While I'm Falling Part 12

THIRD F FLOOR C CLYDE was waiting outside my door. was waiting outside my door.

He turned, hearing my footsteps, and for a moment, I was happy to see him. He was just so absolutely pleasant to look at, his hair curling around his ears, his smile easy and serene. He looked like he should be on a movie screen, twenty feet tall, playing someone beautiful from somewhere beautiful. He did not look like anyone who would naturally appear outside my dorm room in Kansas.

And yet, it didn't matter.

I started explaining right there in the hall. No one was around anyway, and, given what I had to say, it seemed awkward to ask him inside. And it seemed pointless, even mean, to let him say anything at all first; because nothing he could say would make any difference. It wouldn't matter if he turned out to be nice or smart or funny in addition to being the dorm's Adonis. I wouldn't care. I told him this, working to keep my eyes on his, to not be a coward and let myself look at the yellow cinder-block walls or the gray carpet. I clasped my hands in front of me and then behind me. I'd left the garbage bags in the first-floor trash room; my books were behind me in my backpack, and I wished I had something to hold. I told him that I had made a mistake the other night, and that I was embarra.s.sed, but that my embarra.s.sment had nothing to do with him. I told him that I had a boyfriend, and even though I had probably messed that up, I wasn't sure I had messed it up completely, and I didn't want to do anything to make my chances worse.

Marley's door was open. I could see her shadow on the hallway carpet; she was right around the corner, taking everything in.

"Okay," he said, his low voice steady. He was already turning away. "No problem. I understand."

I watched him walk away, worried that he did not understand at all. It was almost an old joke to reject someone and say there was nothing wrong with him, that the problem was with you. But in this case, it was absolutely true. What I was feeling now had nothing to do with him. But what I had felt on Friday night had nothing to do with him, either-which didn't say much for me. I used him, as if he weren't really a person. Whether he was wounded or not didn't matter. I was right to feel ashamed of myself.

"Hey, Veronica." Marley was behind me. "How're you doing?"

My first impulse was to ignore her. I didn't want to be mean, but I didn't want to talk to anyone just then. I wanted to turn around and move past her to my room and shut the door behind me. I wanted to stop saying and doing stupid things, and the only way to do that, it seemed, was to take a break from interactions in general. When I did turn around, however, she was standing closer than I'd expected, and she looked eager and desperate for conversation, even more so than usual. I glanced up and down the hallway. Every door but hers was closed. The dorm could be a lonely place on Sundays. In cold weather, especially, even the people who didn't go home seemed to disappear.

I looked at my watch. "You want to go to dinner?" I wasn't hungry-I'd eaten one of the chicken salads my mother had brought just a few hours ago.

She nodded. Of course she nodded. She'd probably been alone all day. I wasn't sure what the course load was like for French horn majors, but it didn't seem very demanding for Marley. She always had time on her hands.

"I have to put my bag down." I unlocked my door and waved her in behind me. My blinds were still down from the previous night, and though it was still just late afternoon outside, I had to turn on the light to see.

"You need to decorate." She wrinkled her nose at my blank walls.

"I've been busy," I said. When I set my backpack on my desk, I heard the thud of my chemistry book. I still had to read, and try to understand, three more chapters before Tuesday.

"You need posters." She sat on the spare bed, one pig slipper crossed over the other. She was wearing the sweats.h.i.+rt that had been signed, in various colors of Magic Marker, by the other members of her high school graduating cla.s.s. "Seniors Reach for the Stars! Go Bison!" was ironed on the back in bubbly, hollowed-out letters. "I'm lucky, because a lot of my mom's friends are quilters, and they made me a quilt before I came to school. Have you seen it? It's pretty. I sleep with it at night and then I hang it up on my wall during the day so I can see it."

I nodded, feeling through my backpack for my meal card. I knew she had heard every word of my conversation with Clyde. At first, when she didn't bring him up, I thought she was being tactful. But the more she talked, the more it seemed that she just wasn't all that interested. She was still talking about the quilt, about its lace trim, and the way her mother's quilting friends had used her baby clothes to spell out her name. I tried to focus on what she was saying; I tried not to hear the ticking of my watch. I was going to fail the chemistry test anyway. I might as well be kind. I looked down and saw that Tim's note, with the little drawing of the rabbit, had fallen to the floor. I picked it up and set it back on my desk.

