Between the Lines (10 page)

Gabe – 15

After she leaves, I wait at the door for her to get on the
elevator, then lock the apartment and take the next one, but she’s out of the
building before I get to the lobby. I nod to the front desk clerk as I leave
and stepped outside, just in time to see her crossing the street.

I’m still debating on if I’ll pretend I didn’t follow her to see
what she says, or just confront her about it when she enters the campus of
Columbia University. It’s easy enough to keep my distance. She’s walking
quickly and my leg, though much better than yesterday, won’t let me keep up
with her. But, I can still see her clearly enough.

She so had me fooled. How many guys does she have stashed around
the city? The country? Though in fairness, there was never a discussion of
being exclusive, but for me, that’s always a given. If I’m sleeping with one
girl, I sure as hell am not fucking anyone else and assumed it was the same for
her, though I should never take that for granted. And, we haven’t even known
each other a week. Still, why the hell was she so skittish and nervous? What
the hell is she hiding from me?

The campus is crowded with students everywhere and it’s easy to
hide among the bodies, not that Ellen has bothered to look behind her.

She approaches a large building with columns and I look up. She’s
meeting this dude at the library? Then again, the stacks, the ones in the far
back, dark corners where nobody goes, are great places to get laid. I found
that out early on in college.

Instead, she stops in front of a statue. A guy’s there who is
probably about forty, maybe fifty, wearing a dark suit. I guess he’s handsome
enough, and built fairly well. Shit! My gut tightens when he hugs her and
kisses her on the cheek.

Who is he? A sugar daddy? The man’s old enough to be her father.
He’s got at least twenty years on her.

What am I then? A plaything. Just a young cock that rises to the
occasion at the sight of a smile. One that isn’t approaching an age in need of
Viagra. Does she fuck the rich dude when he calls and he pays for toys, like
her Audi, and she intends to keep me around for fun? Too bad I’m not rich or
she could have it all.

I know I’m jumping to ugly conclusions but those two are certainly
cozy. I can’t see Ellen’s face, but this Scott has hugged her, kissed her on
the cheek, pulled her close, rubbed her arms, put an arm around her shoulders,
kissed the top of her head, speaks close to her face and then he takes
something from his pocket and hands it to her before leaving. Ellen walks to
the steps and sinks down. She isn’t even looking around, but she doesn’t seem
very happy.

Maybe it’s a guilty conscience.

Do I go to her or wait?

“I’d rather wait,” I mutter to myself, and head back to the
street.

Instead of going back to the apartment, since I really don’t want
to have the confrontation in the place where I nearly lost my heart to her, and
because I figure she’ll catch up to me, I sit on a bench. If she exits the way
she came in, she’ll see me.

It’s about another fifteen minutes before I see her and her eyes
widen when she spots me.

After her initial shock, she walks over and a number of emotions
cross her face: concern, worry, suspicion. It’s like she working it out in her
head and wondering if this is just a coincidence or did I know where she was?

I stand when she gets closer. “Who was that?”

“Did you follow me?” She seems affronted. Hell, she’s the one that
left the bed to go see another guy. I’m the one who should be pissed. I just
stare at her, waiting for an answer.

“A lawyer.”

“Do you always meet him outside? Doesn’t he have an office?

“It’s too far away and he needed to meet with me.”

She’s lying to me. Her pupils dilated just slightly and she
glanced away.

“Okay, so what was so urgent?”

“Just unexpected issues came up because of my grandparent’s
estate. It’s been a problem since the beginning.” She stomps away from me,
stopping only because there isn’t a walk signal. 

“Can’t your parents deal with it?”

“Yeah, if they hadn’t been written out of it.” She glances at me
from the corner of her eye. “Not exactly written out. They were each left one
dollar.”

“They cut your parents out?” That’s cold and harsh.

“It’s a long story.” She blows out a breath.

“So, tell me.”

 “No. I don’t want to talk about it.” She wheels around, facing
me, piercing me with a glare. “Why did you follow me?”

 “I heard you on the phone and then you were all jittery in the
kitchen. After last night, I thought we had something. But hell, you couldn’t
stand for me to kiss you this morning.”

