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chapter 8: Maybe

Jude leaned against the side of the dumpster, last night’s chips and Mountain Dew coming up in a greenish sludge.

“Oh Jesus motherf*cking God,” Jude whined. “I’m so f*cked. So goddamned f*cked!”

Stomach empty, he panted through the last dry heaves. Marq paced a stone’s throw away, expression wild with anxiety.

“I’m sorry, Jude,” he hissed. “I told you that you didn’t have to—”

Jude spun, hands raised.

“You a*shole!” he screamed, throwing the first sloppy punch. Marq dodged. “What the hell did you get us into?!?”

“I warned you!” Marq yelled. “I did!”

He raised his fists, backing up.

“Warned me?!?” Jude roared, throwing another punch. This one met Marq’s gut with a thud. “You didn’t f*cking warn me!”

“I did!” Marq gasped, deflecting another blow. “I… I tried to tell you…” he grunted as another fist slammed into his torso. “I tried to explain—”

Jude’s uppercut ended whatever he was saying. Marq stumbled back, nose bloody.

“Do you even realize what you’ve done?!” Jude bellowed.

“I’m sorry, man!” Marq cried, voice breaking. “I just couldn’t do this myself! I didn’t know how, Jude! I didn’t know—”

“Enough!”

Jude staggered out of the alley into the light. The knuckles of his right hand began to throb, heartbeat pulsing through his digits. He stretched his fingers once and again, finally shoving his hands back into his jacket. His fingers brushed against a folded envelope, and he winced. It held the public information on King, and the payout for the Trojan.

He had a pocket full of cash, but he’d trade it all for a do-over.

: : : : : : : : : :

Callum Woodrow sat in his office in the English Department, his foot tapping on the desk in annoyance. He didn’t have classes today, it was Saturday after all, but given the events of the morning, he needed something – anything! – to distract him. He brushed his fingers over his mouth, pausing on the broken flesh of his bottom lip. Two teeth marks marred the skin. Feeling it, the ghost of a smile brushed over mouth, then disappeared. He hadn’t seen her in months, but Indigo hadn’t changed at all. Cal scowled, as another thought intruded.

Except now she was with Jude Alden.

With a sigh, he lifted up the first of his freshman student papers, staring down at the title: Brontë’s Wuthering Heights: An Exploration of Romance and Revenge.

For ten minutes, he slogged through the paper, circling errors and writing notes in the margins. Reaching the end of the essay, he frowned, struggling to remember what he’d read. He couldn’t. Indigo was there instead, standing on the sidewalk dressed like a model in a magazine. She kept flickering to life in the apartment hallway too, but he pushed that thought aside.

He had one way he liked Indigo, and that was the one he focused on.

Cal took a slow breath, replaying the moment she’d turned, in her high heels and dress, looking at him with tortured eyes. It was Heathcliff and Catherine reunited. The only problem was that Edgar was standing there between them.

Cal tossed the paper and pen onto his desk, reaching for the computer’s mouse and clicking open his archived files. Years earlier, Cal’s marks had been audited by the Board, and that experience had taught him the virtue of a long memory. While Jude looked familiar, Cal couldn’t place him. He’d taught at the university too long for that; the memories of his students blurred together nowadays.

Cal clicked backward through the years, searching for the name Jude Alden. Seven searches in, he found him. Jude had been in his Classics of English Literature course. Cal’s nose flared in displeasure, jaw tightening as he read through an unexpectedly stellar list of grades.

Critical Essay #1: 95%

Critical Essay #2: 92%

Critical Essay #3: 94%

Somehow he’d been expecting Jude to be dim-witted or dull. With marks like this, in an advanced university English class, Jude Alden should be in a graduate program, but he wasn’t. Cal scrolled through the remaining grades, eyes widening as he reached the end.

Novel Study and Exploration: 97%

Major Project: 96%

Final Exam: 81% *Note: See anecdotal records

Cal clicked open the link to his course notes, hoping desperately that he’d kept them too. He had.

Alden, J.: Classics of English Literature

The take-home exam was administered as per Department protocol. All students logged in, and an IP address was taken. Partway through the exam, Jude’s computer timed out and his login disappeared. When his login reappeared, computer records show that he went back, changing several of the answers he’d already submitted. His final grade was 99%. Seeing this, I assumed cheating, and requested the Disciplinary Committee remove him from the course.

An investigation, via the Tech Department, couldn’t prove or disprove the claim. On advice of Dean Fournier, an alternate, hand-written exam, provided by Professor Wheatley, was administered. The average of the two marks were submitted.

Online exam: 99%

Written exam: 63%

Mean exam mark: 81%

Callum smiled, the scab on his lower lip tearing open, filling his mouth with the tang of blood. He reached out for his phone, hitting number four on speed-dial. There was a click, and a woman’s voice appeared.

“You’ve reached the Tech Department, Lissa Amos speaking.”

: : : : : : : : : :

Elliot lifted the bar above his chest, forcing his elbows not to lock.

“You got an exit strategy?” he said as he lowered the free weight down.

At his side stood Jude, grey-faced and weary. Too distracted to lift, he was spotting today.

“I’m gonna be fine,” Jude mumbled. “I can handle this, Elliot. Don’t worry.”

Elliot pushed the barbell up, arms burning.

“Handle it like you did in high school?”

Jude muttered something under his breath, crossing his arms in defiance.

