Chapter 8

After goodbyes at camp, Trip and I flew back to Franklin. I still had to drive back to Atlanta, so I packed the rest of my things, said goodbye to his family, and hit the road. I called Kendall when I got home, but the answering machine picked up. I left a message and called Wren next.

“Hey,” I said. “What’re you up to?”

“Packing for school. You?”

“I’m about to start. I just called Kendall, but I got the machine.”

“Did you ever get a chance to talk to her about ... things?”

“Not really. She had to run off to see her not-so-sick aunt.”

“I thought she did that already.”

“She went again.”

“Oh. Sorry. Things’ll probably get better when we’re back at school.”

“Yeah, probably,” I said. “Anyway, that’s not what I called about.”

“Oh? Did you call because you missed me?”

“Certain parts more than others.”

“Well, I can’t show them to you over the phone.”

“That’s okay, I have a good memory.”

She laughed. “Boy, you really have a way of making a girl feel special.”

“I try.”

“So, what did you call about, Mr. Mysterious? Just to say hi?”

“Well, Miss Beautiful, I wanted to find out when you were heading to Knoxville.”

“Tomorrow morning, early. Why? When are you going?”

“The same. You wanna meet and drive up together?”

“My parents are driving up too. Are you sure you want to deal with my mom? After my birthday, she wants us to get back together. You know how she is.”

“I can handle your mom,” I said. “Besides, my mom’s going too, so I’ll have reinforcements.”

I’d had visions of triumphantly repaying the loan from my parents—a second mortgage on their house—but the banks had handled everything between them. The only thing I ever saw was a line item on a closing statement. So my “big presentation” was a confirmation number for a wire transfer.

To make things even more anticlimactic, my dad was out of town. Still, I presented the paper to my mom with a flourish.

“Thank you very much,” she said. “The bank told us last week.” She actually laughed when my face fell. “That’s how it works,” she said gently.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make a big deal.”

“You did.”

“But ... how?”

“By doing such a good job this summer. You and Trip put a lot of effort into those houses, and it showed.”

“But ... you never even saw them.”

“I saw how fast they sold, and how much money you made in the process. Enough to pay us back and still have a tidy profit.”

“It’s a bit more than ‘tidy,’” I said.

“I know,” she said. “Congratulations. We’re very proud of you.”

“Thanks. Oh, speaking of which...” I reached for my wallet and pulled out five crisp hundred-dollar bills. “For my little indiscretion with your credit card last Christmas.”

She took the money, but then looked confused. “I thought it was just four hundred.”

“It was. The rest is interest.”

“Paul, that’s too much. Here.” She tried to return a hundred-dollar bill, but I refused.

“It was bad enough that I used the card in the first place,” I said. Especially to buy gifts for a girl who wasn’t my girlfriend, I thought ruefully. “So I should pay the interest too.”

“But the interest wasn’t a hundred dollars.”

“Okay, call it a penalty then.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, and thrust the money at me again.

“Sorry, Mom. Call it interest, call it a penalty, call it a ‘valuable life lesson’ if you want, but I’m not taking it back. It’s yours.”

“Paul, we’re not going to—”

“Then let me buy you dinner while you’re in New York City,” I said. “Give the money to Dad and tell him to take you to the best restaurant in town.”

“Thank you,” she said at last, graciously. “I’m sure we’ll enjoy it.”

I called Kendall early the next morning, but I didn’t leave a message when the machine picked up. I was a little irked that she hadn’t called when she returned from her aunt’s house. On the other hand, I didn’t know what her schedule was—she might’ve gone straight to school without going home first. Either way, she should’ve told me.

On the way to meet Wren and her parents, I briefed Mom about my ex-boyfriend act.

“Is that why she spent the night a few weeks ago?”

My eyes widened before I got control.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mom said.

“How did you know about that?”

She shrugged. “Little things.”

“Like what?” I wanted to know for the next time, in case I really needed to cover my tracks.

“Just call it ‘mother’s intuition,’” she said at last. “You’ll understand when you have children.”

“I hope so,” I said, and shook my head in amazement.

