Archives:
February 18-February 24, 2007
February 18, 2007
“Preston Burns, we meet again.”
It's not quite as shocking as you would expect when Rod steps out from the bushes outside McSavage. It's hard to be surprised when you've been expecting to get jumped at every turn, thinking you see this very person in every shadow you pass.
I've taken advice from the police and my friends, changing up the route where I walk places, trying to become less predicable. The one word of advice I didn't follow was to always have someone with me.
I reach my hands into my pocket, as I begin to feel my pulse pounding in my neck. “Rod, how are you doing?”
“Not too bad,” he says. “And I suppose you know why I'm here.”
“Because you wanted to thank me for two weeks of flattering articles about your heroism?”
He smiles a sick sort of smile, and pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie, letting the moonlight hit his blue dragon tattoo again. “You've been making trouble for us, Preston . And you know we can't have that.”
“We who?”
He rolls his eyes. “God, you're stupid. Larry told me you were stupid, and deserved the beating I was gonna give you the first time around. I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to ask for it again.”
“So Larry set this whole thing up?” I ask.
“Don't play dumb. He said you knew what was up—that you had remembered everything.”
I shrug.
Rod shoves me, sending me reeling back into the bushes. “Let me remind you then.”
“Maybe you should back off.” We both turn and Mike's there, just outside the main door to the building, still holding it open.
“Why don't you stay out of this, pal,” Rod says.
Mike shakes his head. “I think it's time you left my buddy here alone.”
Rod flashes a grin, reaching into the pouch of his hoodie. A second later, he produces a knife. “Why don't you head on your way?”
Mike doesn't flinch. He peeks inside, and gestures with his head. A second later, Mike's teammates, Perry and TJ join us. Chang follows.
“All of you better mind your business,” Rod says.
“You've got the knife,” Mike gestures. “If you think you can take all of us on, you can stick around. Otherwise, I'd suggest you split.”
I work my way out of the bushes and put a little distance between Rod and myself. I wish I was on the other side of him, with the strength of numbers. He flashes a glance back at me.
A siren rings, distant but coming closer, louder by the second.
Dave steps out the door. “Cops are on the way.”
Rod looks between all of us, losing confidence as the siren closes in. In an instant, he dashes toward me. I turn to run, but before I've gone five steps I hear a smack against the ground. Turning, Mike and Perry are on top of Rod, pinning to the ground, and TJ kicks the knife away.
Dave heads over to me. “I told you you should have let one of us walk you home at night.”
“Na, this was perfect. He wouldn't have come after me if I saw you guys.”
Dave nods. “Well I'm just glad you called to say you were on your way. Otherwise, we might not have been looking for you out the window.”
I put a hand on his shoulder, and step past him toward the Rod on the ground, where he's still struggling. I remove the tape recorder from my pocket. “I've got to thank you , Rod,” I say, rewinding the tape. “Without this, I might not have had proof that you and Schmidt were in this together.”
Rod looks on, eyes wide. The siren dies down as the police car arrives. I press the play button for everyone to hear.February 19, 2007
“So this Rod's a real genius, huh?” Teri asks, flipping through my notes. “First he jumps you. Then, rather than lay low, he gets into as high profile a position as possible, so he can publicize his asshole friend's bid to get back in the school—in doing so, demonstrating who his accomplice was.” She sets my notebook back down, shaking her head. “Then he spells out the whole plan for you in movie villain fashion so you can record it. What a cretin.”
“Well, you can't be too hard on him. I mean, a lot of stuff came out about the guy when we thought he was a hero,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Grew up poor, had his heart set on playing college football, and blew out his knee senior year of high school. Then his folks scrape together every cent they have and take out loans to send him to school here, where he just can't make the cut, and drops out to work three jobs in town so he can pay the money back.” I shake my head. “I'm guessing that's how Schmidt got a hold of him. Offered him more money than he could turn down to jump me. Hell, that's probably how he got him to break up the hostage situation too.”
