Finals (25 page)

I would probably have to steal vehicles and lots of dough if this plan was to succeed, but even if I did make it across the border what was I going to do? Become a migrant worker? That didn’t sound too appealing.

The final choice was to put up with the accumulating stomach ulcers and wait it out. I had one week left until I received my diploma, then I’d be on a plane faster than you could cancel James Woods’s latest television disaster. Once home, it’d be all bonbons and
Guitar Hero
. There would be no pointless fretting over the chances of the police learning of my homicides or plots to destroy more lives. None of that nonsense. I could sit on my can, Bud Light in hand, and catch up on
The Big Bang Theory.
Boy, did that sound like a splendid arrangement. But at this point, getting home unscathed seemed more a hallucination than a probable reality.

Until that point when I was in the air with a SkyMall magazine in my lap, my objective was to appear ghostlike. With Dead Week on the horizon, classes were basically over. Final assignments and study guides would be handed out shortly, meaning I didn’t have to be on campus. Also, I had but one job left to do at
The Gazette
, so my presence would no longer be required in the newsroom, freeing me of all responsibilities on campus.

In the span of a week, I was going to be incognito. Like a drunken student on pub crawl, I was going to spend so much time wandering from one place to the next, Dunn and his police dogs were going to have to hire Kyra Sedgwick to hunt down this sociopath. If I was actually going to get away with my horrible, dark deeds, this was my last hope.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“
S
mall white chocolate mocha with a pitch of love for Wayne,” called the hipster barista, as I approached the bar to grab my drink.

I wasn’t much for hot drinks outside of red cup season at Starbucks, but the blended mocha with fair trade, locally grown organic coffee sounded too risky to a conservative coffee addict such as myself.

I took a sip as I sat down on an old-fashioned wicker chair. Not half bad. Not as excellent as my usual blended treat, but since I was still trying to hide in the shadows for a few more days this would suffice.

My plan to go incognito seemed to be working rather well. Dunn and his buddies hadn’t pounded on my door yet, so that was a good thing. Then again, I was purposely never home. I was visiting various restaurants or coffee bars, and getting in some quality study time at my friends’ quarters in The Village. The constant concern for Professor Nolan’s cumulative final was enough to allow me to spend several hours a day on Lexie’s couch. Prior to our final, I was basically Lexie’s sixth roommate. I was only at my house to sleep for a quick five hours before I was dressed, showered and continued avoiding imprisonment.

The lack of sleep in additional to my unsettled nerves was starting to take a toll, but thankfully, by the time Thursday rolled around all of my finals were over. My final for Professor Nolan’s class had gone especially well and surprising in spite of constantly worrying about getting get snatched by the coppers, I had managed to get A’s and B’s on all of my other tests. Unfortunately, with finals over, I didn’t have much of a reason to stop by Lexie’s place unless I wanted to worship pseudo celebs like the Kardashians, which was why I soon began spending more time at folksy coffee shops.

My folks were arriving on Saturday and the graduation ceremony was occurring Sunday. I’d hit up the senior party, pack my belongings with my parents and a killer hangover Monday morning, then my flight back home departed at approximately 4:45 p.m. that afternoon. Once in the air, that’d be all she wrote. The police wouldn’t catch me and I’d dissolve in the dusky horizon, never to be heard from again.

Until that blissful moment when my plane touched down, my worries would continue. I still needed to figure out a game plan for the next few days. As I began contemplating possible hideout locations, a familiar ringtone I had heard oodles of times over the past two years started up again.

“
Hey you,” I said as I answered the call from my now not
-
so
-
hated ex.

“
Hey!” chirped the peppy voice on the opposite end. “I’m finished with my finals, can you believe it? I’m about to be a senior!” Hayley said, giggling girlishly.

“
Congrats,” I replied. “How did your finals go?”

In her normal Hayleyesque fashion, she described a rather frightful scenario in which she may have received a B on her French essay for using an incorrect tense; however, she assured me that all was well in the world after having a brief powwow with her professor later during her office hours. Following this longwinded tale she gave a concise synopsis of her other finals before asking about how my grades ended up.

“
It was smooth sailing,” I replied. “A’s and B’s as usual.”

“
That’s wonderful news,” said Hayley enthusiastically. “I haven’t seen you for some time now, so I knew you must have been a rather studious boy.”

To the untrained ear, Hayley’s comment might pass as mere observation, but to a well-trained expert this was a subtle hint, like how your mother reminds you that tomorrow is garbage day as you enjoy a rousing game of Wii tennis. The information she provided is not merely a news bulletin. Like my mother, hinting about the accumulating trash pile in my room that needed to be taken out, Hayley wanted to see me. She was never going to say she did, but I knew it. The invitation to coffee was completely against our normal ritual and had taken every ounce of courage the girl possessed. Asking me out twice was out of the question. Although I hadn’t given the girl much thought since the car bombing, I did want to see her. Plus Hayley’s apartment was an ideal hideout location seeing as that no one knew of my rekindled interest in the beautiful blonde.