When we met Wren and her parents, Mom played her part to a tee.

“Helen, it’s so nice to meet you at last,” she said. “Wren’s such a wonderful young lady.”

Wren turned rosy despite her tan.

Helen smiled and said, “I keep telling her that she and Paul should get back together, but—”

“Mom,” Wren hissed, “not now.”

“Oh, posh.”

Wren’s father saved us when he tapped his watch and ushered Helen back to their car. Wren had decided to take her little Datsun to school, so we climbed into our cars and pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive to Knoxville was uneventful, and campus was just as crowded as the year before. After we made our way through the traffic jam, we found parking spaces. Wren and her roommates had an apartment in Andy Holt, so we’d all be living in the same building.

We found Trip with his family on a bench near the lobby. They’d been there an hour, so his name was near the top of the list for a luggage cart. After introductions all around, his little brothers latched onto Wren. They tugged her toward the grassy area next to the building and started a game of tag.

We began unloading the cars as soon as Trip got his cart. Wren formed the boys into the “Super Helper Squad” to carry little things. They were trying to impress her, so they took their jobs seriously.

Wren was the first to move into her apartment, and chose the front bedroom. Trip and I took the same bedroom in our apartment, since Luke and Jeff had already moved into the back bedroom. The rooms were identical in all the apartments, but one was farther from the noise of the living room and kitchen.

After we finished unloading, Wren and Trip’s fathers went to buy area rugs for the two apartments, while the women went shopping for supplies. Kendall had the same apartment as the year before, but no one answered when I called, so Trip and I headed out. We met up with Wren and went to stand in line for registration.

Once we had our schedules, we ate a quick lunch. Afterward, Trip and Wren went with me to Financial Aid to pick up my scholarship check. Then we stood in line at the bursar’s office to pay tuition and fees. From there, we stood in another line to buy books. By the time we finished, we’d spent more than six hours standing in one line or another.

Back at the apartment building, I left the others and stopped by Kendall’s apartment. Her roommates Phoebe and Vivian were there, but they hadn’t seen Kendall all day. I left a note and headed upstairs to my own apartment.

Wren and her parents came up a little later, and her father offered to take everyone to dinner. I called Kendall’s apartment one more time before we left, but she still wasn’t there. Wren tried to cheer me up, but I wasn’t in the mood to be cheered up.

Dinner was good—Wren’s father had excellent taste in restaurants—but I brooded through it until Wren touched my knee under the table.

“What’s the matter?” she asked softly.

“Nothing,” I lied, but she saw through me.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

I gave up trying to fool her, and nodded instead.

“You’ll see her tomorrow,” Wren said, “and everything will be fine.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She just patted my thigh, and rested her hand there until we finished eating.

Mom had to catch a flight to meet Dad in New York, so I had an excuse not to linger. Besides, Wren’s parents had to head home, and Trip’s family needed to return to Franklin. So we said goodbye in the parking lot and went our separate ways.

On the drive to the airport, I wanted to complain about Kendall, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, Mom and I talked about life in general, although she could tell that I was upset. She knew why, so she steered the conversation toward relationships.

I didn’t miss the parallels—or the lack thereof—between her relationship with Dad and my relationship with Kendall. My parents were a team, and they communicated with each other. Kendall and I seemed to be solo players who happened to be going the same direction. I hated the thought, because I really did love her, but I couldn’t escape the obvious conclusion.

My mood wasn’t any better by the time Mom boarded her flight. I waited until her plane pushed back, and then headed toward the main terminal. Another plane had just arrived, so I threaded my way through the crowd with my head down, lost in thought.

“Paul?”

I knew that Kendall and I had problems, and I wanted to believe they’d get better on their own, but I’d made that mistake once already. It had cost me Gina, and I wasn’t going to let things reach that point with Kendall. I loved her, and I wanted to make things work, but Mom and Susan’s advice echoed in my thoughts. Maybe I was trying too h—

“Paul? Is that you?”

I raised my head at the sound of my name.