Elliot blew out his breath in a hiss, slowly lowering the weight to his chest, and waiting for the burn to ease. He could remember the day the principal had shown up at the door of the auditorium to pull Jude from the assembly. The entire group of seniors, dressed in their private school blazers and ties, had watched Jude being led up the stairs to the back where a police officer and Elizabeth Alden, Jude’s mother, stood waiting. Just before he’d stepped out of the doors, Jude had turned back, flashing the middle finger with a nonchalant grin. The room had erupted in applause.

“This is nothing like what happened in high school,” Jude grumbled. “What I’m doing right now isn’t actually illegal.”

“Hacking is illegal,” Elliot replied. “And that’s exactly what you’re doing.” He tightened his grip on the bar, tensing his arms. “One more rep,” he panted. “Then I’m done.”

“I’m keeping logs of everything,” Jude said. “It’s a legitimate request, Elliot. It is! I’m just testing the guy’s security systems.”

“The security systems of a known criminal,” Elliot grunted, slamming the barbell up onto the Y-supports. He lay on his back, glaring up. “You've got to get out of this, Jude. Cut your ties and do it fast, for Chrissakes!”

Jude’s lips pursed, forehead wrinkling as if about to cry. He looked young all of a sudden.

“I can’t do that,” he whispered. “I just need to do this one last job. Then I’m done. Promise.”

Elliot sat up, massaging his arms.

“Why?” he insisted. “Why this last one? You just said you had second thoughts. That should be enough.”

Jude shook his head, staring out into the busy gym.

“I… I can’t, okay?” he said. “Besides, this is good money. One last job and then I’ve got my Get-out-of-Dodge plan. I’d have enough to start a business. Start programming on my own.” He turned back, eyes wide and earnest. “I could do it, Elliot. I know I could.”

“This isn’t the way.”

“Being an entrepreneur is totally the American way,” Jude smirked. “Make your own luck.”

It was that statement – the insouciance of it – which finally lit the fire under Elliot’s temper. He surged to his feet, worry blossoming into rage.

“Listen to yourself!” he snapped. “What would your Dad say to that?”

“You leave my father out of this.”

Elliot shook his head, face grim.

“That’s it! Get out of my apartment.”

Jude stumbled backwards, anger shifting into surprise.

“What?”

“I said get out!” Elliot repeated. “Move! I’m done!”

Jude’s eyes widened.

“But… how can you do this?”

“Easy. I just did!”

Jude stared, open-mouthed.

“But you’re my oldest friend.”

Elliot turned, walking away even as he answered.

“We used to be friends,” he growled. “We’re not anymore.”

: : : : : : : : : :

Indigo didn’t see Jude for a week. She half expected him to appear on the weekend, but Saturday and Sunday came and went without a word from him. The next week was busy with school projects. Each day at break, Indigo was certain he was going to show up with coffee and a story of what had kept him away. He didn’t do that either. By Wednesday, his absence had grown into an irritation that wouldn’t leave her mind. It bothered her, but she wouldn’t allow herself to call him. Indigo always held the cards. That was her deal, no matter what. She didn’t wait for guys to call.

Except with Jude, she couldn’t help it.

Late Thursday, she lay in bed, tossing and turning. Cal’s kiss in the hallway kept playing over and over in her mind. She knew she shouldn’t get involved with him again, but it didn’t change her feelings. She and Cal had a connection. A f*cked-up one, but connection nonetheless. She frowned.

Right now that was more than she had with Jude.

The cell phone on the table buzzed, and she glanced down, half expecting the text message to be from Cal. It was from Jude instead.

You still awake?

Indigo smiled, typing in an answer.

Barely. It’s late.

She waited.

Want to grab coffee tomorrow? I miss you.

She tapped a reply, still smiling.

Maybe… She hit send, then added another text. That’s ALWAYS my answer.

Jude’s response was nearly as quick.

MAYBE???

Indigo giggled.

A girl’s gotta keep her options open.

She waited, gnawing on the side of her thumbnail. She believed that, but it was weird to put it into words. Her smile melted until only a hint of it remained. ‘Maybe that’s half my prob—”

Another text appeared.

Then I’m coming over NOW, before you change your mind. Grab your coat, and maybe some clothes. There was a pause. Scratch that. No coat or clothes. I’ll bring coffee to YOU!

Indigo smothered a giggle in her pillow.

DO NOT COME BY. Shireese would FREAK. Besides, I have class tomorrow. Go to sleep.

His reply popped up a second later.

Can’t sleep.

She grinned.

SLEEP.

She hit send, wondering why she felt like a teenager where Jude was concerned.

I tried, but I really can’t. I miss you.

There was a short pause, and another message from Jude appeared.

Couldn’t sleep last night either.

Indigo frowned, her quick retort disappearing under a wave of concern.

Why?

A text popped up.

Had a shitty week. Wish you’d been around. Should have called. Sorry. :(

Indigo frowned.

You okay?

The answers appeared in rapid sequence.

Yes.

No.

Just miss you.

Promise me coffee and then I’ll stop bugging you.

Indigo sighed. She’d had a crappy week too, but that was because Jude hadn’t called. She could hardly say that.

Fine. Coffee at break, but only because you’re paying for it.

A series of emoticons – smiley faces and hearts – filled her screen and Indigo began to laugh aloud. In the other room, she heard Shireese roll over, the bed banging against too-thin walls.

Indigo typed a response: You’re such a nerd. Then she sat smiling in the darkness.

Might be, but I’m YOUR nerd.

Indigo’s grin grew softer, more poignant. It was stupid to let this continue. Shireese was right, he’d find out eventually, but she didn’t know how to tell him the truth. The seconds ticked by as she mulled that thought over. Another text appeared.

Night, Indigo. I’m holding you to coffee tomorrow.

She sighed.

Maybe.

Tomorrow would be soon enough.