Serpentine Walls (6 page)

“You always excite me, babe,” Cleo told him, and they kissed while the rest of them groaned. “I’ve got mostly photography classes for my senior portfolio, but I’m also taking filmmaking, which should be cool.”

“Damn, I’m jealous,” Pete said. “I’ve been wanting to take a filmmaking class for a long time. I wish U.Va. had a film major.”

“Take it with me, then.”

“Naw, I don’t have room in my schedule right now. At least I’m taking Film Aesthetics.”

“Ah, with the notorious Professor R.” Cleo thinned her lips.

“What’s he notorious for?” Angie asked. “I’m in that class with Pete. Isn’t he supposed to be good? Everyone’s always talking about him.”

“Oh, nothing,” Cleo said, her face shuttered. “I’ll let you form your own opinions.”

There was a short pause.

“Well, I’m kind of lost in this conversation,” Brian said amiably. “So I’ll keep mine short and sweet: econ and history, history and econ. That’s what I get for doing a double major. Nothing I’m jumping up and down about.” He turned to Angie. “You’re taking History of England with Constantine, right?”

“Yep. Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“We’re in the same class, then.” Brian looked pleased.

Angie shrugged but smiled and blushed as she did so. In Pete’s opinion, she wasn’t as averse to Brian as she liked to pretend.

Sadie came back with their food, and there was a lull in the conversation while everyone started to eat.

“Hey, Pete,” Cleo said eventually, “Professor R does that student-teacher film fest every year. You could make a movie for that if you wanted, tie it into your Echols Scholar stuff. I think he even gives extra credit for it. I’m going to do one.”

“That’d be cool, but I don’t know jack shit about making movies.”

“So, what classes are you taking, Mr. Echols Scholar?” Brian asked him.

“Film Aesthetics with Ang. A music class called Music and Discourse of the Twentieth Century, Nineteenth-Century English Lit. Stuff like that.”

“That’s cool,” Brian said.

“Yeah. I’m pretty psyched about my major.”

“Tell ’em what it’s about,” Angie said, bouncing a little in her seat.

Smiling as always at Angie’s enthusiasm, Pete said, “My focus is on how themes of nineteenth-century literature come through in modern, like twentieth- and twenty-first-century, art, film, and music.”

“Awesomesauce.” John whistled.

“I live with a genius,” Angie declared.

“Hey,” Brian said, “you’re a brainiac yourself.”

“Oh, stop.” Angie turned pink and ducked her head so that her hair covered her face.

“Well,” John said, “last time I checked, a 4.0 ain’t too shabby.”

“It’s not a 4.0, more like a 3.8,” Angie said. “And stop talking about GPAs!” she added as the rest of them laughed.

“You still doing English Lit.?” Cleo asked.

“Mostly.”

“Oh, wait!” Cleo turned to Pete. “I just had a thought, Pete. Matthew! He’s going to be a TA for my film class. I bet he’d help you out with making a film.” She pulled out her phone and started texting.

“Naw, don’t bother him. I mean, he barely knows me, and he’s a TA and grad student. He’s probably way too busy—”

“He said he’d love to,” Cleo reported, smiling down at her phone.

“Oh.” Pete experienced a frisson of pleasure at the thought of seeing Matthew again.

“Wow, that was fast,” Brian said.

“My lady gets things done.” John kissed Cleo’s hand and then signaled Sadie for the check.

Pete’s phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket to read the text:
Matthew here. Wld love to help w yr film. When shld we meet?

“Jeez.” Pete stared at the screen.

“Oh, he is so into you,” Angie breathed, peering over his shoulder.

“Would you mind?” Pete moved the phone. “Nosy.” He texted a reply:
Thx dude. Any time after 1
st
day of classes.

“I like Matthew,” Cleo said.

“That’s good, since you totally just set them up,” commented John, accepting the bill from Sadie and starting to study it.

“Me?” Cleo affected innocence. “Besides, Matthew doesn’t date. At least, I’ve never seen him out with anyone. I have no idea why. Maybe he has someone at home.”

“Yeah, who knows if he’s even gay? I have no gaydar, so I’m no use,” John said.