“
My scholarly run has come to a close so perhaps I could come see you, since I sensed your attempt at subtlety was in essence a desperate plea for me to come visit you,” I said playfully.

“
Oh, is that so?” Hayley said, trying to sound defiant against my claim but failing as a snicker escaped.

“
It is so,” I replied slyly.

“
I really don’t know where you come up with these wild notions Mr. York, but suppose if I did want you to come over, how would five-thirty sound?”

“
Sure, in this hypothetical situation, five-thirty would work.”

“
Perfect!” Hayley squealed elatedly. “I will see you then.”

“
Alrighty, bye”

“
Byeeee!”

Placing my phone back in my pocket, I grabbed the one magazine in my vicinity,
Bitch
, the local favorite of dreadlock granolas like my current baristas, and began flipping through the pages. I had two hours to waste until a new chapter in my bad romance began so why not read about Justin Bieber’s influence on lesbian hairstyles?

Chapter Twenty-Five

H
ayley’s apartment was on the top floor of The Village. The bottom floor held the larger apartments, the building’s office, the student church, the priest’s quarters, and the residential laundry room. As the floors continued upward, the apartment footage diminished substantially.

I had yet to visit Hayley’s dwelling this year, or the fourth floor of The Village in general. Last year, Hayley lived a halfway house on the first floor for a semester. The apartment was meant for study abroad students spending a semester overseas. Hayley had lived with ten other girls, but upon entering the house, it didn’t appear as though that many girls lived there. The house was so monstrous and spread out that even though ten other girls lived there, I rarely saw them or even heard them.

Presently, Hayley was living with two ghastly girls whom I disliked more than the
Twilight
series. When I rang the doorbell at five-thirty, I prayed my favorite blonde and I would be able to share some quality alone time.

“
Well hello, sir,” Hayley said, opening the door. “Why don’t you come in?”

After entering the apartment, another awkward shuffle took place. The characteristics of our relationship were still kind of murky to me, thus the reason I ended up giving a hug rather than our former tradition of a light peck on the lips.

Compared to the halfway house, this apartment was dismal. One teensy couch was placed in front of a pathetically small twenty-inch screen that in all probability delivered black and white resolution. The kitchen was equally small with one refrigerator and a rusty oven.

Even with the amount of space, the girls had made the most of the cramped quarters. The couch was covered in bright floral pillows, and various pictures of the trio covered the coffee table and walls in addition to one large
Mama Mia
poster.

“
Shall I give you the tour?” Hayley asked, as if there was actually more to see.

“
Sure, though I don’t think giving me in-depth coverage
of
the living room slash kitchen is necessary,” I replied.

“
You mean you don’t want to hear about our exciting trip to IKEA to purchase our lovely array of colorful pillows?” she answered sardonically.

“
Despite the fact that I’m sure that story is thrilling,” I said, in a similarly sarcastic fashion. “How about we save it for later and you show me your place of residency?”

“
Oh, if you insist.”

Disinterested, I listened as Hayley described her roomies’ whereabouts as she pointed out their quarters. The room on the far left of the hallway was Hayley’s, and upon entering, I was swept into a stage of nostalgic remembrance.

Although this room was slightly smaller, it was nearly identical to the one I remembered frequently visiting in the past. Her single bed had the same pink and lime green cover with the same neatly arranged lime green decorative pillows surrounding her large pink pillow, which was the one she actually slept on.

The familiar posters I had grown accustomed to seeing were still present. The poster of her favorite French play by Moliere,
L'Avare ou L'École du mensonge
(in English the title translated to
The Miser
) hung above her bed as it had previously. The other two pictures hanging on her walls were from the Baroque period. The one above her MacBook was titled
The Swing
, a title I could easily remember because the picture was just of a young girl on a swing. The other one was of a dreary looking couple in medieval garb sitting under a tree. I had forgotten the title but it was probably something similar to
Crotchety Couple by Tree
. On the wall nearest the door Hayley had plastered the poster of her second favorite play,
Wicked.

Right beside the
Wicked
poster Hayley had smeared the wall with pictures from various trips and stages in her life, most I had already seen. A quarter were from her pre-college life: high school memories, trips with parents, holiday photos. Several were of her college days. I was even in a few of those. About ten or fifteen new photos were of her trip to Paris, Brent was in half of them. Thinking about the two of them, as I looked at a photograph of the happy couple under the Eiffel Tower, I became somewhat jealous and to an extent angry with Hayley for having more pictures with that smug idiot than the idiot standing in her room. Seriously, where would we both be if I had stayed an innocent Catholic boy, and Brent was still alive? I would be hard-pressed to believe I’d be standing here if I didn’t follow my dark suggestions.

“
Brent and I were being silly that day. He insisted I
lean
back into his arms like one of classic romantic pinups you always see,” Hayley said, as she caught me looking at the Eiffel Tower picture. She let out a nervous laugh as if to reassure me of their childlike innocence before moving over to the edge of her bed.

“
Do you remember when we use to stay up late watching all of those
Office
episodes? Oh, I miss Dwight
,” she said letting out another fake laugh trying to lessen the tension. “
And I never got to see the conclusion between Jim and Pam!”