“Paul? Over here.” The girl was about my age, petite and attractive, with blonde hair bleached by the sun. She looked familiar, but—

Then it hit me. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, straight and pixyish, but her bright blue eyes were unmistakable. “Christy!”

She dropped her bags and gave me a hug.

“What’re you doing here?” I asked when we separated.

“My plane just got in.”

I was still so preoccupied that I actually asked which flight.

She grinned and pointed toward the plane that was currently debarking. It was the only plane at the terminal.

“Sorry,” I said. “I guess...” I shrugged.

“You were in your own little world.” Her eyes twinkled with a grin. “You get that way sometimes.”

I recovered my manners and picked up her bags. “How are you getting to campus? Can I give you a ride?”

“I was going to take a taxi,” she said, “but ... You don’t mind?”

“Of course not. Are you ready?”

“I need to get my other suitcases,” she said.

Her carry-on luggage weighed at least forty pounds, so I couldn’t imagine what else she’d packed. Then again, I’d brought an entire carload of things to school. If she’d managed to pack her life into just four suitcases, she’d done better than I had.

While we waited for the baggage carousel, she asked what I was doing at the airport. I told her about my mom and her trip to New York. She thought it was romantic that my parents went on weekend getaways together. They’d been doing it for so long that I didn’t think anything of it. Nothing special, at least. But the more I thought about it, it was sort of romantic.

Would Kendall and I do the same thing? I nearly scoffed aloud as I answered myself: Not unless we drive. Ugh and double ugh.

Christy saw my mood change, but she was too polite to pry. Instead, she changed the subject to my summer job. I started slow, still in a funk, but she drew me out with questions about Blackie and the crew. By the time we reached the apartment building, I was telling her about the young couple who’d bought the first Craftsman house.

Kendall finally called after I got home from the airport. She’d spent the morning going through registration, and the afternoon with her parents and brother, touring the football facilities and athletes’ dorm.

I understood, but I wished she’d left me a note, or called, or something. We talked for a while, but we were both tired. Her parents were leaving the next day, so she invited me to breakfast with them.

Trip could tell that I wasn’t exactly happy when I returned to the living room. Luke and Jeff were clueless—they were arguing about some girl Luke had been hitting on—but I didn’t pay much attention. I was thinking about Kendall, obviously.

My immediate problem was that I was horny. Knowing her, that would take care of itself as soon as we had some time alone. After that, we needed to make time for each other, every day, and not just for sex.

We also had to talk about rules for our relationship. I wasn’t going to tell her about Wren or the Raefords’ party, but I didn’t want to get into the same situation again. I didn’t like making up rules on the fly.

And speaking of flying...

I needed to talk to her about that, too, since I wanted to finish my instrument rating. She wouldn’t like it at first, but it was something I wanted to do. I needed to tell her before I did it, though.

We also needed to talk about our future together. After she graduated—in less than a year—she wanted to go to med school in Memphis. We’d be separated by four hundred miles, and we’d need to find a way to make things work.

Last but not least, I had Mom and Susan’s questions swirling in my head. I didn’t need to answer them at once, but I had to start asking at least.

When Kendall’s parents finally left, we made a beeline for my apartment. Luke and Jeff were out, but Trip saw the look on my face and grinned.

“I think I’ll go hang out with Wren and Christy,” he said. “I’ll probably head down to the basketball courts and find a pick-up game after that. I’ll be back late, I’m sure.”

The door had barely closed behind him before Kendall and I rushed together.

We didn’t speak. I merely backed her against the wall with my body, and our lips crushed together in a heated kiss. She wrapped a long leg around me and tugged my shirt from my waistband. I pulled back long enough to rip open her blouse. Then I kissed her chest and popped her bra catch with practiced ease.

She unbuckled my belt and reached for the button of my shorts. My dick strained against the fabric of my underwear, but she released it as she sank to her knees. I braced myself against the wall above her, watching as she kissed the tip of my cock. She rubbed it over her lips, but then practically inhaled me.

She wrapped her fist around my shaft and began pumping as she sucked. I exploded in record time, and sent a stream of semen gushing down her throat. She pulled back to catch her breath, panting from the speed of things. I swallowed hard and gazed down as she slowly milked my erection.

