Archives: August 27-September 2, 2006

August 27, 2006

“Well yeah, man, I understand. I'm just sorry to hear about it,” Dave says, talking on the phone, while Mike and I work on hanging posters around the common room. It's a mix of basketball stars and pretty girls—all of which belong to Mike. He justified putting them up in the common room so his girlfriend Pepper can't get on his case.

“All right. Take care, Kyle.” Dave says and slaps shut the phone.

“What was that all about?” Mike asks, pressing down the top corner of a poster.

Dave waves the phone. “Looks like Kyle will not be joining us this year.”

“What?”

“His grades were shit last year, and his old man was on his case. In the end, they came to the mutual decision for him not to come back to Taylor .”

“Mutual decision?” I ask.

“That's what he said. I'm fairly confident pops was standing over his shoulder the whole time.”

“Well, that sucks,” I say, though I can't say I'm that broken up about it. Kyle was Dave's friend, really. I hardly knew the guy.

“Means I get the double to myself, though,” Mike shrugs, not bothering to act sorrier than he is. “There's a silver lining.”

“Well, not to rain on that parade, but the thought crossed my mind,” Dave starts. “What about your friend Chang? He was looking for someplace to move, right?”

“Seemed like a cool enough guy,” Mike agrees patting down the poster to keep it in place. “Would you want him moving in?”

“I've known him forever. The guy's like my brother,” I say, very consciously. “So yeah. If it's cool with you guys, I'll pitch it to him.”

August 28, 2006

Throughout the day, my suitemates and I are in and out of the dorm, heading off to classes at different times. Dave and I meet up for lunch at one point. Otherwise, though, we're back in McSavage, in constant motion. Dave's moving out of my room, in with Mike. Chang is moving in with me.

“You actually traveled pretty light,” I say moving one of the last few of his boxes from the common room, into our room. “First years tend to bring a lot more crap. I know I did.”

“Well, I had a good mentor,” Chang says. “Cut my luggage by half after you helped me sort through it that day.” The guy can't stop smiling today, and I'm happy to see it. I know it means a lot to him that we've let him move in here.

“So how'd the first day of classes go?”

“It's no Shermantown Community—that's for sure. It's harder. But I kind of like that. I mean, it was kind of cool to go into a class and see people who want to be there, or who are familiar with the subjects we're talking about. It's almost enough to make me want to do the reading this semester.”

“Might have to.” I grin.

“Don't listen to a word this man says,” Dave enters, popping in and grabbing his little bucket of bathroom supplies—the last of his stuff from the room. “He's a good roommate, but the guy works way too hard. Don't let him suck you into that mode.”

“Is that so?” Chang asks.

“And how did you pass Jones's class last year. Oh, that's right, I told you everything I read.”

Dave shrugs. “Work smarter, not harder.” He pats Chang's shoulder. “That's the way to make it through here.”

August 29, 2006

One of the funny things about coming back to college is the mix of old and new. On one hand, after one weekend with the guys, I feel like we've gotten back to routine, and it's almost boring. As much fun as we may have, it's all been done before. As much as I missed it, it's difficult return to way of life—picking up the exact same pieces, and just resuming.

But then, I suppose what keeps things interesting is knowing that these are just the beginning stages of a new year. With classes just starting, and the little changes around campus just starting to settle in, there's the promise of something new.

“Emma Rogers?”

“Here.”

Peering across the room in my American Literature class, I spy Emma sitting there in a white sun dress, with flowers all over it. She's tanner than I can recall seeing her, and her hair's a little longer than I remember it.

I hadn't noticed her until that moment, and wonder if she peered over to look at me when I name came up in the roll.

My mind goes a year back. I don't remember hearing Emma's name called in our British Lit class. I don't remember seeing an especially hot girl, or remember the first contribution she made to the class. To be honest, I don't even remember how we ended up on the same team for the group project that led to the two of us getting together. I suppose we were probably just sitting near one another. Total coincidence. It's only then that we got to talking, and only then that I started to notice how pretty she was.

I didn't know she was a singer then. I didn't know the way her face fell apart when she cried, or the way her nose scrunched up when she laughed. For a second, it makes me sad. That a year later, we had might as well be strangers again, on opposite sides of a room, not likely to talk to one another, and not know a thing about what's going on in the other's life.

On the other hand, I can't help feeling a sense of excitement at the idea that I could get to know someone like that again. That out of all of the strangers and casual acquaintances around me, one of them could end up meaning something.

I'm also a little excited to see Emma.

August 30, 2006

“This is just a little bit too easy,” Chang says as I check the ball back to him. One of the advantages of moving into McSavage Hall is that there's a little half basketball court right outside. After some convincing, we got Dave to come out and join us for a game of two-on-two. We shot for teams and Chang got paired up with Mike.

“Give up the rock,” Mike says, faking a cut to the hoop, which Dave bites. From there, all Mike needs to do is pivot out and catch ball to toss in the mid-range jump shot.

“You know, Mike's beaten us two-on-one before,” I say, checking the ball with Chang yet again. “So don't think this win has anything to do with you.”

