Hadrian's Wall (55 page)

She didn’t answer
immediately. “There is no ‘relationship’—that’s the
problem.”

“And you wish there was.”
Suddenly an idea occurred to me. “Oh, that’s why you always dress
like you do...because he’s always in black.”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s none of your business
why I dress this way.”

“Okay, it’s none of my
business,” I replied and went back to unfolding the other leg of
the table.

A few seconds later, Delilah sighed
again.

“I like him. That’s
it.”

“And?”

“And...he obviously doesn’t
give a damn about me. End of story.”

I smiled to myself. She
liked him. That was obvious! But the thing about the black clothes
remained a “half-mystery”... as well as the coffin that I hadn’t
seen yet.

“He asked if you convinced
me to go to Verano’s party.”

“So, what did you tell him?” She looked at
me, terrified.

“I said you didn’t know the
party what was going to happen...freshmen jumping off the rock into
the lake and everything else. Well, you didn’t know,
right?”

She touched my arm. “You’ve
got to believe me, Mel. I had no idea! I screwed up. It would have
been easy to figure out what was happening if I had paid more
attention to the party’s theme and the location mentioned in the
invitation, but here’s the thing...I had other things on my
mind.”

“Okay, Delilah. Now help me get this thing
set up.”

Looking at the structure,
she said the obvious: “It’s a retractable table. I have one like
it. Let me pull this handle for you because it takes a certain
knack and...”

In the following minutes,
we worked harmoniously until my phone rang. Delilah stared at me
while I checked the number on the display. Although she hadn’t been
asking questions, which was unusual for her, the way she looked at
me was getting on my nerves.

Unexpectedly, she got up and went to the
door. “See you in the cafeteria.” She gave me a thumbs-up sign and
then left.

I nodded as I already had the phone to my
ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, just called to say that the perimeter
is protected. You can sleep peacefully. Your attacker will not have
another chance.”

“Thank you...again.”

He chuckled. “I’ll always
be around,” he said.

“Oh, great. Bye!”

I closed the phone and sighed. A wave of
sadness washed over me. Where is Adrian? What is he doing? Stephen
said he was out of town, but doing what? With whom? I was consumed
by curiosity...and jealousy.

It occurred to me that
sooner or later, Adrian would hear about the incident with Verano.
I cringed, just trying to guess what his reaction would be and had
the feeling that it wouldn’t be a friendly one.

Every time I feel
restless, I grab my block drafts and start scribbling something.
This time was no different, except that I was using my new drawing
board for the first time. Morrigan’s face emerged and around her a
battle scene...manga outlines that I automatically defined, like an
impulse. She appeared in full attack against a legion of Roman
soldiers. Minutes later, I realized that Morrigan’s stylized
features resembled Keyra
McPherson
.

* * *

The cafeteria was big and looked to me like
a new building. It was connected to the main house by a covered
walkway. Its glass roof allowed me to see the cloudless sky filled
with stars.

There were four long tables
arranged and decorated to resemble the huge dining halls of
medieval castles where lords hosted sumptuous dinners for their
subject. The tile floor looked like stone and perfectly matched the
lamp fixtures—torches attached to the walls adorned with smooth
stones cut into thinner blocks. At the far end of the hall was a
large counter along the wall between the dining area and the
kitchen. A uniformed server was dishing food onto trays. Near the
entrance was a fifth table, a little shorter than the other four
and partially hidden. It was occupied by teachers or perhaps
boarding house staff.

The food line was not too
long. In fact, there were very few people in the cafeteria. The
Verano party was probably the reason for the small turnout here. On
the other hand, the students who were traveling elsewhere for the
weekend would already have left too. I wondered how busy this place
would be if there weren’t any other events happening at the same
time. I bet it would be buzzing.

The delicious aroma of the
food whetted my appetite. I walked to the serving table, picked up
a tray from the stack and got into line to wait for my turn.
Although distracted by everything going on around me, I noticed the
clerk’s nametag on her spotless white uniform. “Miss McCloskey.”
When my turn came, she offered me a genuine smile.

“Welcome to the
McPherson
House!” she
said in a cheerful tone.

Although most of the tables were empty, I
felt like I was the “new kid” and it was my first day at a new
school—isolated, yet the center of attention at the same time. It
was surreal! As I walked around, trying to decide where to sit,
people stopped eating and whispered to those around them. Then I
heard Delilah calling me. When I looked around, I saw her perched
on the edge of the central table, waving incessantly.

With an exasperated sigh, I
went to meet her. To be honest, I would have preferred to eat
alone, in silence. I wanted to reflect on my day, but oh well! My
“personal cycle” would never end in a satisfactory way, if I didn’t
stop doing this, but in Delilah’s company, I would have to make an
extra effort to be sociable.

I greeted her with a forced
smile and set my tray down beside her. Looking around, it occurred
to me that Sally Benson could be close by, but it was obvious that
I wouldn’t find her near Delilah Key.

“You must be careful to choose the right
place to sit.” She gestured at the other tables with her chin.

“Why?” I frowned.

“Well...It’s not very
different from high school.” She gave a cynical laugh. “This is
Freshmanland. I can’t wait to complete the first semester so I can
leave this dreadful title
behind
.

I stared at her blankly. Delilah rolled her
eyes and pointed discreetly to the groups around us.

“Each one has a group
around here.” She began whispering. “See there, they’re the
‘undecided guys’—those who haven’t yet decided what they will do
after college. If you ask what career they wish to follow, they
have no clue. They were dubbed the “idle geniuses” by the teachers
because they do a lot of things well in various areas, but
no specific course
. They
are more complacent, less worried about compromises. They are
trying to live an easy life.

