Eager to Learn (Complicity Cycle) Page 2

  He left no note, just like my brother.

  That happened, though. Lots of people committed suicide without leaving a note. Nothing particularly interesting there, except—as I already knew…

  Alan McAllister had jumped off the Geosciences building. Just like my brother.

  I swallowed the coal in my chest, closed the window, and just breathed for a while.

  Chapter 2

  I stumbled out of Choppin Hall. In spite of the heat, I was shivering. I had to lean against a thin white tree until my breath steadied.

  My heart fluttered in my chest, and I felt strangely happy and spent.

  I noted the low sun. Odd.

  My mouth tasted dry, and I looked around, disoriented.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. Ashley. The time in the top corner said it was five o’clock.

  I thought back and hit a familiar gray wall. I had no memory of the previous few hours.

  I answered the phone. It was jarring, because I felt like I had just talked to her. For her, that had been almost three hours ago.

  “I’m done,” Ashley said. “You ready?”

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice weak.

  “How’d your rendezvous with Dr. Smolder go?”

  I looked back at Choppin Hall and realized that must have been what I had been doing.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Dr. Giacomo.”

  “So hot, right? What’d you two kids talk about? D’ju suck his cock?”

  I frowned, mentally retracing my day. It cut off vaguely in Middleton Library, and then picked back up right outside of Choppin Hall.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “You can’t remember if you sucked his cock?”

  “No, but I’m sure I didn’t. I just can’t remember right now.”

  “You damn amnesiac,” she said.

  “It’s not amnesia,” I said. “I don’t lose memories, it just sometimes takes me a while to remember things.” I pushed off the tree and started toward the bus stop.

  “Oh right,” Ashley said teasingly. “I think they have a word for that. Oh right. Amnesia.”

  I’d only known Ashley for a year now. We’d both gone with the random roommate potluck freshman year in the dorms and we wound up hitting it off great. We moved into an apartment together over the summer. Because she’d only known me for a year, my condition was still a novelty for her, not a source of constant irritation like it was for me and (sometimes) Jeffery.

  “My long-term memory is fine,” I said. “But sometimes the short-term frazzles and it just takes a little while to percolate over to the long-term. But I don’t lose anything. Amnesia is memory loss. What I have is just, like, memory delay.”

  “Semantics,” said Ashley. “I’m at the bus stop. Where are you?”

  “On my way,” I said.

  We waited on a pebble rock bench for the right bus amid a small crowd of chatting, ear-bud-wearing, backpack-hauling students. When our bus finally came, it was standing-room-only, so Ash and I clung to greasy steel poles and leaned against each other.

  “How hard is this class really?” I asked.

  “Chemistry?” Ashley asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “It’s not hard so long as you go to class,” said Ashley. “But Giacomo being such a panty-soaker makes that easy.”

  “So he, like, tests from the lectures?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Ashley, tossing back her frizzy mane of hair. “If you just go and pay attention and keep your eyes locked with his gorgeous baby blues, you’ll be fine.”

  “What’d you make?” I asked.

  “B, I think,” said Ashley. “And I didn’t even have to suck his cock. But don’t get me wrong, I would have taken a C just for the opportunity to suck his cock.”

  “Jesus, Ash,” I said, laughing.

  “Seriously,” Ashley said. “Only class I’ve ever attended that was schlick-bank material. I probably could have had an A if I didn’t spend half the class fantasizing. He’s probably so hard and experienced and deliberate and…”

  “You’re awful,” I said.

  But as she talked about him, I felt a kind of frisson move down from my stomach and slip between my thighs. An electric kind of heat that I tried to ignore.

  The bus lurched to a halt outside our apartment complex and clusters of people pushed through the masses to disembark. When we stepped into the apartment, Ash tossed her keys into the peppermint-filled candy bowl on the coffee table. “Wednesday,” she said. “Half-priced calzones at Rotolo’s.”

  “God, I’ve missed Calzone Wednesdays,” I said.

  Ash pulled out her phone and made the call.

