Well DAMN I guess I AM a writer
So, I wrote this for my advanced fiction class, and it is SERIOUSLY the best thing I have EVER written.
HOLY CRAP I ROCK. Hehehe, anyways, any feedback, comments, whatever? I'd LOVE it all!
Campus Cult
There were more than thirty of them, and they were all dead. We had just watched them die.
Brandon and I had just finished lunch. I was enjoying my mocha almond ice cream cone, and Brandon was making fun of me.
“Ya know,” he drawled, “that would almost be sexy, if it wasn’t for the braces.”
I gave my cone a lick, “Well, you’d almost be sexy, if you weren’t such a bitch.”
Scoffing he said, “I’m a bi-,” he stopped. “What are they doing?” He nudged me, nodding up. Dozens of people lined the ledge of the Lion Lodge, which is like sixteen stories. And in my opinion kind of suicidal; I hate heights.
I shrugged. “Maybe its some kind of protest.”
It looked like they were all wearing the same shirt, but it was hard to tell. I close my bad eye and squinted up. They each raised their right arm, they’re holding something, but I can’t quite make it out.
Brandon snickered, “Maybe its some kind of frat thing.”
I grin, “Yeah, leap for your loyalty.”
We laughed.
And then they did. Leap that is.
Looking back, though it’s not even been an hour, I feel ashamed. I know it’s not my fault, but I was making fun of them. I feel horrible. The police are interviewing all the witnesses. I don’t want to stay, but I have some kind of weird sense of duty. At least Brandon’s here. Could this day get worse?
One of the officers finally gets to us. “Names?”
“Danielle Haines.”
“Brandon Fuller.”
“Age?”
“Eighteen,” we say together.
We recount what we saw, and he tells us we can go. Brandon loops his arm around me, and I lean against his side, resting my head on his shoulder.
“Come on, Danni-girl, I’m in the mood for some Chad Allen, what do ya say?”
“Yeah, okay.” We start on the walk to his dorm. I look up at him, I know what we saw today is affecting him, his blue eyes are a little distant, and his walk is missing some of its usual swagger.
“How bout some soup also?” He nudges me, eyes twinkling.
A laugh escapes from me, and almost unconsciously I begin to sing, “Soup, soup, tasty soup, spicy carrot and corriander.”
“Chill chowder,” Brandon chimes in.
Together we continue, “Croutons, croutons….”
By the time we make it to his dorm, we’ve already gone through three Mighty Boosh songs and a reprise of the Soup Song. Brandon always knows how to cheer me up
* * * * * * * * * * *
It’s been two days since what is being referred as a ‘tragic accident’ took place. Classes have been cancelled for the rest of the week, and there’s a horde of psychologists that have been brought in incase anyone wants to “talk.”
I’m in the mailroom when Brandon finds me, squatting on the floor by my mailbox.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You wanna hear something weird?”
I glance up, he’s leaning against the mailboxes, arms cross. “Sure.” What is my stupid combination? My thighs are staring to hurt, I decide that the floor can’t be that dirty, and plop down.
“I heard there were 42 of them, exactly. 21 girls, 21 guys.”
“So?” Turning the lock, I hope for a click.
“42, the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?”
I give him my what-the-crap-are-you-talking about face, and return to my stupid lock.
“Hitchhiker’s guide?”
“Huh?” Was it 34 or 33? I go with 34. “Oh, wait,” I look up, “Was that the movie where Snape’s a robot?
Brandon sighs and shakes his head, “Alan Rickman, you really need to know your actors.”
“I know the ones that are important.” 12 and 7, I hear the click, and I pull the door open.
“Voila!”
“Anyways,” Brandon ignores my moment of triumph. “I was thinking that maybe it was some kind of cult thing.”
“A cult with only 42 members?” Campus newsletter and ads, nothing else, what a waste.
“Yeah.”
“A cult in Iowa?” I stick out my hand, Brandon grabs it and yanks me up.
“Yeah, it could happen.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” I brush off my pants, and start to walk down the hall.
“What, how am I wrong?” He jogs to catch up to me.
I hand him the newsletter. The headline screams: Lambda Upsilon Epsilon Initiates Leap from Lion Lodge.