The phone rang just as we were walking out. It was the dorm-issued landline, which I never used. The receiver felt heavy in my hand.

"Veronica?" I recognized, almost right away, the voice of Gordon Goodman, residence hall director-though he usually sounded friendlier than he did just now.

"Did you forget our meeting? Your performance review?"

I looked at my calendar. There it was, two days before the chemistry test, both of them listed in red ink so I wouldn't forget. I rested my forehead against the wall. I was still s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up. I couldn't stop. It was like a free fall.

He said he would be waiting downstairs.

Marley took the news in stride, but I still felt bad. Running down the hall, I called over my shoulder that I was sorry, and that if she wanted to wait, we could go to dinner when I came back.

Gordon Goodman's office was just off the lobby, with an interior window that allowed him to see the front desk and the front doors. But now he had the blinds pulled down, and there was nothing to see, nowhere for me to look, except back at his disappointed face. Gordon was the one who had hired me. He'd interviewed me himself.

"I'm worried at this point." He leaned back in his squeaking chair. "It's December. The semester will be over in a couple of weeks. And you haven't done one program for your floor yet." He scratched his gray beard, grimacing. "And there have been complaints that you're never around. Or never available, at least."

I nodded, chewing as quietly as I could on my fortune cookie. He offered fortune cookies to everyone who came into his office. Today, my fortune read, Wise men learn more from fools, than fools from the wise. Wise men learn more from fools, than fools from the wise.

"I'm sorry," I said, swallowing. "I know I've got to do a better job. I've been really busy with school."

He tapped his fingers on his desk, frowning. The bowl that held the fortune cookies was handmade, the edges wavy, the base striped black and green. One of Gordon's daughters, now grown, was a potter somewhere in Texas. He had pottery all over his office, mostly glazed bowls and cups, but also a tissue box, and a couple of book-ends.

He leaned his elbows on his desk. "You're pre-med, right?"

I nodded and smiled. I waited for him to smile back. Usually, when I told people, especially older people, especially older men, that I was premed, I was met with instant respect and approval. Gordon continued to frown.

"I'm certainly sympathetic." He glanced at his bookshelves, which covered two entire walls of his office, floor to ceiling. Although the pottery coalition had made serious headway, the shelves mostly belonged to books-fiction, nonfiction, dictionaries and encyclopedias, textbooks from every subject. "I was in law school. I remember the pressure."

"You went to law school?" I was eager to change the subject.

He nodded. His gaze moved around the room.

"Then why-" I stopped. I didn't want to be rude. I supposed it wasn't a bad job, being a hall director. I had never seen him wear anything besides a sweats.h.i.+rt and jeans, or a T-s.h.i.+rt and shorts, depending on the weather and whether or not he was out on his morning jog. That, I supposed, was a benefit of the job: every day was casual Friday. He had his own apartment in the dorm, with his own private entrance. I'd heard it was pretty nice. For being in a dorm. A drawback, of course, was that all of his employees were students, and he had to schedule performance reviews on Sunday nights.

He shrugged. "I didn't like being a lawyer. I kept thinking I would learn to like it, but I didn't. One day I just came home and said I wasn't going to do it anymore."

"Huh," I said. I tried to think of what kind of response would keep the conversation going in this direction. "Wow," I said. "That's crazy!"

He nodded. "That's what my ex-wife said. Only she was a little angrier. She was the one who put me through law school." He waved his hand in front of his face, as if trying to erase the words. "Sorry," he added quickly. "Too much information. Not your concern."

"That's okay!"

He met my smile with a blank face. The performance review would now resume. He pulled his eyegla.s.ses away from his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, as I was saying, I am aware of the pressures of a demanding course load. But you've still got to do your job." He winced, clearly uncomfortable. "And I've got to tell you, Veronica. Right now, it doesn't seem like you're doing it."

My cell phone rang in my pocket. I apologized and pulled it out to silence the ringer. My mother was calling. I silenced it and apologized again.

"It's okay," he said. He shook his head. "It's okay about the phone, I mean. But...the not doing the programming, not doing your job, that's not okay." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk. "I'm sorry about this. I can see you're stressed out, about this job, about school. I can look at you and see it. If you want to talk with me, if there's some way I might be able to help..."

