Checked Again (14 page)

Perhaps
a stranger has started a game with me—that would probably make the most—

CALLIE!

I
tear my eyes from the little screen on my phone for a moment to take a quick
glance around the computer lab. Everyone still seems to be working. Still no
one looking at me.

Head
back down. Eyes back down on the screen. Back on the Words with Friends icon.

One.
Two. Three.

My
fingers push on the little icon.

Loading.
Loading. Loading.

And…he
played.

Not
Tony.

Him.

He
took a turn. With me.

That
has to mean that he at least forgives me a little. It has to.

I
tell myself that a few more times as I count to three and click on the game.

And…

And…Oh
my God.

Sad.

He
played the word “sad.” Sad as in unhappy. Incredibly unhappy. Miserable.

Just
like him.

Did
he do that on purpose? Surely he could’ve thought of a bigger word, one worth
many more points…I mean, he’s a doctor—his vocabulary is pretty sophisticated,
I’m sure.

So
it had to be on purpose. It had to.

But—

“Calista?”
A
masculine, slutty masculine, voice.

Shit.
How the hell
did I not hear him come in?

 I
quickly close out of the Words with Friends app on my phone and slowly look
up—right into the eyes of Dr. Gabriel.

I
clear my throat and try to produce a smile (an
I’m being friendly, but I
still don’t want to sleep with you and get all of your diseases
kind of
smile). “Um, hello, Dr. Gabriel.”

“Hello,
Calista.” He smiles back. Then he moves to grab a nearby lab chair, which he’ll
no doubt drag over to the spot right beside my chair.

UUUGGGHHH.
I watch him do
just that. I try to move my chair a little to the right, a little away from
him, as he sits down next to me, but I don’t get very far away from him. I’ll
never be far enough away from him…

He
starts talking right away. “I’m sure you are getting pretty anxious to know the
details of our trip.”

Anxious
is a good word choice.

“I
think I have everything ironed out and ready to go.” He pulls an envelope from
his upper jacket pocket and begins to remove some folded up paperwork. “I can
go through all of the details with you now so you—”

He
keeps talking, but I try to tune him out.

Please
don’t. Please don’t sit here, right beside me, and talk about public
transportation and hotel rooms and crowded—

DING.

My
computer dings.
Thank God.

I
give Dr. Gabriel a face meant to express that I have to check my computer. I
try to make it look like I’m upset about our conversation being
interrupted…like I’ve actually been listening to him…like I really want to hear
more…

I’m
not sure that my face conveys all of this properly, though. Dr. Gabriel does
stop talking…but then he gives me a sort of smug, slimy smile…like he has read
my face completely incorrectly…like he thinks I’m trying to tell him that I
really want to jump on top of him right now but am too embarrassed to say it…

Disgusting.

I
turn back to my computer and my ticket from…

Brittany
at Computer 7.

This
girl really is some sort of lifesaver. I’m kind of starting to think that she
is pretty amazing.

I
click on her request. She has sent me an entire paper to proofread. This will
take me quite a bit of time. And it’s already after 6:00 p.m. I’ve got to get
started right away if I want to get it done before I leave.

Thank
you, Brittany. Thank you. Thank you.

I
throw my head over my shoulder briefly to talk to Dr. Gabriel. “I just got a
request for a whole paper proofread. I really have to get started.” I turn back
to my computer screen as I finish speaking…hoping to further enforce the fact
that I’m really quite busy.

I
hear a quiet crinkling of paper. Dr. Gabriel must be folding his conference
papers back into his envelope.
Excellent.

He
starts to loudly whisper to the back of my head. I silently pray that he
doesn’t accidentally spit in my hair. “Oh, of course. I understand. I have a
date tonight, but I can call you later…or email you with—”

“Yes.”
I cut him off and look back over my shoulder again quickly. “Please email me
all of the details. That would be great.”

Before
he can argue or say more about wanting to call me, I give him a
So sorry—I’m
busy
kind of smile (
NOT
an
I want to give you head right now
kind of smile) and turn back to my computer screen. I stare at the screen,
pretending to read Brittany’s paper, and I listen as he stands up.

“Um,
okay, Calista. That will be fine. I’ll email you as soon as I get home.”

Once
more, I make my head turn toward him. “Great. Thanks.”

I
turn my head back around. My ears listen carefully to the sound of him dragging
his chair back to its original spot…and then to the sound of his footsteps as
he heads toward the main door. After I hear the door open and shut, I take a
moment to scold myself for not hearing those noises earlier—earlier, when Dr.
Gabriel came in.

Earlier,
when I was busy checking my phone…when I was busy obsessing over the word
“sad.”

Speaking
of the word—

No!
Callie! Brittany’s paper. Now.

Brittany
keeps saving my life. The least I can do for her is check her spelling and
grammar in a timely fashion.

I
do my best to focus on Brittany’s paper for the rest of my shift. I even stay
about a half hour late to finish proofing.

When
I get home, I sit on my bed, paint (and pick) and repaint my nails, and think
about the word “sad” for a long time. A really long time.

I
am impatiently waiting for a fresh coat of nail polish to dry when Mandy shows
up at my bedroom door.

“Hey,
Callie.” She puts a smile on her face, but it looks forced. “Can I run
something by you?”