And, thinking back, that’s what did it. You don’t fuck someone all
night and then hardly be able to meet their eyes the next day and not let them
kiss you. The woman I thought I was falling in love with is a fucking liar. I
should have known she was too perfect to be true.

“You don’t trust me?” She nearly screeches.

“How can I when you’re clearly holding something back?”

“It’s nothing,” she insists.

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Her eyes go wide and before I can react she slaps me across the
face. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

I’d take offense to being slapped, and being called names, but she
just showed me how defensive she really is. “I’ve been called worse.”

The walk signal comes on and she starts crossing the street and I
hurry after her. 

“You’re not who I thought you were,” she says when we reach the
other side.

“Apparently, neither are you,” I counter.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

 I grab her arms and turn her toward me, not caring that people
are walking past us on either side, hurrying to get to wherever they need to be
and we’re blocking their path. I lean in until Ellen and I are practically nose
to nose. “I know how to make you come over and over, make you scream, and I
know what art you love and hate, and that you like ballet. But otherwise, I
know very fucking little.”

“And I’m not about to tell you anymore.”

That’s it then. Three days. A great three days, but that’s all.
“Why did you leave New York? Why did you even come to my town, get an
apartment, saying you needed to get out of the city only but turn around and go
back within less than a week of moving in?”

I should have questioned it earlier, but I was in the early crush phase
and enjoying my good fortune of having met her. I sure as hell won’t make that
mistake. Ever again.

“That’s none of your damn business.” She glares at me.

“Fine.” I step back. “Just let me get my stuff and then you can
carry on with your life as if you never met me.” I turn and walk away, my heart
shredding in my chest.

Shit, I fell for her, in what was probably a world record, and she
crushed me in a millisecond. I don’t bother to see if she’s following and head
back to the apartment building. Once upstairs, I throw my new clothes into my
backpack. Others have to go in a big shopping bag because I have too many.
After leaving the key on the kitchen counter, I let myself out.  Ellen never
came back, and it’s probably for the best.

Ellen

The empty pint of chocolate ice cream is in the middle of the
coffee table, surrounded by various containers from delivery places near the
building. I haven’t showered since Friday morning. Hell, I haven’t had he
energy to get off the fucking couch.

By the time I got back to the apartment after giving Gabe a chance
to calm down, I thought I had my emotions under control. But, he was already
gone and the place seemed so quiet and empty, and once again I was reminded of
how very alone I am.

The tremors started almost immediately and the rooms started
closing in on me. The anxiety escalated when I looked into the medicine cabinet
and my prescriptions weren’t there, and then I remembered I hid them in the
hamper.

Gabe leaving, and probably hating me, is for the best. I know
that. I can’t put him in danger. I know what the Krestyanov family can do if
you piss them off, or if they want you out of the way, or to control what you
say or do. Pictures were shown to me when I was only seventeen. I was already
scared enough and didn’t need to see photos of mutilated bodies.

I shiver and pull the blanket tight around me.

I can’t stay like this. There’s no guarantee the judge will grant
Krestyanov’s petition and I could be panicking for nothing. Why did Scott have
to tell me anything? Why couldn’t he have waited until after the judge made a
decision?

Because, I needed to be prepared. Mentally I know that, but the
timing sucks balls.

“Get it together, Ellen,” I order myself, but it doesn’t do any
good. I’ve barely moved from this spot in forty-eight hours, but I can’t
continue to stay here. I do have a life and somewhat of a job.

Shit, I have an appointment tomorrow morning at Baxter. I have to
show. It took me forever to get that interview and I can’t blow it now.

Yes, that’s what I need to do. Forget about Gabe. Forget about Scott.
Forget about Krestyanov, and do my job.

Except, Gabe is at Baxter. Can I face him so soon?

I have to. I don’t have a choice. He’ll just have to get over it
and I’ll pretend I don’t care. My heart’s shattered anyway. I should have never
let it come out in the first place. I knew better, but I got weak, and it will
never, ever happen again.