He paused, waiting. He was so nice. I was aware of the pressure of tears, but if I didn't speak, I could contain them. I shook my head.

"Fine," he said. "But there's a reason Housing is giving you a free room. Some of these kids need somebody looking out for them. You've got to take the job seriously." He let his eyes rest on mine, unblinking. "Or you shouldn't have the job at all."

I did not cry in his office. I curled my toes up inside my boots, looked him in the eye, and promised I would try harder. I kept my voice even, my expression resolute. I said what my father would have said. I said I would honor the terms of my contract. I said I understood his concerns, and that I appreciated his understanding, but that things were about to change.

"Good," he said. "That's good to hear." He did not seem particularly happy. "You're sure you're okay?" he asked.

On the way back up in the elevator, I was alone, but I did everything I could to hold back the tears that had pooled beneath my eyes. I did not want to be crying when the doors opened to my floor's lobby, to Marley and her quilt and her Cheetos, or to another one of the freshmen on my floor I did not even know. I used all my old tricks: I yawned. I jumped up and down. But when my cell phone rang again, and I saw my mother's number flash on the screen, I stopped trying to get ahold of myself. I flipped open my phone and pressed it hard against my cheek.

"Hey." It was just one word, but I let all the sadness and shame I was feeling fall into the mouthpiece, hoping she would hear them.

"Veronica." The voice did not belong to my mother. It was a male voice, very low, unhidden anger in the tone. A ribbon of sweat went cold along my hairline. The pressure of tears disappeared.

"Who is this?"

"Jimmy."

I glanced at the screen of my phone. It was my mother's number. Jimmy Liff had her phone. I heard the grinding gears of the elevator as it slowed near my floor.

"Uh...one of your guests guests left their phone at our house this weekend?" left their phone at our house this weekend?"

The elevator doors opened to the lobby of my floor. Marley was reading a book on the couch, her legs covered by the quilt. She looked up at me and started to speak. I pointed to my phone and kept walking.

"Shoot," I said. "It's my mom's." She didn't have a landline. There would be no way for me to tell her where her phone was.

"Your mother mother was here?" was here?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?" I stood outside my door, fis.h.i.+ng my key out of my pocket. On my message board, written in the green dry erase marker, was: "SOMEONE (BLONDE) IS LEAVING HAIR Tr.i.m.m.i.n.gS IN SINK AND IT IS DISGUSTING. DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT." I opened my door and turned on my light.

"Did your mom come to your big party? The party you had at my house?"

I was silent. I could not think of anything to say.

"You know, Veronica, I tried to be cool when you told me you'd wrecked my car. My concern, as you remember, was for your safety." His voice was shaking with anger. I shut my door behind me softly. I sat down on my bed. This was it. This was consequence. There was no getting out of it now.

"And then I come home, and my neighbors are p.i.s.sed, because it turns out there was some huge party here on Friday. Lots of drunk people. People p.i.s.sing in the street, on the ice in these nice front yards. Not cool, Veronica. Not cool at all."

"Jimmy," I said. "I'm sorry. I tried my best to clean u-"

"A lot of my music is missing."

I closed my eyes. I had put his CDs back in the entertainment center myself, each one back in its right case. But he could say anything was missing. I wouldn't be able to prove, or even know, that he was lying.

"I'd say about three hundred dollars' worth."

The number seemed excessive, and arbitrary. "Jimmy, I don't have three hundred dollars."

"Well you better figure out a way to get it. I've got a good mind to call the police. My neighbors are witnesses. I trusted trusted you. I was paying you for a service, and you caused damage to my property." you. I was paying you for a service, and you caused damage to my property."

Someone knocked on my door. I ignored it.

"I don't know what you want me to do," I finally said. "I don't have that kind of money. If you think of some way for me to make it up to-"

"Well for starters, you can get your lying, two-faced a.s.s over here right now. Our car is in the shop, thanks to you, and we don't have any f.u.c.king food here. We need to go to the grocery store."

I held the phone against my ear. He sounded nothing like the person who had shown me his orchids and ferns the other day. This was something new to me-being spoken to like this. He wasn't yelling. My father, when he was angry or even just excited, usually got much louder. But there was something hard in Jimmy's voice that left me even more stunned and stupid.

