Down the hall, a right turn, and over to the supply room. He inserted the key in the lock and opened the door while turning on the lights. It took him a second to process what was going on. A figure thrusting and grunting. The pants puddled at his ankles. A pair of legs clasped around his waist.
Ben quickly shut the door, leaned against the wall, and started panting. He knew instantly who it was because of his size and muscle. A minute later the girl came out fully clothed, clutching her coat to her breast. Her dark hair was a mess. They eyed each other for only the briefest moment.
Lisa Holloway.
It was an image that Ben didn’t want in his head, but knowing it wasn’t Ro made it a little better. He caught his breath, knocked, and then went into the supply room. JD had his pants back up.
“Hey, Vicks.”
“JD.” He started going down the list of supplies while sneaking in a quick glance. For once, JD looked sheepish.
“Hey,” JD said again. “Look, Vicks, it isn’t what you think.”
“No?” Silence. “Look, JD, if you want to be a jackass, that’s your business.”
“It’s just not what you think,” he repeated.
“It is what I think, but it’s none of my business.” Ben reached for some elementary calculators and put them in the canvas bag.
“She came on to me. Swear to God, she cornered me and pushed me in the closet. Stuck her hand in my pants—”
“Not my business.”
“What was I supposed to do? Tell her to stop?”
Yes, you shit. That’s what you were supposed to do. “It’s not my business, JD.”
“I don’t make a habit of doing things like this.” His voice was desperate. “I really like Ro. I’d feel bad if . . . you know.”
Ben held up a hand. “Stop begging, okay. I wouldn’t rat you out. You know me better than that.”
“I’m not begging.” But of course he was. “I’m just explaining.”
“Fine. You’re explaining. Gotta go.”
“She’s not all that you know . . . Ro isn’t.”
“Don’t know her that well to say yea or nay.” Ben shrugged. “Maybe she is all that, and you’re not.”
He left the closet with two armfuls’ worth of supplies. He wasn’t even angry. Had he and Ro been talking, carried on where they left off a few weeks ago, he might have hinted at something. But she hadn’t given him more than a few passing words. As tempting as it was, it felt dishonest to blow JD’s cover. He wasn’t going to sneak into her life through the back door. She had to want it, and since that wasn’t happening, she had made the decision for him.
Still, he felt bad for Ro. And in a perverted way, he also felt bad for JD. He wasn’t a bad soul. He was only eighteen. He was just another horny guy at Remez High. No one knew who the fuck they were and what the fuck they were doing. High school was purgatory until they all earned enough indulgences to reach the vaunted era of independence.
A number of seniors were applying for early admission to colleges and universities. Ben was not among them, so he didn’t have the November 1 application deadline hanging over his head. Still, the college counselor, Tom Gomez, had scheduled an appointment with him mid-October at eleven in the morning. It was a waste of time, but it was school policy and it was easier to go with the plan than to question it.
The counselor’s office was a small room on the second floor of the administration building. There were multiple college flags pinned on the back wall along with a map of the U.S. When Ben came in, Gomez pointed to the chair opposite his desk. The man was in his fifties, short and stocky, with gray hair, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth. Like Ben, Gomez had come from solid New Mexico stock. Their families were friends but not close friends. Talking to him was like talking to an out-of-town uncle: the relationship was a little closer than normal but not close enough to feel entirely comfortable.
“How are you?” Gomez asked.
“Fine.”
“The folks?”
“Pretty good.”
“Good to hear. We missed you at Nambe feast day.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. School and all.”
“You? Worried about school?”
Ben gave him a sheepish smile. “Not really.”
“Yeah, not really. Okay. What schools are you considering?” When Ben handed him a slip of paper, Gomez read the list. He said, “This is it? St. John’s and UNM?”
“They’re good schools.”
“They are very good schools. But why are you limiting yourself? You have the entire world at your feet.”
Ben looked at the floor. “All I see is gray tile.”
“You can deflect the obvious with humor, but I’ve known you too long to be distracted. With your scores and your grades and your recommendations and where you live, you could walk into any school you want. Why isn’t MIT on the list? Or Caltech? Or Chicago? Or even Harvard?”
“I’m not interested, Mr. Gomez.”
“Since when have you started calling me ‘Mr. Gomez’?”
“Just trying to be respectful.”
“You’re trying to create distance between us.”
Ben tried another tactic. “My scores were not perfect.”
“Stop nitpicking, Ben. You know they’re exceptional. You know you’re exceptional.”
“With schools like the Ivies, you have to have four years of a foreign language.”
“Who told you this nonsense?” Gomez paused. “Or are you making it up so you don’t have to put yourself out there?”
“I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.”
“You’ve heard incorrectly.” Gomez gave him a reproving look. “I repeat. With your grades, your scores, your recommendations, and where you live, you can go anywhere—especially considering your background.”
“What about my background?”
Gomez stalled. Then he said, “I just meant that you’ve gone through a lot. A lot of guys would have cracked under the circumstances.”
Immediately Ben felt anger boil in his chest. “So . . . like I should write on top of my application in red: ‘this guy has a dead sister’?”
“Ben—”
“Or do you mean the essay? To whom it may concern: take me as a pity case because my sister was murdered and I’m still alive and functioning.”
“Ben—”
He got up. “I think we’re done.” He bolted out of the office, filled with fury, his heart beating through his chest. Leaning against his locker, fist clenched, he tried to catch his breath. He did manage to get the combination on the first try. When the door opened, his books came tumbling out. He banged the locker next to his, and then bent down to pick up the books. When he stood up again, he hit his head on the open door. “Fuck!”
Ro was there. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, hello, stranger, fancy meeting you here.”
“Stop it. What’s bothering you?”
“I just got out of a counseling session with Gomez.”
“He wants you to apply to other schools.”
“How did you know?”
“’Cause I know where you’re applying and you’re selling yourself short. If I had your scores, I’d be wearing crimson as we speak.”
“How do you know my scores?”
“Haley told me.”
“How the hell does she know?”
“Perhaps you told your family. Perhaps they discuss you when you’re not around. Perhaps she overheard. Whatever the reason is, you’re still selling yourself short.”
“That isn’t what made me mad.”