In my torturous wait, the teacher’s explanation bleached the edge of my mental absorption. Never was my lectures long, heavy, dull, and uninteresting.

The voice of my overthinking demons flew into doodles. Line over a line, mirroring an ongoing stream of anarchy.

My gaze strayed a million times, licking the dumb phone's dormant screen. A glimmer of hope, each glance, it grew. The screen will light at any second. Any second...

Yet, what I got, a lightning bolt. An acute vibration traveled down my limbs, responding to a sudden pain from a bite on my tongue.

I squeezed my eyes tight. Calming the rage.

“Ooh-la-la… The big boy is not taking notes.”

Seriously, she should stop doing this.

"It has become harder to get hold of you these days."

Like the wind, her interest shifted. "Are you avoiding us?" I felt it, as her hand stretched toward the dump phone. "Still using this trash?" and my palm sheltered the phone before her fingers had the chance to taste its surface.

"Oh…" mind struck as she covered her mouth, acting dramatically, "it's fate."

"Cali."

The call attracted unwanted attention. Nearby eyes stared, a dramatic show they thirst for.

My invisible university life hugged me farewell since that day. Every move I took, each uncivilized gesture of mine, entangled in the gossip complex web.

The celebrity of the law department, I became, in the bad sense of the word.

My effort to get out of the limelight. Sabotaged by fate, and by Cali.

By hand, I drugged her into an isolated spot.

Her back to the wall. Both of my arms above her head, trapping her: "What do you want?"

Speechless, her eyes gaped at my face, my reflection in them, like a water surface, fragile and disturbed. A trace of fear, surprise, and guilt gushed, subtly.

Rarely, I see her flustered. Rarely, my anger mirrored.

I was venting to the wrong person at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

The one who deserved my curses, the one who didn't return my thirty-six calls. The one who left me drowning in the events of that fateful night.

"What do you want?" I retreated. Cali was a storm of nuisance, annoyance, but this is unfair to her.

Under the shock, still. Her frightened expression eased a little. I barely heard her voice.

"I am sorry." The coldness on my palm cooled into my forehead.

My eyelids dropped halfway, avoiding contact.

She finally said while withdrawing: "Anna's father is in a coma."

The distance widened. "I thought you wanted to know this."

In the next seconds, her silhouette was buried in the silence of the corridor’s twist.

 

I didn't have much time to dwell. A faint vibration rang, disturbing the behavioral reflections of mine.

The lit small screen, in a direct line of my view, displayed a name. Sadly, wasn't the person I wished to contact.

I clenched my fist, pressing the small phone under an overgrowing force. My resolve thickened. No other choice was left on my path.

I must meet him face to face.

***

The parking lot of the finance and economic department, or the wealthy department, before midday, always gets full. Here, you will find cars you can only see on TV commercials.

Pedestrians such as myself abhor strolling in this area. Especially at this time of day.

I stood near my favorite red car, vigilant, like a watchdog. I felt I turned. From the curious passengers quick, questionable glances.

Running the overarching feeling of humiliation, I meditated on the rhythmic motion of my watch… counting seconds…

The concluding events of my life, lately, consisted of an alternate series of waiting and perks of surprises. Unpleasant ones were the most abundant.

For I readied my agility for any form of unexpected situation.

Here approaching my target, slowly, steadily walking.

He didn't notice me, perhaps preoccupied, as his steps showed a stain of reluctance.

He never ceased checking the phone screen.

Before he crossed the street, his head turned right, his lips smiled wide.

No longer than two minutes, two girls joined him. The three of them outlined a circle while engaged in a chat. For like, for like, I started pulling my hair.

No waiting anymore. I pushed for my first move to approach them, to see a third girl joining them. Rather a woman, she was slightly older.

As I began to complain about the number of women he was acquainted with, the group finally headed towards the red car, at last.

And, at last, he detected my presence. I enjoyed the effect of surprise on his face. Made me feel in control, in power for the upcoming meeting, especially when I was asking for a favor.

"August Olvera."

Maybe this was my first time talking to Olvera’s genius hire and my father's future target for business cooperation.

"Kieran?"

Out of the control seat, he pushed me when he said my name. As familiar as old acquaintances.