“But you can't sympathize with the guy,” Teri says. “It doesn't matter how much he got paid—he was still willing to beat you until you were unconscious, and who knows what he would have done if you didn't have your friends—”
“I know, I know.” I lean forward, my head in my hand. “And it's not like I want to take him in as my new best buddy, and it's not like I want to keep him out of prison. I just think it's more complicated than saying he's a bad guy.”
Teri hugs me from behind and kisses my cheek.
“What was that for?”
“I like the way you think sometimes,” she says, still hugging me. “As long as you don't say you're sympathetic to Schmidt too.”
“Schmidt?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Schmidt's a rich kid who got himself into trouble, and tried to buy his way out of it—and into revenge. Fuck him.”
Teri kisses my cheek again. “There you go.”February 20, 2007
“ Preston , stick around for a second,” Professor Bryant says, sitting on the corner of his front table of the classroom.
The end of this class is one of my favorite parts of Thursdays, second only to the time after newspaper meetings, when my only plans involve hanging out with folks from the staff, and going to bed to get a good night's sleep.
It's not even that Bryant's a bad professor. He's actually pretty engaging, and makes the Shakespeare class less boring than I expected it to be. He does a good job of relating the text to more contemporary material, and encourages a lot of discussion. The fact remains, though, that having class at 8 a.m. makes it a drag—especially after a late, late night in the office.
“You've missed class a few times this month, Preston ,” Bryant says, crossing his arms. “And when you're here, seems like you don't have a lot to say.”
“I'm sorry about that, Professor Bryant. I mean, I've been doing the reading—”
“I know you've been doing the reading. I know that because you've had the best response papers in the class. Hell, you're the only one with the guts to write about race in Othello,” he says. “Of course, I suppose you may just know how to play the game, writing about race for the only black man who teaches Shakespeare at this school.”
“It's just the topic that jumped out at me,” I say, not sure where this conversation is going, “especially after you sent us those links to articles about race in the play—it seemed like the natural choice.”
Bryant claps his hands. “So you're reading the texts. You're reading the articles. You're thinking, and you're writing. Now what can we do to make you a presence in this classroom?”
I chuckle, “Seriously?”
Bryant raises his eyebrows.
“Push the class back to noon .”
“I'm afraid that's not an option.”
“It's just—I'm the news editor for The Window. And Wednesday's our big night.”
“And I worked for a weekly paper myself in my undergrad.”
“Is that right?”
He nods. “And as a consequence of that, I have a great appreciation for student media, and appreciate the work you do with the paper.”
“Well thank you.”
He raises a hand. “That is not an excuse for poor performance in my classroom. Now you do what you have to do, but you step it up for me, Preston . I expect better from you. Is that understood?”
“Yeah, I think I understand.”February 21, 2007
“How would I work to promote diversity in the residence hall setting?” I ask.
“By respecting people from all races, and genders, and sexual orientations, and religion, and blah, blah, blah,” Dave says, not looking up from his notebook, where he's writing song lyrics tonight.
“What are you working on?” Chang asks, looking up from his bio text book.
“RA application,” I say. “Due tomorrow.”
“Ah, so that's why you're not in the office now.”
“That and I'm still waiting for my lead story to come in so I can lay it out.”
“I still don't get why you're not writing about all this shit yourself,” Dave says. “You lived the story.”
“That's exactly why,” I say. “I can't be impartial, or even if I am, I'm opening myself up for people to accuse me of not doing it right. Anyway, Carl should do a good job with it—it's just taking him some time to get all of his facts together.” I shift in my chair, glancing at my watch. I should be headed back to the office soon. “So, diversity. Any thoughts?”
“Say you'll support diversity by busting all residents equally for partying in the dorm,” Chang says. “That's probably what they'll really care about.”
I scratch my head, then write as I speak, “How about, I will promote honest conversation, understanding and acceptance of people from all walks of life.”
“Not bad,” Dave nods, tapping his pen against the top of his notebook. “Now if only I could work something that eloquent into these lyrics.”
