the shot, then swing. The ball whooshes into the net. Damn it. I’m not the kind of guy who misses.
Bobby and I lose five–seven.
I failed to get my first serves in. My angle was off. Anyone watching wouldn’t have known I was offered a full ride to a division-one school for tennis.
I tease the strings on my racket, hunched over on a bench at the campus courts.
“Fifteen minutes till class,” one of the guys from the opposing team mutters. Regina University’s grade-school late policy has them hustling to the buildings on the other side of campus.
Next to me, Bobby elbows my shoulder. “You lost your lane. All good?”
I lean against the wood, the brim of my cap shielding my face from the sun’s glare. During my silence, Bobby wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He stands and steps over to block my view of the courts. “You bummed about the game?”
If only that were it. This morning I received my score for the LSAT. It’s a reminder of what hasn’t transpired. I stand and kick a stone, eying the path as it sails through the cool autumn air. “We’re juniors. We should have seen the girls by now.”
He rolls his shoulder back, par for the course. Bobby always gets uncomfortable every time I talk about the mission. If it were up to him, he’d wipe it from his memories. I can’t say I blame him.
He glances behind us, then to the side. No one’s around.
It’s been two years since Bobby and I ran into each other as freshmen. By now all four of us should have been reunited.
“I must have overlooked something,” I mutter.
“It was a long time ago. Who knows what could have changed between then and now.” Bobby yanks on his sweatshirt. “Want to get lunch?”
Typical Bobby trying to change the subject when I bring it up. I grab my racket. “I can’t.” My sneakers scuff the pavement as I head toward the administrative office building.
“TJ.” Bobby jogs to catch up. “Where you going?”
“To see Father Timothy. Catch you later.”
I pass the Belgian marble male dorms and make it across the grounds to the dean’s office for our bi-monthly meeting. The door is open. He’s seated behind an antique desk with a big computer monitor on it.
“Thomas, please come in.” Father Timothy stands, crosses the stone floor. He motions to the two chairs facing his desk.
I settle into one of the high-backed seats, lean my racket against it. He takes the one next to me, tilting his head. “How are you?”
“Fine.” It comes out sharp.
“I know this time of year can be difficult,” Father Timothy says delicately.
“It’s not about that.” Two months back marked the anniversary of my parents’ death. Even though it’s been over twelve years, early October is always tough. Another year of birthdays my parents weren’t able to celebrate.
He sits back, waiting for me to elaborate.
I grip the handle of my racket. “Did you know the day I met you, I was set on Harvard?” I received the invitation from RU at the start of my sophomore year in high school. Another invitation had followed, then a call from Father Timothy himself. It was flattering. It’s not normal to get recruited by a dean of an honored school like RU.
He folds his hands. “I am not surprised.”
“Yet you seemed convinced I would go here.”
“Do you regret your time here?”
I knew I’d end up at RU as soon as I drove through the gates. There was something about this place, about Father Timothy. Then, on my first day, I ran into Bobby. This was definitely the right school. Over the last two years, Father Timothy has been somewhat of a mentor. “No.”
“Thomas, what is it?”
“I got my LSATs back. One seventy-eight.”
He nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a closed smile. “Well done. I cannot say I am surprised.”
Most don’t take the LSAT until their senior year. It was Father Timothy who suggested I take it early.
At my silence, Father Timothy leans forward. “You do not seem enthusiastic about it.”
“I am.” At least, I want to be. With this score, I can have my pick of any law school. “Do you believe the devil can possess someone?”
Father Timothy’s mouth falls open but he recovers quickly. “The church believes demons can twist the minds of a human, or even physically take over the body. However, it is rare for either of these to occur.” He props his thumb under his chin, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. “Why do you ask?”
“Damato, the guy who killed my parents, claimed the devil took control of his body and made him run them over.” He pleaded insanity.
Father Timothy eases back into his seat. “You have never talked about this with me before.”
True. Our meetings usually center on my career, with pockets of family, friends, and school sprinkled in. “It was in the past.”
“Was.” Father Timothy emphasizes my word. “What has changed?”