  At the same time, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Jeffery.

  His text said, DTF?

  “Yes, I’d like to place an order to pick up. Ashley.”

  I typed back, Calzones.

  “Two supreme calzones. Yes.”

  That too, he said. Order me one?

  “Add one for Jeff,” I said. “Pepperoni.”

  “And a pepperoni,” said Ashley. “No. A pepperoni calzone. Not pizza, calzone. I said… yes, that’s right. Okay. All right. No problem. Thanks,” she hung up the phone. “Jesus, that place is hopping on Wednesdays. It sounds like there’s a concert or a war going on over there.”

  Done, I texted back.

  “For real,” I said. “I hate the atmosphere there.”

  “That’s because you hate people, troglodyte.”

  “I don’t hate anybody in particular,” I said. “Just when there’s lots of them together I hate all of them equally. So dibs on not picking up.”

  This was a joke. Because of my epilepsy, I didn’t have a driver’s license.

  “Like hell,” said Ash. “I made the call.”

  “If we stop abiding by the law of dibs, Ashley, society falls into chaos.”

  Walking over, said Jeffery. He lived in the apartment building next door. You manage to dodge the news crews all day?

  “There’s only one honorable way to settle this,” Ashley said.

  Yeah, I said.

  “How’s that?” I said.

  How was the club fair thing? I said to Jeffery.

  “Make Jeffery pick it up.”

  “There’s no honor in throwing ourselves on the mercy of the patriarchy, Ash,” I said.

  “Isn’t getting men to do stuff for us, like, the opposite of patricide?”

  I looked at her. “Patricide, Ash? Really?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  The door opened, and Jeff stepped in. “Fun,” he said, completing our text message conversation. “You should have come.”

  “Next time,” I said.

  “I’ll come for you, Jeffery Miller,” Ashley said, shooting him an exaggerated wink. Then she added in an overly-sultry voice: “But only when you tell me to.”

  He laughed. “Maybe when Lynn’s not here.”

  I felt an ancient current of jealousy pour through me, but I had to play nice. It was all just fun and games, and I didn’t want to be the clingy bitch.

  “Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll let you borrow him if you pick up the Rotolo’s.”

  “Ladies, please,” said Jeffery, sitting down on the couch next to me. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

  “Plenty, huh?” said Ashley. “Would you say that you’re…” she licked her lips and glanced down at his jeans before meeting his eyes again, “well-endowed?”

  I clinched my jaw.

  Jeffery laughed. “I yield. Too much for me.”

  “Seriously, Lynn,” Ash said, turning to me. “Is he packing an anaconda? It’s like a roll of cookie dough, isn’t it?”

  “Gross, Ash,” I said.

  “Whoa, hey,” Jeffery said. “That’s my penis we’re talking about, here. Let’s not throw around words like ‘gross.’”

  “No,” I said, thinking on my feet. I was teetering across the tight-rope of being a good-spirited friend above the aby
ss of being a can’t-take-a-joke, stage-seven clinger. I had to scramble to find a way to protect his pride while still playing the game. “I was answering in German. Sehr gross, Ash.” I forced a playful whisper. “Very big.”

  I owed it to him to be a good girlfriend, after all. He’d been such a good boyfriend to me.

  “All right,” Jeffery said, sighing the sigh of the long-suffering. “Let’s just get this three-way over with.”

  “Actually,” I said, seeing an opportunity to steer the conversation away from this much-hated banter, “we do need to have a three-way. Right now.”

  Jeffery blinked, for a moment taking me seriously.

  I held my left palm face-up and placed my right fist on it. “To see who has to pick up the calzones,” I said. “It’s the only honorable way.”

  Jeffery grinned with understanding, but I couldn’t help but note that flicker of genuine disappointment. He and Ash held up their fists too, and we all threw at once.

  Ashley and I went paper. Jeffery went rock.

  “Dammit,” said Jeffery.

  “You’re too predictable, Jeff,” said Ashley. “Like you’re not going to throw rock after we just got done talking about your big penis. Freudian much?”