"I don't have a car," I said.

"That's not my problem." His voice was still quiet, and very calm. "If you're smart, you'll be here in half an hour."

Jimmy picked up the aloe vera plant by the sink and threw it into the garbage, which was on the other side of the kitchen, a good seven feet away. The terra-cotta pot cracked on impact. Haylie and I both jumped.

She recovered first, her hand on her chest. "Are you sure?" She laughed nervously. "It didn't look de-"

"It had cigarette ash in the soil." He stood in the middle of the kitchen, his arms crossed, his stance wide. "You know, from the cigarettes we never wanted in the house in the first place? Add that to the bill."

I looked up slowly, scanning the counter for my mother's phone. The kitchen still smelled like lemons.

"How many people were here, anyway? Huh? I'm asking you a question."

His eyes were a little pink, puffy around the edges. He was wearing a Chicago Bulls knit skully, the striped edge pulled low over his brows.

"I don't know," I said. "Not that many."

"That's not what the neighbors said." He stepped back, as if trying to get a better look at me.

Haylie checked her watch. "Can we just go? The Merc closes in half an hour."

Jimmy shook his head. "No no, honey. We're not going to the coop. I'm going to need more than granola this week. I want Mountain Dew. I want processed meat." He reached up and gently touched his nose bolt.

Haylie clicked her tongue. She was already wearing her s.h.i.+ny red coat, and black boots that made her almost as tall as Jimmy. She leaned over and picked what I worried was dog hair off one of the knees of her tights. "But only the Merc has organic soy waffles." Her voice was high-pitched, a little girlish. She kept her head lowered, just her eyes looking up. "You can't get them anywhere else."

He suddenly looked pleased. He slapped himself lightly on the forehead. There was no problem, he said. He smiled, his eyes hard on mine. We could go to both stores. We were in no particular hurry, right?

I shrugged. That was all. If he wanted to go to two stores, I could take him to two stores. I had Gretchen's car for the night. When I'd called, she was studying at the science library. She said her car keys were in her room, and that I needed to try to calm down. "So you forfeit your house-sitting fee," she'd whispered. "That's enough. Don't let him push you around."

Jimmy was putting on his jacket, but still looking at me, and still standing very close.

"I need to get my mom's phone," I said.

Even without the dumb contacts, his eyes, green and very still, looked a little catlike. "Sure, Veronica." He smiled, and his eyes didn't move. "After we run our errands."

We went to the co-op first. While Haylie shopped, I sat on a bench by the automatic doors and watched shoppers come and go with their cloth grocery bags and bulk foods. I tried not to watch Jimmy pace. Every time he walked across the mat in front of the doors, they slid open, and then shut, only to open again after he turned and walked back across the mat again. He was on his phone, talking in a very loud voice to someone named Degraff about the stupid b.i.t.c.h who had wrecked his car and then trashed his house over the weekend. I didn't look at him. He didn't look at me.

He was still on the phone when Haylie brought her groceries to the register. She said his name, walked over to him, and he handed her several bills from his wallet without even looking up. After she paid, she put the change in her pocket and sat on the bench to wait for him with me, or at least near me. She sat very still, her paper bag of groceries on her lap. I gave her a long look out of the corner of my eye. As much as she had changed, with her dyed hair and her black eyeliner, she still looked, more or less, like the girl I had played princess with in fourth grade. Her mother had made snacks for us. My mother had made snacks for us. But when Haylie finally noticed my hard stare, she didn't seem undone.

"You really f.u.c.ked up," she said with a shrug. "I talked to people today. You let your friends wear my shoes. My clothes." She took off a glove and examined a fingernail. "I don't feel sorry for you at all."

At the next stop, the regular grocery store, Jimmy told me I might want to have a seat again. "I'm feeling a little slow tonight." He pulled a cart free with a hard shake. "I think we're going to be here for a while."

I found a seat by the movie rental counter, wis.h.i.+ng I had at least thought to bring my chemistry book. But I had not thought to bring it, and so there was nothing to do but just sit there and listen to the store's stereo system play light rock and watch people buy their groceries. I tried not to think of everything that was worrisome, pressing down.