I was still sensitive, but I let her stroke me while I caught my breath. Then I pulled her to her feet and guided her toward my bedroom. My bed was on the far side of the room, and I managed to undress her by the time we reached it. She rolled into bed and watched with sultry eyes as I finished taking off my clothes.

“Mmm, nice,” she said.

I struck a bodybuilder pose, which made her smile.

She spread her legs and said, “I like this pose better,” which made me smile.

I knelt on the foot of the bed and lay between her legs. Her pussy was slippery with desire, pink and puffy from arousal. I kissed her gently and spread her labia with my fingers. The aroma washed over me and I felt my mouth water.

I took my time and licked her slowly. Her face and chest were flushed by the time I rose to my knees and positioned my shaft at her opening. She tensed when I entered her, and her pussy seemed tighter than usual. I started to say something, but then she went rigid.

She clutched the bed in silence as a mini-orgasm washed over her. I could feel it in her pussy and watch it on her face at the same time, and I almost forgot to keep thrusting.

When I remembered what I was supposed to be doing, I moved my hips and buried another inch. Her pussy contracted around me, and a fresh wave of heat and moisture assaulted my cock. After several long moments, she relaxed and sagged to the bed.

“Keep going,” she panted.

Her pussy felt like a molten vise, but I buried myself completely. She went silently rigid as another wave of pleasure rippled through her. I began thrusting with long, deliberate strokes.

“Oh, yes!” she whispered hoarsely. “Fuck me!”

Instead of answering, I threw her legs over my shoulders and bent her in half. With my arms hooked behind her knees, I plunged into her, thrusting deep as I concentrated on her reactions.

“In the ass,” she finally gasped. “Fuck me in the ass.”

I pulled out, and she rolled to her hands and knees. I scooted forward and set my glans at the pink rosette of her anus. Then I gripped her hips, and she groaned as my cock spread her sphincter.

“Do it hard,” she said.

I slammed into her, and she cried out.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Fuck me hard.” Her shoulders dropped as she reached between her legs to play with her pussy.

I began pounding her from behind. I thought I was being too rough, but she shuddered in ecstasy each time I slammed into her. I drove her hips to the bed, but I didn’t stop thrusting, even when I felt my orgasm building.

When I couldn’t hold back any longer, I buried myself completely. I came with a grunt, my balls tingling as I emptied myself into her bowels. Her ass tightened with an orgasmic spasm, which almost cut off the spurts of my own climax.

I finally collapsed on top of her, and we panted hard, still joined at the hips. When I regained enough strength to move, I pulled my half-hard dick from her ass, and she made room for me on the bed.

I flopped to my back, and she draped herself over me. Neither of us said anything. Instead, we simply held each other and enjoyed the feeling of being together.

The next morning, Trip and I went through our bathroom-sharing routine and headed downstairs for the first day of class. Christy, Wren, and Ash O’Riordan were waiting for us in the lobby.

“Is Kendall meeting us?” Christy asked.

Trip and I shared a quick look. Kendall didn’t want to abandon Abby—who wasn’t ready to see Trip yet—so they planned to have breakfast an hour later.

“Um ... no,” I said. “She’s gonna eat with her roommate.”

Wren knew the story, and she gave Christy an “I’ll tell you later” look. So we shouldered our backpacks and headed toward the Morrill dining hall.

Over breakfast, we talked about our summer vacations. Christy told us about London, and some of the places she’d seen. She’d spent the last half of the summer at her parents’ house in San Diego, surfing with friends and hanging out at the beach.

Wren had spent her summer working and partying, and told us about some of the big ones, including her birthday. She flashed me a smirk, but didn’t mention anything about after the party.

Ash had spent the summer with her father in Chicago. He ran an advertising agency, and lived in a high-rise condo with a view of Lake Michigan. She’d worked in his art department as a photographer’s intern, and had plenty of pictures to show us.

Trip and I talked about our adventures with home renovation. The girls cried with laughter when he told them about the practical joke with the beer permit. He was showing off, so the story grew in the telling, but I played the straight man and nodded in all the right places.