Pulling myself from the couch, I toss all the garbage away, clean
up the place, check the train schedule. If I take the 7:15 train, I should be
able to make it to Baxter for my ten o’clock appointment. And, I’ll need to
rent a car, since Gabe drove us to the train station and I doubt he’s waiting
for my arrival.

After taking a quick shower, I open my laptop. Work! That’s what I
need to do. I have a story to write on Baxter and truthfully, I’ve not
researched it enough yet.

Besides what I overheard the girl say, and more emergency calls
than most places experience, I haven’t really found the proof I need. I know it
isn’t a normal private high school, but I’m usually more prepared when going
in.

I click on the page and stop. There’s a photo of Gabe, standing in
front of a classroom, holding a book. Shit!

I close the computer. I’ll research more thoroughly later. I can’t
right now. Besides, I can’t even read the fucking words on the screen because
I’m crying again.

I’ve got to get it together, or tomorrow will be shit.

The prescriptions are on the table. I hate taking them, but I
couldn’t have gotten through without them these last two days. All the coping
devices that I’ve used in the past are no good. For the first time in years
they didn’t work so it appears I’m going to need the meds for a couple of more
days. At least until I’m calm enough to get through the day or find out how the
judge ruled, because the last place I want to have a panic attack is at Baxter.
They’d never let me back on campus. It’s a private school that probably thrives
on perfection, and I’m so far from perfect right now it isn’t even funny. But,
I can pretend I have it together. I have before.

Gabe – 16

“A
fucking reporter,” I mutter to myself after overhearing two secretaries talking
by the copy machine. I’ve had enough of reporters to last me a lifetime,
especially after last week. Not that Ellen was interviewing me or anything like
that. What she did was worse and I don’t care if I ever meet another reporter
again and hope the hell I don’t.

What the
hell is Baxter thinking by allowing a reporter onto their grounds? They’ll bring
a world of hurt to everyone if they’re allowed to waltz around the place asking
questions and then blast what they knows to the rest of the world. Hopefully
they won’t get any further than the reception room.

I grab
the papers from my mail slot and duck out a back door, the way I came in. I’ve
tried not to think about Ellen since Friday, but that’s impossible. I half
expected her to show up sometime this past weekend, but she never did. She
rented the apartment upstairs, is she just going to let it sit now? It’d be
best if she never came back. Maybe I should offer to pack up her stuff and ship
it to Paige’s apartment, then I won’t have to see her again.

I’m torn
between being really pissed off and hurt, but I have to bury all of that now.
School is back in session and students await.

It’s not
going to be a good day and I dread facing the kids in my fourth hour class. Is
it too much to hope that they didn’t do their homework?

I’m the
one who asked permission from the school for these kids to have access to all
news outlets and sources. I’m the one who insisted these kids didn’t need to
remain isolated and sheltered from what was happening in the world. They’ll
graduate in almost a year and need to know what’s going on behind the confines
of the ten foot stone walls. It took time, but the Administration finally
agreed.

Now it’s
about to bite me in the ass.

How the
hell was I supposed to know what was going to happen to Jesse? Not that Baxter
Academy or Jesse were ever mentioned, but these kids are smart enough to read
between the lines. Hell, I taught them how and it didn’t take much imagination
to figure out that the “art teacher” who also owns a “gallery” in town was
accused of improper relations with an unnamed sixteen-year-old, who babysat for
him is our former art instructors, Jesse Tinley. Especially since he won’t be
returning to Baxter. I get why the administration felt it best to terminate
Jesse, which I also learned about this morning, but it still pisses me off.

The only
thing the news did do right was not name Jesse anywhere because charges were
“pending” and he was being “investigated.” I guess I should be thankful for
small miracles.

If the
journalists would have been responsible, they would have gathered facts before
rushing to publication and ruining a guy’s life. But, the journalists couldn’t
be bothered to wait with such a scintillating story and ruined a guy’s future
in the process.  Her accusations were in the headlines on Sunday. Her recanting
was buried on page seven on Wednesday.

Responsibility
in reporting took a vacation last week.

Is that
why the reporter is here now? Did they figure out the connection and are they
going to try and drag Baxter and Jesse through the mud? I sure as hell hope not
or they’ll be sorry they ever drove into the parking lot. I’ve been itching to
punch something or somebody since Friday, and a fucking reporter might just be
the perfect outlet for my anger.