“Say what you want,” Chang says. He fakes a pass then drives in, but I stay with him. “We're still going to get the shut out.”

The score is 7-0, with game up to 11. Chang's cross over move is slow enough where I can keep up with him. I force him to do something with the ball and he takes an awkward jump shot. Mike's all over the rebound, though, and tosses in a pretty up and under lay-up for the basket.

They switch things up and Mike takes the ball out for the next point. He hits his first jumper right in Dave's face. The next time he passes off Chang, then gets it back for a finger roll.

“Game point,” Chang calls out.

Mike fakes the jump shot, but Dave holds his footing. No matter, Mike crosses him over and swoops to the hoop. I'm there, and leap upward. I can see the ball, and just the spot where I can knock it loose.

At the last second, Mike pulls his hand in, moving it to his left before dishing it off behind his back to Chang. From there, Chang only needs to bank in the open lay-up for the win.

“Better luck next time, boys,” Mike says, slapping my back, then slapping five with Chang.

August 31, 2006

“All right, News, what do you have for us?” Sam asks.

I stand and look out on The Window office, absolutely packed for this, the first meeting of the year. Sam warned me that this is how the first meeting is each year, as freshman are looking for something to do, and upperclassmen realize they need to do something to bolster their resumes. It balances out, he said, within the first month of the semester.

“This week, I'm planning to do an interview with Tucker Williams, the SA president. Aside from that, I'm looking for someone to write about the way they revamped meal plans for this year, and for a piece about how the study abroad program was affected by the terrorist attempts a few weeks ago. I'm open to other ideas, so come talk to me at the end of the meeting.”

I issued announcements like that every week at the end of last year. I was just going with the flow then. I progressed from my position as a reporter to that of an editor after Sam and I broke the story, and went about my business from there. With a whole summer off, I think about how I spent the preceding months. I worked at a clothing store, and had about the lowest rank I could have there. Here I stand, someone who a room full of people are looking up to—third in command at the paper. In the grand scheme of things, I know it doesn't mean all that much. But for this moment, I feel like I'm playing a role—like most of the people listening to me think far more of me than I deserve.

“All right, thanks Presto,” Sam goes on, glancing down at his legal pad. “Sports, what's new?”

September 1, 2006

“What's up buddy,” Chang says, as we clasp hands outside The Lighthouse for lunch. “Not too much. Didn't have time for breakfast this morning. I'm starving.”

“All right, let's eat.”

The place is packed. The Lighthouse a new deli, grill and snack bar on campus. It's a little place, and apparently the original design was for it to have a lighthouse like structure on top of building, and for it to be a late night hang out spot at Taylor . In actuality, there is no lighthouse, and the place closes promptly at 8 p.m. The only ties to the original vision are paintings of seascapes and boats inside.

We get our sandwiches and have to walk around for a few minutes to find a table. I wonder if this is a sign of things to come for the place, as a hot spot on campus, or if people will get aggravated with the waiting and small space soon enough, and it will all balance out.

“How was class this morning?” I ask.

“Really good,” Chang says, lettuce falling from his sandwich as he bites into it. “Kind of met a girl.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm hmm. Sort of hit it off talking before class. She invited me to a party at her apartment this weekend.”

“No shit? Good for you.”

“You interested in coming with?”

I shrug. “Didn't have any plans yet. Might be fun.” I take a sip from my soda. “So this girl got a name?”

“Name's Claire. Lives with some friends of hers from choir—or this select choir, or something.”

I finish chewing a bite of my sandwich and swallow. “It wouldn't have been an a cappella group, would it?”

“Yeah that's right.” Chang nods. “Off the Beats or something.”

September 2, 2006

I've been in bed for about fifteen minutes when the door opens, and Chang steps inside. “Hey buddy,” I say, letting him know I'm not deep in sleep, and there's no need to be quiet.

“Sorry to wake you up, dude.”

“Na, don't worry about it. How's you're night.”

“Good—though you were no where to be found when it came time to party.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” I consciously went out for a walk last night around the time Chang was talking about going to Claire's place. I'm not sure why I wanted to avoid Claire and her friends so much, or why I didn't tell Chang about it. And yet, when the time came, something just didn't feel right.

“You also didn't tell me that you know the girls.”

I chuckle, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know The Off Beats.”

“So what's your deal with them?”

“They didn't tell you?”

“Your name came up,” Chang says, unbuttoning his shirt. “Claire giggled. “And her friend Emma elbowed her and she just burst out laughing. Then this other girl got up in a huff—”

“Who was that girl?”

“I don't know. Didn't catch her name, and I didn't see her again. But anyway, after that, none of them wanted to talk about you, and Claire was the only one who kept talking to me much at all the rest of the night.”

“Huh. Guess I'm glad I didn't join you.”

Chang chuckles. “So what's the deal, buddy? You been breaking hearts or something?”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I always liked a good bedtime story.”

I stretch in bed and prop myself up on my elbows. “All right, then. Here goes.”