“He’s so cute, he must have someone,” Angie said. “But from the way he was staring at Pete last night, I think he’s gay and interested. God, Pete, your social life is looking up!”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Truthfully, though, Pete was amazed that two gorgeous guys had already expressed an interest in him after being back at school for less than twenty-four hours.

“Well, I would.” Angie sat back and announced, “This is the year Pete and I are going to find our soul mates.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Just let me get through the first day of classes before all that destiny crap happens. That’s all I ask.”

“Okay, everyone fork over eight bucks and that should cover it.” John stuck his credit card in the bill holder and held it up for Sadie.

After giving John his money, Pete shifted in his seat and checked his phone. No messages. Not that he expected there to be. He yawned. Time for a nap.

A
FEW
days later, Pete rolled over in bed with a groan and shut off the alarm clock. Those shots of tequila last night had been inadvisable, what with classes starting today. As he stared at the ceiling, a horrible feeling came over him that he had done something stupid, and he picked up his phone. He groaned again when he saw the series of texts he’d sent Aidan last night:

So let em say yr hairs too long, I got u, u know it cant b wrong

You never told me yr coming out story.

Im doing a film. Wanna b my star?

Ur playing a greek god in charoit. sp?

Cursing himself, he sent another text to Aidan—
Excuse texts. Was drunk—
and dragged himself out of bed to head to the shower.

Twenty minutes later he stood in the kitchen downing a yogurt and coffee, but Angie still hadn’t come out of her bedroom. “You ready?” he called. “We need to leave soon if we’re going to be on time.”

“Coming!” Angie emerged, flicking back her long dark hair, an oversize purse on her shoulder.

“You look nice.”

“Really?” She gave her outfit a doubtful once-over. She wore a form-fitting purple boat-neck tee and black capri pants, both of which flattered her figure. She had on a touch of makeup, and the purple top brought out the blue in her eyes.

“Really.”

Angie came up behind him as he was putting his coffee mug in the sink and gave him a hug. “Thanks. Okay, roomie, here we go. First day!” She clapped with excitement.

“Dork,” Pete said in a fond voice as he hoisted his backpack to one shoulder. “You need to eat something?”

“I’ve got a protein bar. I’ll eat on the way.”

They headed down Rugby Road toward Cabell Hall and their Film Aesthetics class, humidity wrapping them in a stifling blanket despite the early morning hour. Pete felt the sweat form at his temples and was glad he had worn shorts and flip-flops.

“I’m looking forward to this,” Angie said.

Sweaty and hungover, Pete grunted in assent, still kicking himself for texting Aidan.
Drunk texting
?
How pathetic is that?
Next time he got wasted, he’d ask John or Angie to take his phone from him.

“Have you heard from Aidan since the weekend?”

“No.” At Angie’s sympathetic glance, he said, “Why should I? It was just a hookup.”

“But he asked for your number. He said he’d call.”

Pete wished again that he hadn’t gotten drunk last night—it had ended with him spilling to Angie all the details about his night with Aidan. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“It’s only been, like, four days,” he told her, and when she frowned, he added, “What room is the class in again?”

This diverted her, and then they ran into a couple of friends they talked with as they crossed the Lawn and entered Cabell Hall, taking the steps to the third floor where the Film Aesthetics class was held.

Leaning against the desk at the front of the classroom was a man who appeared to be in his early thirties.
The notorious Professor R
, Pete thought as they passed him and found seats a few rows back. Professor R did have a first name, Rodney, and a last name, Montgomery, but everyone always called him Professor R.

“Ohmigod, he’s gorgeous,” whispered Angie.

Pete checked him out; he was tall and slim, elegantly dressed, with a slightly formal air. Cleo had told them Professor R grew up in London, the product of an English father and a Pakistani mother, and Pete wondered how he had ended up at U.Va. Undeniably handsome, with cinnamon-brown skin, big dark eyes, and a mustache, he stuck out like some exotic creature here at Mr. Jefferson’s University.

“All right, everyone, let’s get started,” Professor R said, his British accent only adding to his mystique.

Pete glanced over at Angie and smiled at her starstruck expression. He hit her foot with his, making a face at her.

“Quit it,” she hissed and turned her attention back to Professor R.

