The Year of the Great Seventh (32 page)

I didn’t regret choosing Nate. There was no doubt about that. But I couldn’t stop myself from fantasizing about what course destiny could’ve taken if I’d been able to attend that concert.

CHAPTER XVII

AFTER RUNNING ALL THE way to the northeast corner of Washington Square, I rushed into NYU’s College of Art and Science building and continued to the second floor where Professor Silverman’s office was located.

It was 3:15 p.m. I was already fifteen minutes late.

If Professor Silverman had left the office and I missed him, I was never going to forgive myself. He held the key to unlocking the prophecy, and I might’ve blown it because I got caught on a campus tour.

Students moved in mass along the hallway into classrooms. The layout of the building caught my attention. The corridor faced the street and had large windows along the side, facing Washington Park Square. The classrooms were in the inside part of the building—strangely, without any natural light.

Now that I thought of it, it made sense to not have windows in the classrooms. It eliminated the temptation of daydreaming in class while staring at the outside world—something I do constantly.

Nate was going to meet me in the lobby at four o’clock, and I was hoping to have some good news for him. I hoped Professor Silverman could maybe take us to the crabs that same evening.

The more time I spent at NYU, the more I realized how different the students were from those at my high school in L.A. They were what I would describe as the urban type, just like Paul. The majority were not bleach-blond or the Abercrombie type. They were a mix of people from different cultures and backgrounds, with an edgy indie style. Some guys wore tight jeans with old T-shirts, showing they weren’t afraid of expressing themselves. The girls ranged from gothic to the ‘80s-obsessed ones. What impressed me the most was everyone seemed to respect the need for people to experiment and find their true identity, whether it was through their clothing or through their lifestyle.

It was time to accept that I was falling in love with New York City, and I knew it wasn’t a momentary infatuation. This was going to be a long-term relationship.

Afternoon classes were probably about to start because students were trooping to the classrooms. I walked in the opposite direction, like a fish swimming against the current. The students shifted along the corridor in harmony. This was so different from the lousy chaos I was used to at West Hollywood High. There, when the bell went off, the students rushed into the classrooms like a cattle stampede.

I followed the corridor. There was a sign on the wall pointing to rooms 215 to 220. Professor Silverman’s office was 218, so it had to be in that direction. The hallway continued around the corner where it was almost deserted. There was only one student in this section of the corridor. He was seated in the window frame, staring out into Washington Square.

I stood next to the door of 218 and took a deep breath. I had to do it. I had to pretend that my life was normal because Professor Silverman knew Dad very well, and the last thing I needed at the moment was Professor Silverman raising any alarms to my parents. I could do this. I could pretend that everything was under control and that I was in New York for the sole reason of looking around NYU.

Closing my eyes, I knocked softly on the door, but to my surprise, there was no answer.

I waited a few seconds and knocked again, this time more energetically. Still no answer.

I turned the handle in case Professor Silverman hadn’t heard me, but the door was locked. Panic took hold of me. Professor Silverman had already gone. What was I going to do?

“Are you in Silverman’s class?” the guy sitting in the window frame asked naturally, as if we’d known each other our whole lives.

“Nope,” I mumbled, bringing my gaze to the notebook I was holding tight to my chest. I couldn’t get used to people’s forwardness at NYU.

“He’s always late for office hours, but he’ll appear sooner or later.” The guy in the window squinted to stare at me as though the light filtering through the window was blinding him.

He tilted his head to one side, moving away from the light.

He had close-cropped dark hair and bright blue eyes. He was one of those people in his early twenties who seemed caught between adulthood and adolescence. He looked like a man with part child left in him.

Like everyone in this university, his outfit was a statement of self-confidence. He was wearing an unbuttoned black checked shirt with a gray T-shirt underneath that read “The Bronx is Burning.” On the bottom, he wore a pair of black skinny jeans with a keyboard belt.

He stared at me, relaxed, as I fidgeted. We’d exchanged a couple of sentences and I could already sense he wasn’t what I would call timid.

“Are you staying at the dorms?” he continued, trying to make some conversation while we both waited for Professor Silverman to materialize.

What was it with NYU students? No guy ever spoke to me at school, and all of a sudden I was the most interesting girl on the NYU campus.

“I’m actually not a student here.” I pressed my lips together, wondering whether I should break the news right away.

I knew what his next question was going to be, so I decided to voluntarily confess. “I’m still in high school. My junior year.”

His face brightened as the words “high school” escaped from my mouth. “You’re after the Arcadia Scholarship, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, how did you know?” I said, stunned. I finally relaxed, lowering the notebook that I’d been compressing against my chest.

“I’m a junior, but my roommate is a freshman. He got it this year. I know Professor Silverman is in charge of choosing the recipient.”

What was with this place? Everyone was so charming and civilized. This was the second full grownup conversation I’d with a stranger in one day. NYU students were definitely exceeding my expectations.

“If you’re planning to major in history, I’d recommend getting into Professor Silverman’s classes. He’s by far the best, but it’s not easy to get a place in his classes.”

The cheerleader squad already felt like a distant memory. Why waste any time being popular in high school when everyone knew that’s not going to dictate who you will become in the outside world?

That thought brought back to my mind the real reason I was standing right here in this exact moment. The thought of Nate possibly not being around blotted out all my other thoughts.

Footsteps clattered against the floor behind us.

We both looked back to discover a man coming down the hallway, fumbling through his briefcase to grab a set of keys. I was sure he had to be Professor Silverman.

“By the way, I’m Kevin,” the guy offered as Professor Silverman approached us.