Eventually, we had to leave for class. Trip and Wren waved and started for the Hill, while Christy, Ash, and I headed for the Art & Architecture building. At the entrance, Ash said goodbye and went off to the photography studios.

“So,” Christy said as we climbed the stairs, “what’s your first class?”

“Interior Design. What’s yours?”

“History of American Sculpture. Siobhan’s teaching it, of course.” Christy laughed. “She’s actually in the textbook, too. Only a small part, but she’s an important Twentieth Century Realist. That’s what I want to be. A Realist, I mean. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as famous as Siobhan, but she says I have a good eye. She keeps telling me I’ll be even more famous one day, but I don’t know.”

I grinned at her sidelong.

“Am I chattering already?”

“Not really.”

She looked skeptical.

“Okay, maybe a little, but it’s kinda cute.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. I think.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a bag of carrot sticks. “Want some?”

“We just had breakfast.”

“I know, but I’m hungry. My metabolism, remember? I’m down to 95—all that surfing this summer—so I need to gain a few pounds.”

I chuckled. “Boy, I wish I had your problems.”

“You wouldn’t if you really had them,” she said, waving a carrot. “I have to work hard to stay in the triple digits.”

“You really are a bunny, aren’t you?”

Her eyes flashed with a grin.

“This is my class, though,” I said, nodding toward a door.

“I’m downstairs, at the other end of the building.”

“Then what did you follow me up here for?”

“I guess I lost track of where I was,” she said. I didn’t believe her, but she smiled anyway. “Besides, it’s nice talking to you again,” she said. “I missed you over the summer.”

“You did?”

She nodded. “I didn’t have anyone to draw with. And I kept wanting to ask you about the buildings. Simon didn’t know anything about them, but I knew you would.”

“Yeah, probably,” I said, a bit sheepishly.

“See? I could’ve told you about the art, and you could’ve told me about the nice building-things that keep the weather out.”

“’Keep the weather out... ‘?” I sputtered.

She smiled wryly, the very picture of innocence. “Mmm hmm. But I’d better be off. I don’t wanna be late.”

I shook my head with disbelief as she practically skipped toward the stairs. “Nice ‘building-things’ that keep the weather out”? Indeed!

My first class was mostly full of first-year Interior Design students, but I was one of two Architecture students. The other was a fourth- or fifth-year I didn’t know. The professor was a bit dry, but I enjoyed it.

Afterward, I headed to the new computer lab, where Professor Liang was writing on the whiteboard. I recognized several people, but only one I knew very well: Gracie Fisher.

She was an attractive brunette, with dark eyes and enough ambition for two people. She’d been a design team leader the year before, when I’d been passed over for the same position.

I wanted to dislike her, but I couldn’t. I’d seen enough of her designs to realize that she was good. Very good. On top of that, she had some leadership quality that I lacked. I didn’t like admitting it, but I knew it was true.

She saw me and smiled. “Hey, Paul!” She gestured at the computer next to her. “Have a seat. How’s it going?”

I slid into the chair. “Good. You?”

“Good,” she said. We chatted about our summers, and then she said, “I’m really looking forward to class. Computers are definitely the future of architecture.”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

She turned businesslike when Professor Liang cleared his throat for our attention. He introduced himself and went over the syllabus. The first couple of weeks would be basic computer use, which I was reasonably familiar with. Still, my trusty little VIC-20 was hardly in the same league with the computers in the lab, so I was bound to learn a lot.

When the bell rang at the end of class, Gracie and I talked for a minute, but we both had to head to our next classes. Hers was Marketing Strategy, and mine was History and Theory of Architecture.

Trip was already there when I arrived, so I slipped into the seat next to him. He was chatting with people we knew from first year, but I was content to listen.

When Professor Randall wrote her name on the blackboard, we all grew quiet. She went over the usual stuff, and passed out the syllabus. Then she started quizzing us, firing questions about as fast as we could answer them.

We were slow at first, a little surprised by the barrage, but she never lingered when she stumped someone. Instead, she simply told us the answer and looked for her next victim. She was lively and fun, and we eventually got into it. I answered every question she fired my way, mostly because of my summer reading.