“Well shit.”
“Yeah.”
“The initiates were protesting society’s dependence on electronics,” reads Brandon, “they were each clutching iPods. Sarah Gripes, head of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon, pictured right, says, ‘they were supposed to throw them, I don’t know what went wrong.’ Lambda Upsilon Epsilon is denying any knowledge pertaining to the deaths. ”
I grab the newsletter and study Sarah Gripes she looks like the typical sorority girl, blond hair with those stupid brown stripes in it. “So what’s this Lambda Upsid Epsid?”
Brandon stops walking. “Upsilon Epsilon and you’re joking, right?”
“No…”
“Only, like the most elite frat and sorority organization. They take the best of the best. Every Greek person wants in.”
“So, why would, they kill themselves, it doesn’t add up.”
“It’s a mystery.” He walks ahead of me, and I grab his arm.
“Dude, we should totally investigate, it’ll be kick ass.”
He strokes his chin. “Mm, I’ve always wanted to be a gay detective.”
“Investigator,” I correct in my best imitation of Sebastian Spence from Shock to the System.
“I get to be Donald Strachey.”
“It was my idea.”
“You can’t be Strachey, you’re not a guy or gay.”
“Whatever, doesn’t matter, my idea, I’m in charge,” I grin, “You can be Kenny.”
“Kenny’s a slut.”
“And you have a problem with that?”
“Whore.”
“Bitch.”
“Fag.”
“Hag.”
I stick out my tongue. “You’ll make a good assistant.”
“Office manager,” he mutters, folding his arms.
And we laugh.
“God, we’ve seen that movie way too may times.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Since Brandon I decided to investigate, we’ve done just about anything but that. First we decided to watch Third Man Out and Shock to the System. To get into the head of a detective we reasoned, and then I decided we needed to make a run to Borders, because really, through reading we can learn more about being a detective. We’re such bullshitters. But, on the bright side, I got a new book, its by Meg Cabot, yeah, I know she wrote the horrible Princess Diary series, but I’m excited. It’s a mystery chick-lit, Heather Wells, and I can’t put it down.
I’m walking and reading, something I’ve perfected over the years. I’m glad I’m reading because I’m about to pass the Lion Lodge and that place still freaks me out.
“You know what they call it,” sneers a voice from behind me. I turn and see some guy, nudging his friends, his smug face and frat tee-shirt screams asshole.
He smirks, “Lemming Lodge.” Then he and his buddies start laughing
I want to scream at him or slap him or do something, but I can’t move. Fucking asshole is on the tip of my tongue, but when I finally find my voice, he’s too far away for it to have any effect.
I throw my book. What is wrong with people? Don’t they realize real people died here? I take a deep breath. My book is lying in the grass; I walk over to get in. Bending down, the light hits something out of the corner of my eye. Grabbing the book, I peer through the grass. What is that? Reaching, my fingers close on it; it’s an iPod. Cool. Holy shit, it’s an iPod. Holy Shit, maybe it’s from the accident.
My phone is out before I know it and I’m calling Brandon. This investigation is finally underway.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Brandon meets me outside his dorm. He’s practically bouncing. “Danni-girl, I want you to meet someone.” He grabs my arm and pulls me in and through his dorm.
Sighing, I say, “Really, Bran,” I dig my nails into his arm to get him to release me. He gives a cry and lets go. “Now’s not the time for the potential boyfriend.”
He scoffs, rubbing his arm; he’s so dramatic. “Please, I’m not that…” He trails off at my raised eyebrows. “Shut up.”
“I love you, honey bear.”
“Love you, pookie,” he responds, knocking on a door.
“Come in,” shouts a voice.
The room smells stale, like most guy’s dorms, at least this one didn’t have the sock smell also. Hunched over a desk, is a guy, a mop of curly hair and thick reamed glasses, typing furiously on his laptop.
“Danni, this is David Kirs-” He makes some kind of guttural nonsense noise, and finishes with “Jewish last name.”
I roll my eyes up in disgust, “Nice, Edward Norton, American History X.”
David smiles and waves a Red Bull in a whatever gesture. “Kir-schen-baum,” he enunciates, “it means cherry tree.”