Professor R launched into a description of the class curriculum and requirements, and Pete had to admit he seemed intelligent, even brilliant, just in what he was saying about the class, and he made a few jokes that had the students laughing.

After about fifteen minutes of Professor R talking and answering questions, he wrote his office hours on the board. “These are my formal hours, but feel free to drop by if you’re in the neighborhood. I’m happy to talk with you if I’m in, and if you’re lucky, you might even get a cup of tea.”

A few of the girls tittered, Angie among them, while Pete tried not to roll his eyes.

“Okay,” Professor R continued, “there are a few other things to cover. A couple of you wanted to talk to me about pursuing independent study projects. Who is that?”

Angie raised her hand, along with a guy slouching at a desk in the corner.

“Very good, you two see me after class. Lastly, as some of you know, I sponsor a student-teacher film fest every year at the end of March. If any of you are interested in submitting a short film for that, let me know and I’ll give you the list of requirements. You’ll earn extra credit in this class, even though the film fest is next semester.” He smiled. “Don’t ask me how I manage that.”

“You’re totally doing that,” Angie whispered to Pete.

When Professor R ended class early after giving them their first reading assignment, Angie and Pete approached him and waited as he talked with a few other students.

Finally, he turned to them with a suave smile. “Hello. And who do we have here?”

Pete nudged Angie, who seemed to be dumbstruck. “Oh. Hi, I’m Angie Miles. Professor Douglas recommended I speak with you about my independent study project.”

“Ah, yes, Claire mentioned you,” Professor R replied, taking her hand and giving a slight bow, which caused Angie to blush scarlet. Pete could hardly believe this guy was for real—he was like something out of a nineteenth-century English novel. “I have time to meet with you now, if you’d like to come to my office.”

“Um, sure.” Angie giggled nervously.

Professor R raised his eyebrow at Pete. “And you?”

“Uh, yeah, hi. Pete Morgan. I’m interested in doing a film for your film fest.”

“Oh, excellent! Have you ever made a movie?”

“No, but, um, I’m going to be getting some help from one of the TAs for the filmmaking class.”

“Who is that?”

“Matthew Layton.”

“Good choice. Matthew has produced some fine films.” Professor R plucked a sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to Pete. “Here’s the list of requirements. Let me know if you have any questions.”

Their fingers brushed as Pete took the sheet, and he got the distinct impression from the way Professor R’s eyes flicked down and then up that he was checking him out. But just as quickly, the moment passed, and Professor R’s attention was back on Angie and the other student who wanted to talk to him about the independent study projects.

“Let’s go to my office.” Professor R escorted them out of the room.

“Bye, Pete!” Angie called over her shoulder.

“Later.”

P
ETE
hurried down the sidewalk and yanked open the door to the bagel shop. His music class had run over and he was twenty minutes late meeting Matthew. Wanting to kick himself for wasting Matthew’s time, he scanned the place and saw him at a corner table, earphones on, staring at a laptop. Matthew looked up and caught Pete’s eye. He waved, his smile welcoming, and some of Pete’s stress melted away as he walked over, dropping his backpack to the floor with a thunk while Matthew removed his earphones.

“Sorry, man. I can’t believe that class went over. First day and she goes over? Hey, we can reschedule if you want.”

Matthew waved his hand. “No problem. I got some work done that I’ve been avoiding. Sit down, take a load off. What can I get you?”

Pete sat. “Get me?”

“Yeah. Anything to drink? Coffee? Or are you hungry? I love their bagel sandwiches.”

Matthew looked so handsome sitting there in his plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up that Pete had a hard time concentrating on what he was saying. Sunlight slanted through the window, turning the hair on Matthew’s forearms to a burnished red-gold, and his bright-blue eyes positively sparkled. Pete pulled himself back to the conversation with an effort.

“No, man, you’re not getting me anything. You’re the one helping me out. Let me get you something—a sandwich? Refill?” Pete jumped up.

“I’m not hungry, but a refill would be great. Americano, one shot.”

Once Pete was back with their drinks and settled at the table, Matthew said, “Okay. So, you want to do a film for Professor R’s film fest?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d give it a try. Here’s the info about it.” Pete handed Matthew the paper and watched him as he read, enjoying the view. He had freckles, which Pete had never thought of as sexy, but they looked sexy on Matthew.