All I saw before me was a
bunch of guys and girls playing with their food and laughing at
each other.
Nothing more
.

She moved closer to me,
staring at the opposite side of the room from beneath her thick
lashes. “Up ahead, see? It’s ‘the intellectuals’—those who...” She
paused dramatically for effect. “...prefer to ‘dissect’ the verb.
They call themselves ‘analytical thinkers’ and brandish the flag of
the letters, philosophy, psychology, political sciences, whatever.
They promote deep
discussions
about human nature...although they don’t
look
very
human
sometimes.” She giggled. “These people are always on Facebook,
Twitter, Cyberwall, and on Thursdays, they’re always at the new BP
bar in the high town.”

Cyberwall
...was that the
University’s social network? I opened my mouth to ask, but I
changed my mind. Delilah would make a speech about it and I was too
tired to listen. I could look into it later. I was more interested
in hearing about this supposed “caste system” amongst the
freshmen.

Unlike the “undecided group,” the people
Delilah defined as “the intellectuals” were fully identifiable by
their look. Immediately, I saw a guy with a goatee, wearing a red
plaid beret. Another guy was focused on a toothpick—as if creating
a preposterous theory for its existence.

Delilah’s words were
beginning to influence my super imagination. I shook my
head,
worried.

“The staff
of ‘let’s get cracking’
should be at the next table, but most of them are probably at
Verano’s party,” Delilah said with disdain.

“Sally Benson’s
people—adventurers, sportsmen, mechanics, and lab rats who
eventually blow up their parents’ garage. They’re a ‘mix’ of
people—the guys from engineering and architecture to veterinary and
physical education. Everything that involves, you know, ‘hands on’
or ‘go getter’ stuff. Some of them are always around, picking up
litter and scraps for their crazy inventions, especially the team
working on the Sally’s race car,” she gestured again. “The races
are her biggest hobby—Indy 500 and Paris-Dakar... you know, racing
places.

Right. I’d watched the
re-run of
Days of Thunder
with Tom Cruise, so I had some idea.

Delilah turned and
discreetly pointed to another group. “The ‘bohemian guys’ like
Dwayne usually sit over there. They’re musicians...artists, so
technically, you should be there with them.”

I cast her a sidelong
glance. I didn’t seeing myself as a “bohemian” girl. Certainly, if
the guys create the ‘survivors’ group’ I’d most certainly fit in
well, but never a “bohemian” girl.

“Here, where we are, is my
space. Got it?” She was positively beaming. “It’s where the college
celebrities sit—stylists, at last, the people who want to do
interior design,
publicity, theater, cinema, journalism...”

I sat up straight.

“Joe Verano sits at this
table?” I asked, realizing
that my voice
sounded strident. I’d spend my whole year eating in my bedroom,
just to avoid bumping into him.

She looked at me
strangely. “He
would
sit here, if he were a freshman...and if there had been a
vacancy but
that’s not the case in both
situations.
You
can rest assured that your paths likely never cross again,
unless he comes here to visit someone. We have some freshmen here
whose dream is to join one of the fraternities.” She rolled her
eyes.
“Some of the freshmen who live at
McPherson House are recruited by empirical fraternity
guys.”

“So Joe Verano is the
President of Empirical?”

“Strange that you should ask...” She looked
down at her plate.

“Why?” I nervously rubbed my hands on my
jeans.

“Because I don’t
understand the power he wields within the
fraternity,” she
answered. “Nobody ever said that Joe Verano is the president,
but obviously the guy is influential.” She folded her napkin and
casually placed it beside her plate.

We were silent for a moment, taking the
opportunity to observe people at other tables. They talked quietly,
oblivious to our scrutiny. No one else seemed affected by my
presence. What a relief!

“Oh, I can’t forget the
‘boring’ people. They rarely appear to eat, but when they do, they
sit right there.” Her finger crossed in front of my nose as she
pointed. “Sitting with them is social suicide.”

Really?
Would I become Cady Heron in
Mean Girls
? Except the “queen bee”
of my life could only be Asia Chadwick, not Rachel
McAdams.

“And who are the ‘boring’
people?” I asked, not letting the conversation die.

“C’mon... the
‘scientists’... or rather the ‘aspiring scientists.’ They like
Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Math...blah, blah, blah!”

“I thought Sally’s folks are…”

“No, sweetheart. Even in
science there are class distinctions. The ‘boring’ people are the
elite. The ‘
let’s get cracking’
ones are the plebeians. You know, the old quarrel
between theory and practice.”

I laughed and then resumed
looking around. Suddenly, at the end of the last table, I spotted a
familiar face, but I couldn’t recall where I’d met him.

“And there...who’s
that?”

Delilah looked in direction I indicated.

“Oh...Gibbs is alone today.
Typically, the ‘aspiring to lab coats’ sit in that
corner.

Sure! Now I remember! The
guy who stumbled on his shoelaces in the
hospital
.

“People say that the
‘medical group’ begins large and soon gets smaller. The goal of the
course is inhuman. See that among them, only the best of the best
who come here make it this far.

Best of the best!
I
pursed
my lips.

It seemed amazing that
within just a few weeks, the groups were already formed, as if
they’d been together all their lives. I shouldn’t be surprised
because it was the same during my earlier school days. At the
beginning of the semester, “the freaks”—I was one of them—had to
sit in the back row of the cafeteria where we wouldn’t offend
anyone’s sensibilities.

“Today, you’ll experience
the
McPherson
House chow for the first time.” She grimaced when she said
“chow” and pointed at her plate.