“That’s why I call him Cherry,” Brandon flops down on David’s bed. “And because he is one.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek. Poor David blushes.
“Don’t be a dick,” I tell him. “Anyways, why I am here?”
“Cherry’s like a techno genius.”
“I prefer geek,” David smiles. Aww, he’s kind of cute.
Digging in my pants, I bring out the iPod. “Then maybe you can figure out something with this.”
“Shit, man, is this like, from that mass suicide?”
“It wasn’t a fucking suicide.” I can’t believe I yelled. I never yell. Staring at the floor, I toe at it. “Sorry. I just…”
“Hey, it’s cool.” David takes the iPod, sits down, and immediately starts taking it apart. He’s done this before. I shoot a look at Brandon. The slacker is lying on David’s bed, reading some magazine. I push his legs over and he gives me an annoyed look and goes back to reading.
“This is interesting.”
“What?”
“See, this isn’t…” He turns to face us and stops, he’s staring. I do a quick boob check-still tucked in. I follow his gaze, Brandon’s shirt has risen up and there’s a strip of six pack. Somebody has a crush. I don’t blame him, Brandon’s hot.
“See what?” I ask. His face flushes and he shoots me this desperate look. I give him a smile. They’d be a cute couple if Brandon wasn’t such a whore.
David coughs. “Um, yeah, there’s something extra here.”
I stand up and go to lean over his shoulder.
“See that.” He points to some microchip thingie.
I feign understanding. “Yeah.”
“It’s not suppose to be there.”
“Let me see.” Brandon snatches the iPod. He can be so childish sometimes.
“Hey, I’m not done.” David reaches for the iPod. Grinning, like an ass, Brandon holds it out of reach, using his five or so inches of height difference.
“Don’t be a-” Before I can say ass, Brandon jerks forward violently and topples over on to David.
“Brandon!” I fall to my knees and help David push him off. Oh my God, he’s not moving, he’s dead, shit where’s his pulse? My fingers fumble to his neck, I can’t find his pulse, shit. How do you do CPR?
And then he takes a gasping breath, like someone who has been underwater for too long.
I collapse on him, and bury my head in his neck. Thank God, thank God.
Tenderly he touches my hair and whispers, “Hey, Danni-girl, I’m okay, I’m okay. I swear.” He wraps his arms around me and scoots himself up so he can lean against the wall. I know I should get up, but I can’t move or speak. His hand cups my cheek and he rests our foreheads together.
“Gosh, Danni,” he says affectingly, “don’t be such a girl.”
My laugh comes out more sob, and I scrub my cheeks.
“You okay?” I don’t know if David is asking me or Brandon or both of us.
“Peachy,” we say in perfect pitch, and I try to match his smile, but my mouth doesn’t want to cooperate.
David reaches over and plucks the iPod out of Brandon’s hand.
“Don’t touch that.” I couldn’t deal with another near dead body today.
“It’s not gonna go off.” He seems sure of himself. “Think, you carried it around and I tinkered with it, it didn’t go off until-”
“Brandon held it up,” I finished. “Just like the Lambda Upsilon Epsilon initiates. Do you know what this means?”
“Murder,” we murmur.
* * * * * * * * * * *
After the realization that the Lambda Upsilon Epsilon initiates had been murdered, David figured out the iPod worked. He gave us rather technical report, but basically, when raised it acted like a taser. Brandon commented with, “Don’t tase me, bro.” In a failed effort to be funny. David rolled his eyes and I punched his arm.
Then David and I dragged Brandon out the door.
“Come on, guys, I feel fine.”
“I don’t care,” I snap. “You’re going to the health center, and that’s final.”
“Yes, mother.”
“If you’re good,” David says, like he’s talking to a five year old, “you can have ice cream afterwards.”
Brandon sticks his tongue out at me and hugs David from behind; David stumbles a little and his ears pinking. “That’s why he’s my favorite.” He gives him a sloppy kid kiss on his cheek and turns towards me. “So, where do you think the iPods came from?”
David is glowing and he has the cutest smile on his face. That would be so cute together.
“That is the question. We find the provider we find the perp.”
“You’re so 1940’s noir,” Brandon tells me, opening the door to the health center.