I let go of my racket. From my front pocket, I pull out the email printouts of my LSAT score and parole notification. “I received two emails this morning.” Just two. I can’t recall the last time I only received two emails in a morning. I drop both sheets on the small table between us.
Father Timothy glances at the papers, keeping his face expressionless. “How do you feel about the parole?”
I fist my hand. “He hasn’t even been in jail for ten years. I want justice.”
“What would that be?”
“Death. But I’ll settle for life in prison.”
“It is understandable that your acceptance would be marred by the parole hearing, Thomas. Perhaps receiving both letters on the same day is God’s way of reinforcing your calling to be a lawyer. If Damato is not granted parole and stays in prison, would you forgive him?”
“He mowed down my parents like they were nothing more than roadkill. I will never forgive him.”
“Matthew Six says if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespass.”
I hate to disappoint him. “I can’t do that.”
#
The night air is chilly as I make my way back to campus. Some girl found a textbook I left behind in class. Rather than give it to the professor—that would have made too much sense—she took it with her.
The students in the female dorm are all young, giggly. They eye me like I’m their last piece of steak. I head straight for the fifth floor, collect my book, leave. At the elevators, I punch the button several times, wait, walk inside. I hit the button for the bottom floor. Again, I wait. My fingers tap against my book.
The doors ding, then slide open on the first floor. I step out.
Dark hair, something about the shininess of it, draws me in, holding me in its grasp. She stands outside the elevator, waiting to enter.
Her face is pale, beautiful. She’s not wearing any makeup. Not trying to look like something she’s not. I jerk my head back and blink upon meeting her eyes. Green.
I swallow, my voice stuck in my throat.
April.
Something leaps in my stomach. A shot of adrenaline speeds through me as I stumble out of the elevator.
Her eyes widen. Her mouth opens. No words come out.
I’ve played this scenario over in my mind countless times: what I’d do, what I’d say. Even so, I don’t act quickly enough. The girl standing next to April pulls her into the elevator. The doors close.
I strike the up button. Once. Twice. Three times. I missed my window to catch that elevator. It doesn’t register what floor it stops at. I could run up the staircase, check every floor, knock on all the doors until I find her. There are what, ten floors in this dorm? About twelve rooms on each floor, minus the first. One hundred and eight rooms. It’s doable. Then what? How would she respond? What if she acts like Bobby did when we first ran into each other? It took a month to get him to talk to me.
I pace the floor, hitting my fingers against my leg. My other hand curls around my textbook. She recognized me.
Everyone walking down the hall has me doing a double take. I can’t—won’t—leave this dorm until I talk to her. A day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t thought about our mission.
Back, forth. Up, then down, the foyer. Come back.
The dorm monitor eyes me for the umpteenth time. “It’s past curfew.” She’s got a hand on her hip. “You need to leave.”
Curfew. I’d forgotten what it’s like to live in the dorms.
“Now,” she says when I don’t move.
I meander to the door, peering over my shoulder. Nothing.
Once in my car, I dial Bobby. It goes to voicemail.
“Sorry to disappoint, but now is not a good time. Later might be. Leave a message if later works.”
I hang up. This isn’t something to leave in a recording.
It was her. Now I’m doubting myself. Not something I’m used to.
I open Chrome on my cell. Bobby will want more information too.
RU has the names and photos of all students on their secure log-in site. I’ve checked it after every semester, after I ran into Bobby freshman year. Except this year.
I don’t know her last name, but the school isn’t that big. I’ll review every photo of the freshman class. Hell, there’s not much I wouldn’t do to locate her.
A minute later, I come across her photo in the M section. Martin. My heart rate skyrockets, like a jumpstarted engine that suddenly catches and roars. I find myself staring at her photo much longer than I want to admit. She has an oval face. Her hair flows past her shoulder. I’ve thought about her—never like this, though. The last time I saw her she was seven years old, and the times before that we were still on the island.
Damn. She has really grown up.
There isn’t any other information in the online school directory but I have what I need.
My cell buzzes. Penny.
“Hey,” she says after I finally answer. “Did you forget about me?”
I’d told her I might swing by, tired of getting needled for working too much. We didn’t have definite plans.
“If you knew what I was wearing,” she continues, “you’d run every red light to get here.”