  “Just cough up the plastic,” Jeffery said, and we gave him our cards.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Ashley said, “Okay, level with me. Really big?”

  “Ash,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “What?” she said. “I mean, he’s practically perfect in every other way. I mean, there’s got to be a downside, right?”

  “No.”

  “So he is packing heat, then,” Ash said.

  “I mean ‘No, I’m not answering that question,’” I said.

  She shook her head and flipped on the television. “He really is awesome,” she said, suddenly real. “If I had a guy like him, I’d lock that down quick.”

  “I know,” I said. “He really is.”

  “Especially,” Ash said, switching back to being playful—the serious moments never lasted long with her—“since you’ve got me curious about his dick. Now, I’m just going to have to step up my game even more.”

  “Not cartoons,” I said, motioning toward the screen. “And you can step up your game all you want. Have at it.”

  “You’re not worried that his sex-soaked man-brain won’t eventually crumble to my allures?”

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Why’s that?” she asked.

  I looked right at her. “Because I know how much he loves me,” I said, hoping the real-ness of this statement would crush the conversation for good.

  And it worked. Ashley let it drop.

  We all ate dinner together and then Jeff went to play disc golf with his friends for a few hours while I did my homework. There wasn’t much of it, but I wanted to go ahead and get that chemistry problem set out of the way. After submitting my assignment—which was an easy re-cap from last year—I slipped out of my clothes and stepped into a steaming hot shower.

  Working the chemistry problems had reminded me of class, of my embarrassing and noisy entrance, of all those eyes staring at me, all those hushed voices snickering. I leaned into the shower’s stream and let the hot water wash the day off of me. I breathed in the steam and relished the soap-scent of my bathroom.

  Apartment showers were hands-down better than dorm showers.

  In the dorms, sixteen girls had all shared the same showers. There were curtains for privacy, but you had to wear flip-flops and it always smelled like a big cake of mold, all iced over with a creamy glaze of bleach.

  In my apartment, showers were a heavenly-scented sanctuary. They weren’t something I had to do, they were something I got to do.

  Over the summer, I’d cultivated a small alchemist’s lab of soaps and shampoos, and all the colorful bottles lined the inset shelf. Jeffery’s AXE looked like a misplaced motor-oil container among them.

  I’d been experimenting with lavender and peppermint. Lavender for the body wash and conditioner, peppermint for the shampoo. Together, they made for a crisp-but-soft aroma that tingled my scalp and made my skin feel like silk.

  The door opened, but I didn’t jump. I’d left it unlocked on purpose.

  There was the jingle of a belt unfastening and the rumple of a shirt and jeans being discarded.

  “Knock, knock,” said Jeffery.

  “Who’s there?” I said.

  Jeffery stepped into the shower completely naked. Water trickled down his skin and the mist caught in his eyelashes. Boys always had the best eyelashes. “Me,” he said, sliding a hand around the soap-slicked small of my back. He pulled me against himself, looked down on me, and kissed me. It was an honest kiss. A no-show kiss.

  I ran my hand down his chest, which was only now starting to get a light dusting of hair. My fingertips crested his abs, falling gently into the subtle gaps between them. Then down further still, where I lightly brushed the base of his shaft.

  “Me who?” I whispered up to him, barely audible over the rush of steaming water.

  “I, uh, didn’t think that far,” he said, smiling self-consciously.

  I loved that smile. I loved that boy.

  I kissed his lips, gently holding him in the palm of my hand as he grew harder. He was, in fact, well-endowed.

  Yes, apartment showers were hands-down better than dorm showers.

  His fingers traced up my spine and to the back of my neck as our mouths interlocked. Then he moved down, kissing me along the curve of my jawline to the hyper-sensitive skin of my neck. He ran his fingertips into my hair, sending chills through me.

  I pulled myself close to him, feeling the architecture of his back with my hands. He might not have been a high school football star, but rock climbing had left his upper body carved and lean. I ran my fingers through his hair as well, urging his head to continue its downward journey.