Ellen

“We have
specific rules you must follow, Miss West,” Mag Bradley begins after making me
wait well over an hour for our appointment. I know it’s on purpose, hoping I’ll
go away. I’m experienced
at being in places where I’m not wanted and
have all the patience in the world to wait on what I want.

“No
pictures and you may not interview the students.”

She is
tying my hands before I’ve even gotten started. “How am I going to do a story
if I can’t speak to the students?” They are the ones who are going to tell me
the truth. Not the administrators, that’s for sure.

“They are
minors and you do not have their parents’ or guardian’s permission. They’re
under our protection while inside these walls and we take that very seriously.”

This
makes me believe even more that Baxter is hiding something. When I asked around
town those first few days after I moved in, people just shrugged and remained
mum. Usually when you ask about a school
anywhere
, someone fills you in
on the specifics, or rumors, or it’s a good school, bad school, great sports,
etc. But as far as Baxter is concerned, nobody really wants to talk about it.
Why exclusive and why so private? What the hell are they hiding?

“So, I’m
just to wander the campus and observe? How can I write an accurate story
without speaking to anyone?”

 “You may
speak to the teachers. You can visit the gallery. We have a concert coming up
in a few days which you might enjoy. There is also a play that will open at the
end of the week.” Mag smiles at me. “And, you won’t be wandering alone. An
employee will be with you at all times.”

“Why did
you even agree to let me do the story if I’m going to be so limited?”

“I didn’t
agree, Miss West.” She smiles tightly. This Mag does not like me. “The Board of
Directors thought it was a good idea if Baxter got some publicity. I prefer not
to have the school disrupted.”

Fine.
I’ll do it her way. I didn’t graduate at the top of my class in investigative
journalism for nothing. “What is the schedule and when is a good time to speak
with the adults?”

“There
isn’t a good time,” she reminds me. “We have academic classes from seven-thirty
a.m. until twelve-fifteen. An hour for lunch. Art studies are from one-fifteen
until four-thirty.”

I quickly
do the math in my head. These kids are in school for nine hours? I think I was
only there for seven when I was in high school. Okay, I was there hours beyond
that because of computer club or drama, when I didn’t have ballet. But, if I
wouldn’t have been into computers and theatre, I would have been out of the
school at two-thirty. “You mentioned a concert and play. What about sports?”

“We don’t
have sports at Baxter, yet.”

“Why
not?”

“There
wasn’t an interest until recently.”

“As the
students live here, what are their evenings like?”

Miss
Bradley sighs. “Dinner is at six. Then homework. Lights out at nine-thirty.”

Nine-thirty?
I can’t remember if I
was ever even in bed by ten in high school, unless I was sick. Maybe this is
more like a military school than an exclusive kids’ art school. “It’s very
structured.”

“It’s
necessary for success and our kids are extremely successful.”

This
perks my interest. “Give an example. Who has left here to go on a do something
great?”

She
simply smiles at me. “We also protect the privacy of our former students.”

“Surely
you have a list of your alumni. There isn’t a school around who doesn’t
advertise when someone successful or famous attended their school.”

“I have a
list, but I won’t be sharing it with you.” She leans forward. “You’re all over
social media. Ask the question on your blog, Twitter or your Facebook page,
maybe someone will answer.”  With that, she stands. “I’m going to introduce you
to Jenna Ferguson. She’s a counselor and will be showing you around.”

I swallow
my growing frustration and follow her from the office. Frustration is good
though. It covers my nerves about running into Gabe. I want to see him, but I
don’t. What are the chances I won’t encounter him?

Well,
it’s going to happen eventually since I have an apartment in the same house as
his.

Maybe I
should move.

But, I
don’t really want to.

We stop
in an office down the hall and a pretty, brown haired woman glances up. “Hi!”
she says as she stands. “Let me show you Baxter.”

Jenna
walks quickly and I hurry to follow her outside. “How many students does Baxter
have?”

“Approximately
five hundred.”