An hour earlier, this sort of prompting would have been enough. It’s different now. “I can’t tonight.”
“Why?” Her voice rises. “Let me guess, work again.”
Ever since I took on more responsibility at my family’s purified water business six months ago, it’s been a sticking point with Penny. I only work part-time, although a lot of my time is sucked up with the prospering company.
“You could call it that,” I say.
She huffs, making it clear she isn’t happy. “Fine.” The line goes dead. She probably expects me to call her back. I can’t be derailed.
A minute later my cell chimes. Penny’s posted a selfie on twitter. She’s holding two shirts. Strapless or scoop neck for my date with nobody?
She’s always chasing clout. She never said my name, but it’s not like her followers don’t know who her boyfriend is. I’ll be getting @s from her crowd before long. I sigh, slide past her notification, search for April Martin. A ton of girls’ profiles show up, but not the April I’m looking for. I check the other popular social media sites. Bushels of other people appear. Again, not the one I want.
Doesn’t matter.
Time to tell Bobby. Within minutes I’m at his frat house. His jeep is parked in front. Good, he’s here.
I kick an empty beer can to the side as I make my way through the front door. “Let’s go! Go! Yeah!” people shout from the adjacent room. Sounds like the boys are watching tonight’s game. The stench of dirty socks assaults my nose as I head toward the cheers. One guy is spread out on a bean bag, another on a sofa.
Bobby’s sprawled on the couch, his feet propped on the coffee table. He sits up when he spots me. “Bruh, what’s going on?”
It’s not like me to show up unannounced. I signal him to meet me outside. He jumps to his feet.
“Dude, seven forty-five left and the Knicks have no fouls,” Bobby’s roommate yells. “How can you walk out?”
Bobby doesn’t look back, and once outside, closes the front door. He leans against it awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What is it?”
“How about a drink?”
Bobby’s left eyebrow rises in confusion.
“Not here though.”
Neither of us say anything as we drive to The Back Room, a seedy dive down the road. This place never cards so we’ve been coming here since freshmen year. A beat-up Chevy and a dated Nissan Titan are the only other cars in the lot. A neon purple ‘Open’ sign flashes on and off.
Stale air permeates the dimly lit bar. We take two corner stools with a view of the last minute of the game. At the other side of the bar, two old guys nurse their beverages.
Bobby and I get our beers. I wait for him to finish his mouthful before I begin. “I saw April tonight.”
“Wh-what?”
“She’s on campus.”
Bobby’s eerily still.
“Sherman Oaks dorm,” I say.
He laughs, bumping my shoulder with his elbow. “You had me going there for a second.”
“I’m not joking.”
He searches my face as he takes another swig. “You’re capping.”
“I saw her an hour ago.”
Bobby shakes his head, finally realizing I’m serious. “No. Couldn’t have been her.”
“It was. We’ve been talking about this for two years. It’s not only us anymore.”
Bobby places his drink on the chipped wooden bar and leans away. “No. You’ve been talking about this for two years. Not me.”
I pull out my phone, punching in the letters of the school website. I get to April’s profile, thrust my cell at him.
Bobby’s eyes widen. He inhales deeply then pushes my hand aside. “How do you know?” His voice is hard, biting.
“Look at her, Mayo.”
He glances at my cell again. Shakes his head, his face hard. He looks up at the TV.
I rap my knuckles on the bar to get his attention. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“Afraid?” he spits the word out. “It’s cray-cray. We’re talking about something we shouldn’t know anything about!”
So that’s it. Bobby hates that this means he’s not like everyone else. “It’s a little late for that,” I say.
He flinches.
Without April or Olivia, it’s been easy for Bobby to forget how we really know each other. Not for me. Ever since I ran into April when I was nine years old—the same day I lost my parents—I’ve thought about our mission every day. Finding April brings us closer. Bobby won’t be able to ignore this.
He moves his fingers restlessly on the phone.
I push my beer away, lower my voice. “Since you turned up as my roommate freshman year, this day was inevitable. Don’t flake out.”
His shoulders curl downward. “What do we do?”
“Find out what she knows.”
“How do we do that?” he asks.
“Whatever it takes.”
