Chapter 4

Friday evening found me making my way to Milton's Web, a small bookstore/coffee shop that mostly catered to the local crowd. I had wandered by the place my first night here, and found the quiet atmosphere much more appealing than the Dartmouth and Engleton student hangouts. It became a habit for me to stop by every other night or so and read while nursing a cappuchino or three over the course of an evening.

There were more people than usual at the Web when I stepped in the door--there was a series of poetry readings scheduled throughout the weekend, starting tonight. Good thing I can read through just about anything. I'm sure that there may well be several lovely works of poetry I'll miss out on, but it's really not my thing. Thankfully, the crowd soon migrated to the stage area of the bookstore, leaving the coffee shop area mostly deserted.

About four hundred pages (I was reading Maeve Binchy's 'Tara Road') and two cups later, I was startled back into reality by an insistent buzzing from my left pocket--I usually left my cell phone on vibrate to avoid dirty looks. Eyeing the no-cell sign on the wall, I discreetly flipped open the phone and whispered, "Hello?"

"Hello?"

Okay, slightly louder this time. "Hello?"

"Alex?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, it's Natalie. Um, you wouldn't happen to be at, I quote, 'A little bookstore/coffee shop where they're having a poetry reading tonight, ' would you? Someone's Web?"

"Milton's Web, and yes, I happen to be. Why?"

"We're heading over there in a few minutes; Jenna thought it would be a nice place to hang out next." There was a brief pause, then, "Anya's out with Doug Chilton."

"How nice for her. Thanks for the heads-up, Nat, but I can't really see why it would be a problem. I've got to go now. Bye." I clicked off and checked my neighbors--nary a glance my way. Now, *that's* the way to talk on a cell phone.

Doug Chilton is Engleton's resident Casanova. Considering that he's gone through more than half of the student populace during his three years here (not to mention a fair number of Dartmouth students and locals), it's amazing that he hasn't been strung up by his thumbs yet. Somewhat sleazy, but not a horrible person at heart. Still, not my problem. Anya can do or date whomever she likes, as long as she leaves me out of it.

Another hundred pages later, the reading wrapped up and the crowd moved back to the coffee shop area. I noticed that the gang--Cara and her boyfriend, two sophomore couples I didn't really know, Doug, Anya, Mark (a junior in my Latin class), Natalie, and a few more people I couldn't name to save my life--had come in earlier, and was with the rest of the poetry crowd.

I noticed in passing while getting my fourth cup of the night that Doug and Anya couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other. When someone jostled my table fifty pages later (and I looked up irritably), they were still at it. Noting that it was well past midnight, and that the late crowd was starting to come in, I decided to head back to Pellis.

The walk back didn't do much to burn off the caffeine, and I got back to my room far too wired to go to sleep (you try sleeping on four cups of coffee). I thought about reading some more, but I was a bit sick of reading by now. Five minutes later, I picked up the phone and punched in a number.

"Security."

"Hey, Matt. Is Gary in?"

"Yeah. I'll put him on." There was a bit of shuffling as the receiver changed hands. "Gary here."

"Hi, Mr. Brock. This is Alex from the swim team. I was heading over to the pool for a few laps, and wanted to give you a heads-up."

"Appreciate it. I'll let the patrols know. Night."

"Night."

I had made the swim team earlier in the year (before school started); tennis was for fun, but swimming brought out the competitive streak in me. Even though the season doesn't start for another two months, the coach had given us keys to the indoor Olympic-sized pool for round-the-clock access. It certainly made it convenient for me to go for a dip whenever the urge struck me.

Another good thing about swimming (as compared to, oh, tennis) is that you have time to sort out your thoughts while going through the physical motions of swimming. Try doing that while you're playing tennis, and you'll end up doing a face-plant more often than not. Once I got to the pool and started doing laps (after a few minutes of warm-up and stretching, of course), the repetitive motions helped my body burn off the caffeine while my brain was going through events of the last few days. A cranial defragmentation and optimization, if you will. Yes, I'm still hung up on Kathy, my ex-girlfriend. I definitely took the coward's way out by taking it out on Anya, but... <sigh>... damn it, she tried to play me the very same way Kathy had for the past three years.

This is not going to turn into a diatribe against Kathy. Everything she did to me, I let her. I've once read in a Miss Manners column that it takes two people working together to take advantage of someone: the taker, and the one being taken. I justified most of her actions with 'She's the best thing that ever happened to me.' Sadly enough, it didn't wear old for three years. Would have been more, but she decided to upgrade her boyfriend model from 'sympathetic and intelligent guy who's okay looking and sort of fit' to 'handsome, charming, and intelligent guy with rich parents and starts on the varsity basketball team.'

I'm mostly past the break-up, for the most part; time--and distance--tends to heal the most immediate emotional wounds. However, I'm certainly not looking to get back into the dating scene (to borrow a line from Michael J. Fox, I'm on the injured reserve list--out six to eight weeks with a broken heart), let alone with a virtual reprise of my previous relationship.