Once inside, he saunters over to the receptionist, a cute guy with a crew cut who must be pinging on his gaydar because Brandon’s got his flirting face on. I sneak a look at David, who seems very interested in the magazine rack. Poor guy. I love Brandon to death but he’s oblivious and kind of a slut. I take a seat.
“I’ll be back in bit,” Brandon calls as he follows a lady in scrubs. I wave.
“So, David?”
“Yeah?” He slides into a chair next to me.
“How do you know Brandon?”
“I’m his CA.”
“That’s cool.”
“You?”
“We met at orientation, he was wearing this ‘I’m Proud of Chad Allen’ shirt and I was like I love Chad Allan. And then I said that by far Shock to the System was better than Third Man Out. And he was like what, no. Third Man Out has Vic from Queer as Folk, who is amazing. And then a friendship was born.” From the look on David’s face he has no idea what I just said.
The bell above the door chimes, and it saves us from a round of awkward silence. We turn to see who it is.
I slap David’s arm. “That’s Sarah Gripes.”
“Who?”
“President of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon. Dude she’ll know where the iPods came from.” I wonder how to approach her. She’s balancing a stack of papers and roll of tape, that I just know is going to fall. The tape clinks to the floor, followed by the papers, and I stand up ignoring David hissing my name.
Bending, down I help her pick them up. My eyes glance over the flyer, she’s organizing a candle light vigil for the students, the ceremony is going to be in front of the Lodge on Friday.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, not even glancing at me.
Handing her the flyers, I clear my throat. “You’re Sarah, right?”
“Yeah?” She takes the papers and pats the edges on the ground. “Who are you?”
“Uh, I’m Danielle Haines, um, I have a question for you.”
Her eyes narrow, “Listen, if it’s about what happened, I don’t know anything, okay.” Her voice is rough and I think she’s been crying. She stands up and strides over to the bulletin board.
“No, wait,” I follow her “Listen, I know it wasn’t a suicide, my friends and I can prove it.”
“Why should I believe you?” She tapes the flyer up.
“Because it’s the truth. Please, I just need to know whose idea was the protest?”
She gnaws on her lip, “It was Lucy, Lucy Dowells, but she was one of…them.” I think she’s about to cry, but I press anyways.
“And the iPods? Where did you get them?”
“Lucy is-was a computer science major, her teacher Dr. Barnes I think, used to work for Apple or something and he got all these broken iPods for them to use.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
If Brandon was really Donald Strachey and I was Heather Wells we would have confronted Barnes and gotten a confession on tape or been involved in some climatic life-threatening situation. But we’re not. Instead, we did the smart thing. David, Brandon, and I brought all the evidence to the police, and they arrested Dr. Barnes, who made a full confession.
“Barnes swears he had no knowledge of where the protest would be held,” Brandon reads, gum smacking between words. “He claims that he only wanted to ‘Embarrass the elitists on campus’ blah blah, ah here!” He points and David and I lean over to see. “Thanks to amateur sleuths, Brandon Fuller, freshman, Danielle Haines, freshman, and David Kursbam?” He laughs. “Wow, Cherry, no one can get your name right.”
David shoves him off the sidewalk into the grass, and I laugh. Brandon retaliates by wrapping his arm around David’s neck and pretending to squeeze.
“Anyways,” Brandon’s arm has moved from David’s neck to drape around his shoulders, he goes back to the newspaper. “Thanks to these young students, the forty-two victims and their families can finally have some justice.” He finishes dramatically and hands the paper to me. I fold it up and tuck it into my bag.
“You know what, I could get used to having my name in the paper. In fact, I think I’m gonna change my major to Criminal Justice” He pokes my side, “You should too.”
“Why?”
“Hello, because we’re awesome, and we make a great team. You and me investigating, and Cherry here making us cool gadgets, we could be unstoppable.”
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“I got it we can form an agency when we graduate. Come on.” He swings his free arm around me. “I even got a name picked up, F&H Inc. What do you think?”
“Fuller and Haines, not very original.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Fag and Hag.”
“You’re such a bitch.” I try to hit him, but he dances out of the way.
He laughs. “That’s why you love me.”