Uh
oh.
These are not Mandy’s words. I know that. She’s clearly reading from a Melanie
script. But why? And about what? Tony?

Looks
like I’m about to find out. Mandy, in a fitted t-shirt and yoga pants, walks toward
me and plops down on the corner of my bed.

My
eyes start to roll, but I stop them. I don’t want to upset her. This…whatever
this
is, probably isn’t her fault. Melanie’s behind it. Maybe Mom too.

Sinking
my head further into the fluffy pillows behind me, I try to put a patient, open
look on my face. Then I pick at my freshly painted (and now dry—
Thank God
)
nails and wait.

Mandy
throws another fake smile on her mouth. “Callie, I’ve gotten permission from my
professors to miss my classes at the end of this week.”

Oh.
This isn’t about Tony.

She
pushes on. “I also have cleared my weekend plans, so—”

“No.”
I cut her off. “No, Mandy. You aren’t coming to my conference with me.”

“But
I—”

I
shake my head as I raise myself to a fully upright position. “Not a chance.”

“But—”

“No,
Mandy.” I slide over to sit beside her on the corner of my bed as I talk. “You
aren’t missing classes or sorority events for me.”

“But
I—”

“And
you aren’t getting on a plane, going on an unnecessary trip just to babysit
me.”

Mandy
doesn’t try to cut me off with words this time. She just tilts her head and
raises her eyebrows in frustration.

I
continue. “And I can’t let you babysit me anyway. How horrible would that look?
No one would take me—or my conference articles—seriously…”

Mandy
just stares at me in the silence that falls between us. Her face is sad.
Confused. Unsure.

Mine
probably looks the same.

Eventually,
she breaks the silence, using a voice only just above a whisper, “How? How,
Callie? How are you going to get on a plane and go to a hotel and—”

I
shake my head to cut her off, to cut off her little list of nightmares.

“I
don’t know yet, Mandy. But I’ll figure it out.” I attempt a smile, trying to
make her feel better…also hoping to ensure that her report of this conversation
(to Melanie? To Mom? To both?) isn’t too terrible…

Leaning
over to the corner of the bed, I give her a hug.

“Don’t
you have study hours or something tonight?”

She
breaks our hug to look at me and nod.

“You
should go then.” I smile. “I have a lot of school work to do anyway.”

And
I also have some Words with Friends word selection-obsessing to do…

“You
sure?”

I
give her another smile, this time paired with a nod. “Be careful going to study
hours.”

“I
will.”

She
slowly gets up from the bed and leaves the room.

I
know that she’s going to call Melanie or Mom…and I know that one (or both) of
them will then probably be calling me within the next twelve hours to talk
about the conference.

But
I don’t want to talk about the conference. I can’t talk about the conference…or
think about the conference…

So
I pull out my phone and open Words with Friends, and I focus on, I’m sure, a
much healthier issue…     

{Damien
sings
“The
Blower’s Daughter
.
”
}

I
stare at the three little tiles on my screen. S-A-D.

{He
sings it again.}

My
eyes don’t move from the screen.

{And
again.}

{And
again and again and again and again and again and again and—}

Callie!

I
push my phone away, placing it face down on my dresser. I have to start my
night routine or I’ll never get to bed. And even though I already know that
getting to bed tonight will probably not equate to getting some sleep (it will most
likely just mean that I’ll be lying on my pillow and worrying about my
appointment…and about the conference…and probably a little about the front
door…and the stove…and the murderers…), I get to work.

Night
routine. Begin.

12:02
A.M. DONE.

I
decide to check my email one last time before bed.

Just
in case.

Open
inbox.

One
new message. From Dr. Gabriel.

Ugh.

Open
email. Reluctantly. Like it’s poison.

Hello,
Calista,

So sorry to be
writing so late, but I had that date. It went longer than expected.

Late
date. Late date. Late date. Stupid rhyming sentence. Freaking gross underlying
meaning. A late date, I can only assume, means that Dr. Gabriel had sex with yet
another person…probably yet another student at Pierce. That in turn means that
more diseases are now walking around the campus.
Fantastic.

I
shake my head, try to shake that thought, and turn back to his email.

I’ve
attached our itinerary for this conference.

Please
review it carefully and let me know if you have any questions. Call anytime.

N
o
thanks, Dr. Gabriel.

There’s
a P.S. at the end of his email. I read it.

P.S.
I’ll pick you up at 8:00 on Thursday morning.

Ugh.
Ugh. Ugh.

I
shut his email, keeping the little pointy arrow on my screen far away from the
“open attachment” button. I don’t want to accidentally see any of the details
for the emotional tragedy I have ahead of me.

I
get up, grab my phone, turn on my television, and get into bed (I have no
comment on the pajamas I’ve chosen to wear…AGAIN…tonight).

Before
I know it, my eyes are again glued to the word “sad” on my little phone screen.

Sad.
S-A-D. SSSAAADDD.

I
lean back on my pillow and just stare, wondering what to do next.

If
I don’t play another turn, I’ll just be re-shutting our line of communication.
And if I close that line of communication now, before our appointment tomorrow,
it could be really awkward. More awkward than it’s already going to be with us
existing in the same room. Face-to-face. Sad eyes to sad eyes. Once again.