“Sophie.” I smiled, hoping everyone at NYU was just as nice as Kevin and Paul.

“Hi. Apologies for keeping you waiting.” Professor Silverman unlocked the door.

“I’ll see her first, then you, Kevin,” he said, holding the door open for me to come in.

I hadn’t met Professor Silverman before, even though he was one of Dad’s best friends. However, he definitely lived up to the history professor stereotype. He had crazy white hair that hadn’t had an encounter with a hairbrush in a couple of months, thick glasses outdated by at least two decades, and an office crammed with books and papers not ordered in any particular manner, just like Dad’s.

“Please, take a seat.” Professor Silverman nodded toward the chair across from his desk.

The desk was piled up with books constructing a barrier between him and me.

“You look just like your father.” He shifted the books to one side and bundled them up on top of the other ones so we could see each other’s face.

He grabbed a folder, pulled a paper from it, and turned on the desk lamp to examine it closely. He looked over his glasses and pressed his lips as he stared at the paper.

“How did the tour go?” he said without lifting his gaze from the paper and as if he didn’t care much about my answer.

I didn’t really know what to say, as telling him the truth—an unofficial tour of the dorms—wasn’t a possibility. I decided to go for a short, safe answer. “It was all right.”

I couldn’t contain my mind. If I asked about the prophecy and Professor Silverman didn’t have a clear answer, or he couldn’t get us to the crabs, what were we going to do? I wanted to go right into it, but I had to be subtle about it.

“Your Dad sent me your transcript,” Professor Silverman said, still scanning through the piece of paper.

Honestly, my priorities had changed. The scholarship was really important to me, but right now, Nate was the only thing that mattered.

“Are you working on a special paper to get some extra credit?” Professor Silverman asked, finally dropping the paper on top of his desk and meeting my gaze.

This was it. I may not have another opportunity to bring it up. “Yes, I started a paper about Cleopatra’s prophecy.”

“Oh, I see. I remember you mentioned the crabs from Cleopatra’s Needles in your email.” His eyes glowed with admiration as if I’d shown a piece of candy to a little child.

“Well, now that I’m in New York, I thought I could visit the obelisk. I was so disappointed when I learned that two of the bronze crabs had disappeared and the other two are in the vaults of the Met.”

“It’s a tragedy that we’ll probably never recover them.” Professor Silverman nodded, disappointed.

I didn’t have time to go around in circles. I had to ask him directly. “Has anyone discovered the exact meaning of the prophecy?”

He shuffled through some papers, grabbed a folder, and pulled out a paper.

“You see, the first part, ‘
Ammateus, marked by the legend of Orion, will suffocate with his own hands the life that guides him
,’ supposedly refers somehow to the suicide of Cleopatra and Mark Antony. They decided that if the Egyptian Empire came to an end, they would end their lives together. ‘
He will bring the sons of Satan back from the dead, marking the end of it all.’
It is believed that refers to Augustus, who persuaded the Roman senate to attack Egypt, bringing hell to the Egyptian people and ending a three-thousand-year empire.”

Dr. Silverman grabbed my transcript again as if he had nothing else to add on that subject.

“And the part where it says, ‘
Only the divine stone found where heaven meets earth will save her. The salvation to both lies beneath
?’” The words tumbled out, exposing my eagerness for an answer.

“That part is thought to refer to Cleopatra and the crabs. As you already know, whatever was supposed to save her didn’t work because she died at the fall of the Egyptian Empire.”

“So no one knows what the crabs meant? No one was ever able to piece it together because two crabs were missing?”

“There are several interpretations of what that last sentence meant, and not all involved the crabs. Some historians think ‘
The salvation to both lies beneath’
meant the King of Armenia was supposed to side with Mark Antony and Cleopatra in the Battle of Actium. This is the battle where Octavian defeated Cleopatra and Mark Antony’s army. The other interpretation to what ‘
lies beneath’
is the crabs. However, no one’s ever been able to explain what the crabs exactly mean.”

The first interpretation sounded weird because Armenia is north of Egypt, not beneath. I couldn’t explain why, but I knew the crabs’ interpretation was the right one.

Aware that this was my only chance to persuade Professor Silverman to take us to the vaults at the Met, I decided to ask him directly. “Do you think you could help me get access to the two crabs at the Met? They said the paperwork could take up to three months, and I’m here only until Sunday.”

“I don’t have access to the vaults,” Professor Silverman said simply. He rested his elbows on top of his desk as though his hands were really tied on this.

This was our last chance to discover what that dammed prophecy meant. My disappointment must’ve been obvious.

“But there is a book in the New York Public Library that has drawings of the four crabs. It was made in 1879 before the two crabs were stolen.” He half-grinned as my eyes must have lit up.

After all, there was no need to get access to the Met’s vault if there were drawings of the original crabs. We had to go to the library as soon as possible. There was no time to waste.

I decided to get straight to the point. From Professor Silverman’s perspective, I was supposed to be here to discuss the scholarship, and once we were done with that I could leave. “What do you think about my grades? Do I stand a chance of getting the Arcadia Scholarship?”

“Well, about your transcript, what exactly happened this year?” He turned the paper toward me so I could see the bottom part.

“You see… impressively, you’ve gotten straight A’s until this semester.” He pointed at the C’s and B’s that appeared at the bottom.

I needed to go to the library, but I also knew that I had to use this valuable time that Dr. Silverman offered me to defend my academic disaster. My parents were going to kill me, and Nate wasn’t going to be very thrilled with me either. I had to do it for them. I couldn’t throw my life overboard after having worked so hard.