February 22, 2007
Perry hurls the ball from the top of the key to Mike, just as he breaks free off of a screen. Mike catches and fires the ball in a single, fluid motion, hitting the long jump shot, stretching the Eskimos' lead to 3. The crowd around us stands and cheers. Pepper and her cousin Alicia are on their feet.
Teri peers at them warily as they scream, calling Mike's name as he runs past. “Isn't that distracting for him?” she asks.
“At this point, I think he's used it,” I say with a grin. Around the gym, there are plenty of girls who scream at every shot he makes, more than a few wearing homemade Mike Weaver t-shirts. The gymnasium has grown fuller and louder with each passing game, Mike emerging as a campus hero as the team is among the top ranked Division III squads in the country.
Alicia leaps in the air as Mike steals the ball. Mike told me she was a cheerleader at high school, and has continued that path at her college back in Florida . Apparently she introduced him to Pepper, and they were all friends back home.
Pepper is a little less animated, glancing over at her cousin. From the time I've spent with her before, I don't remember Pepper being very vocal at a game, but with Alicia here, it's almost seems as though she's trying to keep up.
Teri snaps a picture as Mike lobs the ball to the center for a pretty looking lay up. With only 30 seconds left, this one seems all but over.February 23, 2007
“But then Shawn catches the ball in mid-air,” Mike says, picking up the little orange foam ball in our common room, and moves toward the basket. “He puts it behind his head, then all the way back up and slams it down as the buzzer sounds.” He dunks the ball into our plastic hoop.
“You tell the story like you actually watched him dunk it,” Pepper says, taking a sip from her hard lemonade.
“That's right,” Alicia says, sprawled on the couch, her long red hair all over. “You were trying to get to Pepper at the end of the game—you didn't even see him score.”
Mike waves a hand. “I saw the replay. Besides, I saw what mattered.” He says, moving toward Pepper. She giggles as he kisses her cheek.
She slaps at him playfully. “Stop.”
“So you won the league championship alongside Shawn Vetter—the same guy who was runner up for NBA rookie of the year last year?” Chang asks.
“One and the same,” Alicia says, stretching her arms out. “Lankford High's claim to fame.”
“For now,” Mike says. “One day, I'm gonna join him in the pros.”
“Long way from Taylor to the pros,” I say.
“Yeah, and people said it was a long way from Lankford High to a D-I school,” Mike says. “But I had a lot of recruiters talking to me until I blew my knee at the start of senior year.”
“If you stick with it, you never know,” Alicia says.
Pepper gives Mike a peck on the lips. “My basketball star.”February 24, 2006
“So have you given any thought to Spring Break?” I ask, as Teri flips through television stations, firmly entrenched beneath my arm as we sit on her couch this Saturday afternoon.
“I was actually thinking about just sticking around Butterton, catching up on work.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “I'm behind enough on work as is. I figure after a week with no one around, and no newspaper, I should be looking pretty good.”
“Well I say you're looking pretty good right now.”
“Lame.”
“I was going for flattering.”
“And all you got was lame.”
I move a little on the couch, resituating myself, “Well, putting that aside, I was going to ask you if you'd like to spend the break together.”
Teri moves some hair from her face. “Something tells me you weren't looking to stay in town.”
“Well, if you've got to stay, I don't want to pressure you into changing your plans or anything. But my best friend Matt—”
“The farter.”
I smile. “The guy who farted the morning after New Years, right. He invited us to come and hang out with him in New York City .”
Teri shifts to face me. “You would want me to come on a trip like that?”
“Well I'm asking you, aren't I?”
“But I don't want to get in the way of you and Matt hanging out. I mean, you guys hardly ever get to see each other now.”
I wave my hand. “I want for you two to spend some time together—get to know each other a little bit, if you're both going to be important in my life.” Teri looks away smiling, and I go on, “And besides, it's not his Spring Break, so he's still going to be going to classes and stuff. And that'll be time for us to check out the City together.” I stop, running my fingers through herhair. “But if you wanted to hang around Butterton, that's cool too.”
“Na.” She smiles, looking at me again. “Let's go to New York .”