I was afraid it was all written on my face.

"Mr. McCarthy?" The woman picked on it rather fast.

In a silent glare, my focus bathed her. I didn't appreciate her tone.

"You are the new celebrity in the law department, it's so hard to not know you."

Salty…

Probably, she was a long-distance relative of Mm. Marchetti.

"This is Kieran McCarthy…" August playing peacemaker, introducing me to the other girls and mending the circulating, decayed wind.

Pointless this prologue was, the suspended giggles at the edge of my vision told me so, like a clown in a cheap theater I felt, yet the second round was coming.

"This is Madeline Fry, my assistant."

His presenting hand flagged left. "This is Samantha Fry and her friend Lia Riggs."

No romantic entanglement, I detected with any of the girls. Merely, the taint of friendliness, friendship leaked through the voice.

The ringing of metal gripped my sensors, the car's lights responded to the soft click, the doors lock clack free, obeying. "Don't stand here wasting time, you only have one hour for lunch."

Madeline urged and her sister, cousin, whatever already jumped next to the driver’s seat.

Humm, she doesn't desire to associate with me, interesting…

"I think I will take my lunch here."

The door stuck half-open, Madeline's flinching eyes stopped the time. "The campus cafeteria?"

"Yes, the private one." August alluded.

Oh please, I hoped for an invitation to the city's finest restaurants.

Emery is such a gourmet, and he succeeded in infecting me.

Her gaze jerked between us, curves of her lips down in disagreement, then she glanced at her wrist: "I will come to get you in one hour."

Like thunder, a cloud of dust left us alone. "Isn't this your car?" I asked after we got our eardrums burst from the excessive engine noise. The answer waltzed far from my damaged hearing ability.

The overall view from the cafeteria roof…

Impressive.

Long since I had this misconception about this place being reserved for professors. It shattered today.

Even there were servers here…

In my painful wait for the ordered meal, Mr. Genius, in front of me, didn't waste an ounce of his time.

A never-ending cadence of keyboard typing. A spread block note kissed by the tip of a pen, now and then. Each moment he lifted his eyelashes, I pretended to be surfing the moving tides of humans as they walked in and out of my perspective.

Finally, the ring of plates graced our table.

The serviette spread open. I watched every particular eating habit of his. From the little details of preparation to the first sample spoon on his tongue. Comparing them to the ones I witnessed at the dinner party.

The way he held the silverware, the position of his hands, arms, the tilt of his head… The refinement in his gestures.

Such pig manners of mine, in contrast. Especially when I recalled my gluttonous monkey style at the dinner party.

Did he notice it? Did he watch me eating like a monkey pig? Our tables were so close…

I hope the matter of his unwanted engagement sealed the total of his focus.

What bothered me further was the balanced attitude of the spoon, traveling up and down. Steady, nonchalant. Talking to me about his untroubled spirit during my visitation.

That hint of surprise I drank on earlier withered. Only left a faint decayed scent, stinging my throat.

No word stepped out of his mouth while eating. Perhaps, a display of decency in high society.

Fools, they didn't know what they were missing. Chatting around a full table, one of life's top pleasures.

With each implication of his eating habit, my boat of reminiscence drift. Probing for links.

August Olvera… I remembered him, easy-going between his friends, lifeless at the dinner party, nervous under my father's interest, relieved as he rode the helicopter, and awfully cold during the trip.

He called me by name... I missed the part when I became one of his closest acquaintances.

To this level of closeness, we never interacted before...

Furious, I bottled the itchy feelings. Even my intentionally piercing stares didn’t affect him.

His half-lowered eyelids trailed from the set of his order down to mine. Witnessing the outlook change in his eyes as the intensity of the blue increased.

My head dropped towards my dish. Nothing was wrong. I just made sure that each sort of food was placed on a defined limit, in a symmetrical approach.

On the left, soup drops rested on the edge of the plate, my plate. How come I didn’t notice... A fresh napkin slid enough to wipe them clean and nice.

The spoon on my right, the fork on my left, ready for the appetizer.

 

My meal, the epitome of an arranged pattern. The view from above, matchless, reassuring. Like a critical photographer, I inspected it.