  He obliged with tongue and lips, dipping into the hollow of my clavicle and down to my left breast, where he hovered over the nipple, warming it with his breath and just—just—barely touching it with the tip of his tongue. A light flick, and then another. His hands rested gently on my hips.

  My fingers dug into the back of his head, and I pulled, wanting him to clamp down. To suck and taste and stroke. He resisted, staying right over my nipple. His eyes closed against the spray of water, the curl of a devious smile at the corner of his mouth. I pulled harder, but he moved on, abandoning the nipple and gliding to the valley between my breasts. His tongue seemed hot and strong against my wet skin, pushing and pushing as it rode up the curve of my right breast all the way up until he reached the nipple, where he hovered again, refusing to let me have even that minor release.

  I clawed the back of his head, using my fingernails this time as he flicked and played. His hand moved to the original, abandoned breast, and though he massaged its softness lightly, he left the nipple unattended.

  I moaned and leaned into him, practically begging as he teased me.

  And then, without warning, he clamped his hot mouth to my nipple. At the same time, he cupped his palm around the other one, and I leaned into him with a gasp.

  I nearly got a little too loud, and I had to reel myself in, aware that Ashley was right in the next room and that the walls were thin.

  Jeffery looked up at me with a quiet laugh, and I pushed him away playfully. Then he stood and guided my hand to his cock, where I gripped him and pulled him close to me. He kissed me, and as he did, he slid a hand down my stomach and past my navel. Down, down, to where all the warmth and the electricity coiled and vibrating in anticipation.

  And in all the wetness and the heat, I felt the cool dry brush of foreign fingertips against my skin.

  I gasped and stumbled back at the remembered sensation.

  “What?” he whispered, glancing at the livingroom-side wall that symbolized Ashley’s presence.

  I stepped out of the shower, streaming water and making puddles on the bathroom floor.
I didn’t care. I grabbed a towel distractedly and wrapped it around my nakedness like a cloak.

  I looked in the mirror, and through a steam-mottled haze, a faceless me looked back.

  A hard stone formed in my throat.

  “What is it?” Jeffery asked, genuine concern in his voice as he stumbled out of the shower, his hard penis bobbing.

  I breathed and closed my eyes. “I can’t do this right now,” I said, hating myself as I said it. I glanced at his cock, and I felt like a bad girlfriend.

  “Okay,” Jeffery said, rebooting. “Um, did I do something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said. “Sorry, it’s just… I can’t explain it, but I just can’t do this right now.”

  Jeffery, naked and dripping, scratched his head. Another boy might have been angry or indignant or at least demand an explanation. But not Jeffery. Though his expression was bewildered, all he said was, “Okay. That’s… Okay.” He grabbed a towel and dried off. When he wrapped it around his waist, a resistant bulge remained. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I just need a moment.”

  “I could make some popcorn,” he said. “We could watch a movie.”

  I nodded again, trying to swallow back strange tears.

  The fuzzy Jeffery in the mirror watched me for a moment, clearly trying to decide if he should say anything else. Then he grabbed his jeans off the floor—where I’d dripped on them—and headed back to my bedroom.

  The shower continued running, continued filling the air with steam and static.

  I remembered now. I remembered everything.

  I was a bad girlfriend. A very bad girlfriend.

  Chapter 3

  Earlier that day, I’d climbed up the steps to Choppin Hall after Calculus. The concrete baked in the heat, and a distorting haze wavered over every bright surface, reminding me—somehow—of a beachside gin-and-tonic, sweating and swirling as the melty ice mixed water with alcohol. A swooning kind of heat that you could almost get drunk on.

  I was light-headed as I stepped into the air conditioning, and my stomach felt like someone had it in their grip and was slowly tightening and twisting it. The light-headedness came from the heat. It was a feeling familiar to anyone from the South. The stomach twisting was because I was about to have to talk about my memory problems, and this was a feeling that would be familiar to anyone with a disability they have to discuss with strangers.