My
graduating class was almost that size. “What are the requirements to get in?”

“Talent.”

There are
a line of cabins toward the back wall. “Are those the former slave cabins?” I
ask, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“At one
time, yes.” She frowns. “The cabins were renovated when this place did the
living history weekends.  Now, they’re offices for our counselors.”

I would
have thought the counselors would be in the main house, with the other
administrative staff and secretaries like all other schools. Is Jenna like the
head counselor and that’s why she isn’t stuck out here away from the other
adults?

“Can I
look in one?”

Jenna
studies me for a moment and then nods. 

So far,
Jenna has seemed friendly enough. More friendly than Mag. I wonder if she’ll
tell me anything beyond schedules because I didn’t come for a tour of the fucking
plantation. Yet, if it leads to answers, I’ll go along.

There are
several sidewalks laid out between the buildings, for which I’m grateful. It
may be spring and getting warm, but the ground is still soggy from melted snow
and spring rains, and I’m in two inch heels.  I follow as she leads me to the
middle cabin. The sign on the outside of the door says, “Miss Tara”.

Well that
name certainly fits with the plantation house. I keep my snort to myself.

At least
it’s not Mateo’s. His name is in the next one over. I’m so not ready to
encounter him yet. Then again, it might give me insight to how Gabe will react
when he sees me.

Hell, I
already know what it will be. The man hates me and will probably make Mag kick
me off campus.

Jenna
goes up the three wooden steps and onto the narrow porch before knocking on the
screen door. The inside door is open, but I can’t really see anything from
where I’m standing. Someone calls for her to come in and I’m assuming it’s this
Miss Tara.  Mag opens the door and steps in. “Are you with a student?”

“No,” the
voice answers. “Come in.”

I follow
Jenna inside and am brought up short. This is not what I was expecting.
Directly in front of the door, situated between two rooms, is a stone fireplace
that I suspect is open to both rooms.  To my right is an office and a young
woman with long, light brown hair and the most striking blue eyes is sitting
behind a desk. Files are piled on her desk and a computer screen is at the
center. On the surrounding walls are overstuffed bookshelves and file
cabinets.  

The
opposite side of the cabin is in complete contrast. There are comfortable
chairs covered in a warm, soothing upholstery and look soft enough to sink
into. In the center is a table and the only thing on it is a box of tissues. A
multi-colored rug covers the wood floor. Lamps are set around the room and a
few paintings hang on the wall. And, in each upper corner of the room is a
camera.

Jenna
must have noticed what I was looking at. “There are cameras everywhere at
Baxter, except in the bathrooms and individual dorm rooms.”

I get
that they want to be protective, but isn’t that a bit excessive?

“Tara,
this is Ellen West, she is a reporter doing a story on Baxter.”

The young
woman’s blue eyes widen in surprise, but only for a fraction of a moment.

“Miss
West, this is Tara, one of our counselors.”

Tara
holds out her hand for me to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m
giving Miss West a tour of the campus.”

Alarm
shoots through Tara’s eyes and a tight smile forms on her lips. “Do you mind if
I join you?”

“Not at
all,” Jenna says brightly.

The two
are acting oddly. “Why isn’t your office in the main house?”

“There
isn’t enough room,” Tara answers as we step outside and she locks the door.
“From the outside it looks huge, but it’s very limiting as to the number of
rooms. We could expand into the attic, but that’s where the files are stored
and it gets as hot as Hades up there.”

I go down
the steps and look around. Directly across from each other, with the campus
between them are identical three story structures. Both are a long with rows of
windows, but built in a style that they could have been part of the main
plantation. “What are those?”

“The
dorms,” Tara answers. “The one to the right is for the girls and the one to the
left is for the boys. Each houses approximately two hundred and fifty students.”

“They’re
so far apart from each other.”

“Did you
forget teenagers attend this school?” Tara laughs and turns to Jenna. “Where
to?”

“Can I
see the dorms?” I can’t imagine there are that many rooms in those buildings.
They can’t be any larger than a closet. What type of living conditions are
these kids subjected to? The girl did say she slept in a cell at night, didn’t
she. Or at least likened her room to one.