Yet from where arose this bitterness?

Something… Missing, hard to pinpoint, inaccurate to define… I felt it… In my surroundings... under my skin.

In this meeting, why am I the one standing on the edge of a slope?

Why was he unruffled?

Where was my satisfying, disturbed expression on his visage? As if aware I was coming after him?

"Is the food not to your liking?"

Mechanically, the bones of my neck cracked, my head motionless when I reached his sightline. As well as my voice deprived vitality:

"I am here because of Jacob McCarthy."

The last spoon of his meal perched aside. He cleaned the corner of his mouth, his hands. A server brought coffee. After one sip, he said: "I see," a sluggish timbre, all unconcerned. Unsurprised.

"For an important matter," the fork fell on the floor, echoing an unpleasant noise.

The corner of his eyes jerked slightly. "Sorry," I reverberated, sharp, "it was unintentional."

"Sorry," he said, in there, less panic than I wished for. "I didn't mean…” Perfect, my aggressive message reached him. He better says goodby for any false presumption about my character.

“Actually..., Jacob told me you will make contact."

My endeavor of retrieving the fork ended with acute pain. My head knocked on the table border. Maybe the unbearable ache caused impaired hearing.

"Kieran?" he leaped from his seat, hastily, a strange expression traced his face. "Are you ok?"

"Jacob, what?" My hand soothed the impact of the hit and the confusion.

Oh, aside from the unwanted stares I attracted, can I correct others’ false assumptions about me with a clumsy, humiliating show? And after such a manly move.

“Jacob informed me of your incoming.”

“Today?” Still confused, but asked anyway for additional affirmation.

“Yes..., this morning.”

“Hmm,” that jerk, he didn’t pick up my calls, “Did he say something else?” August’s face twisted in return for the question. I didn’t appreciate the hazy look. Better close this subject sooner than him finding out the terrible communication skills of my family members.

“Then what I am supposed to do?” I rephrased my inquiry.

“We are, ah... Madeli... My assistant was supposed to brief you on your role but…”

In his stuttering, a sense of relief rained over my heart, appeasing and ecstatic. At last, something I can start feasting on.

Under my teeth, the first sample of the food was crushed. The taste, above terrible. I kept chewing, my eyes throwing animalistic sparks, though, why he allows his assistant such liberty.

“Sorry about her… Earlier, she was kinda rude.”

The savor of my meal grew tastier, with each crunch, with each bite.

He sought to read me but failed: “Good, I appreciate this kind of person.” I jammed another spoon in my mouth, making him wait while I observed.

His face weighed on the apologetic scale over the intimidation, thus I doubled the stimulus: “She makes it clear from the start that she didn’t like me.”

Truthfully, it saved me the effort to suck up to her. Like I did with Mm. Marchetti. What a bad memory.

“No, no…, it’s not like that, not on a personal level. It’s only because of work and reputation.”

Everything in my mouth, I swallowed in one go. Felt it caught in my throat. Where were we going with this conversation?

“You know the rumors circulating about you, she thinks if I associate myself with you, at the moment, will cause my reputation to sink.”

I reached for the water.

Associating himself with me? What Jacob had told him?

“I will be frank, what I want to say, this is not the first time you have been accused of first-degree murder, then the charge dropped off suddenly.”

I drank his appearance along with the cold water. My gaze straightened toward his, through the glass. The ash-pale brows, evermore relaxed, devoid of judgment or accusation. His stand from what he said, from my unfortunate recent and old experience, I couldn’t fathom.

Did he really care only about his reputation?

One thing for sure, despite the polite attitude, the underneath bones of his smelled sordid.

“I am just a luckless individual, always existing in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Soon, I switched for defensive. “I will work hard so your assistant stops fearing associating myself with you. Just dial Jacob’s number on your phone, for me.”

****

“Hi... Dear brother.”

“Huh, using someone else phone to contact me? Angry... I guess... Is that why you are spiting love words?”

“...”

My silence lasted a fraction of a second, yet felt longer. From the other side, Jacob didn't add a sound while I feared him hanging up the call: "You are awfully wordy today, is this the guilt speaking?" Before I pour out my heart.