Score one for Professor Joska, I thought sardonically.

Trip had a class at eleven o’clock, but I had a free hour, so I read my Interior Design book until it was time to meet Kendall. We talked about classes and professors over lunch, but she was preoccupied with her schedule. One of her classes had changed times, so she had a conflict.

After we finished eating, she left to go to the registrar’s office, and I went looking for Trip. I found him outside the dining hall, with Christy, Wren, Zoë Baranski (their other roommate), and Zoë’s boyfriend, Peter. After re-introductions, Christy pulled Wren and me aside.

“Siobhan wants me to ask if you can model this quarter,” she said.

“Sure,” Wren said immediately.

“I’m game,” I said.

“She has two classes,” Christy continued. “Monday-Wednesday-Friday at 11:00, and Tuesday-Thursday at 9:25. Can you do either of those?”

I went over my schedule in my mind. “I can do either,” I said. “Or both.”

“Me too,” Wren practically chirped.

We grinned at each other. Then we broke into snickers.

“Oh, brother,” Christy said. “I’ll tell Siobhan to expect trouble.”

“We aren’t trouble,” I said, still grinning.

“We’re big trouble,” Wren finished.

“You two are nuts.”

“What’s so funny?” Trip asked after Zoë and Peter headed toward the Hill.

“Our roommates are insane,” Christy said.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

We shared a laugh, but then Trip and I had to leave for class. The girls said goodbye and headed back to their apartment.

“Wren’s fun,” Trip said as we walked toward the A&A building.

“Yeah, she is.”

“Christy too,” he said, “but she’s more serious.”

I nodded.

“And they’re both cute.”

We talked about the girls until we reached our class. The room was one of the design labs, with drafting tables and stools instead of desks. Gracie Fisher was already there, and she waved to the tables next to her when she saw us. I recognized several other people, including John Spaulding and Louis Vang, team leaders from the year before.

Professor Joska entered the room at precisely one o’clock. The hubbub died as he took his place in front of the class. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, practically bristling with intensity.

“My name is Laszlo Joska,” he said. The “yosh-ka” of his last name sounded soft and sibilant with his Hungarian accent. “This class is Architecture 2006, Architectural Design,” he continued. “If you’re not supposed to be here, please be kind enough to leave quietly.”

No one moved.

“For the next twelve weeks...,” he began, and gave us the “Architecture is a serious business for serious people” speech.

“There are more than a hundred second-year students,” he finished, “including the twenty-four in this class. Look around you, ladies and gentlemen. Only half of you will graduate with a degree in architecture.”

He didn’t tell us how hard the class was going to be, because most of us already knew.

“After your first test, next week,” Joska said, which made us groan, “class standings will be posted outside my office. The top students will receive no special treatment, but it is virtually guaranteed that they will go on to have highly successful careers. Do you think you will be one of them?”

“Yes, sir,” Gracie said, with more confidence than anyone rightly deserved.

“You haven’t lost any of your pluck,” Joska said, “have you, Miss Fisher?”

“No, sir.”

“I see. But you’re probably right.” He looked over the class. “For those of you who don’t know her, I’d like to introduce Miss Fisher, recipient of an Excellence in Architecture Scholarship, the most prestigious scholarship awarded by the Hyatt Foundation.”

She puffed up like a peacock, but I glimpsed a tremor of nervousness behind her confidence.

“Congratulations, Miss Fisher,” Joska said. “I expect you to be at the top of the class when the first standings are posted.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Joska shifted slightly, and his eyes locked on me.

“For those of you who are wondering who the second best student will be,” he said, “I’ll give you a hint: he’s sitting next to Miss Fisher, looking like a fish out of water.”

I swallowed hard and composed myself as every face in the room turned to follow Joska’s gaze.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Hughes,” he said, “recipient of the Charles Eames Innovation in Design Scholarship, also from the Hyatt Foundation. The Eames Scholarship is awarded to the most creative students in the field of design. Congratulations, Mr. Hughes.”