Raising my fist, I go in for a punch, but he grabs my hand, and twists me around, tickling me. I curl forward and he lifts me up.
“Come on Danni-girl, please be my partner.”
“No,” I gasp out between giggles.
“Come on come on,” he begs.
“You know you want to.” David gains up with Brandon against me.
“Et tu David? Et tu?”
He shrugs, “It could be fun.”
“Fine, fine, God, put me down.”
Brandon laughs and uses his free hand to take out his gum. “Good,” he says, and sticks it to the bottom of my shoe. “Now you’re a real gumshoe.”
HOLY CRAP I ROCK. Hehehe, anyways, any feedback, comments, whatever? I'd LOVE it all!
Campus Cult
There were more than thirty of them, and they were all dead. We had just watched them die.
Brandon and I had just finished lunch. I was enjoying my mocha almond ice cream cone, and Brandon was making fun of me.
“Ya know,” he drawled, “that would almost be sexy, if it wasn’t for the braces.”
I gave my cone a lick, “Well, you’d almost be sexy, if you weren’t such a bitch.”
Scoffing he said, “I’m a bi-,” he stopped. “What are they doing?” He nudged me, nodding up. Dozens of people lined the ledge of the Lion Lodge, which is like sixteen stories. And in my opinion kind of suicidal; I hate heights.
I shrugged. “Maybe its some kind of protest.”
It looked like they were all wearing the same shirt, but it was hard to tell. I close my bad eye and squinted up. They each raised their right arm, they’re holding something, but I can’t quite make it out.
Brandon snickered, “Maybe its some kind of frat thing.”
I grin, “Yeah, leap for your loyalty.”
We laughed.
And then they did. Leap that is.
Looking back, though it’s not even been an hour, I feel ashamed. I know it’s not my fault, but I was making fun of them. I feel horrible. The police are interviewing all the witnesses. I don’t want to stay, but I have some kind of weird sense of duty. At least Brandon’s here. Could this day get worse?
One of the officers finally gets to us. “Names?”
“Danielle Haines.”
“Brandon Fuller.”
“Age?”
“Eighteen,” we say together.
We recount what we saw, and he tells us we can go. Brandon loops his arm around me, and I lean against his side, resting my head on his shoulder.
“Come on, Danni-girl, I’m in the mood for some Chad Allen, what do ya say?”
“Yeah, okay.” We start on the walk to his dorm. I look up at him, I know what we saw today is affecting him, his blue eyes are a little distant, and his walk is missing some of its usual swagger.
“How bout some soup also?” He nudges me, eyes twinkling.
A laugh escapes from me, and almost unconsciously I begin to sing, “Soup, soup, tasty soup, spicy carrot and corriander.”
“Chill chowder,” Brandon chimes in.
Together we continue, “Croutons, croutons….”
By the time we make it to his dorm, we’ve already gone through three Mighty Boosh songs and a reprise of the Soup Song. Brandon always knows how to cheer me up
* * * * * * * * * * *
It’s been two days since what is being referred as a ‘tragic accident’ took place. Classes have been cancelled for the rest of the week, and there’s a horde of psychologists that have been brought in incase anyone wants to “talk.”
I’m in the mailroom when Brandon finds me, squatting on the floor by my mailbox.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You wanna hear something weird?”
I glance up, he’s leaning against the mailboxes, arms cross. “Sure.” What is my stupid combination? My thighs are staring to hurt, I decide that the floor can’t be that dirty, and plop down.
“I heard there were 42 of them, exactly. 21 girls, 21 guys.”
“So?” Turning the lock, I hope for a click.
“42, the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?”
I give him my what-the-crap-are-you-talking about face, and return to my stupid lock.
“Hitchhiker’s guide?”
“Huh?” Was it 34 or 33? I go with 34. “Oh, wait,” I look up, “Was that the movie where Snape’s a robot?
Brandon sighs and shakes his head, “Alan Rickman, you really need to know your actors.”
“I know the ones that are important.” 12 and 7, I hear the click, and I pull the door open.
“Voila!”
“Anyways,” Brandon ignores my moment of triumph. “I was thinking that maybe it was some kind of cult thing.”
“A cult with only 42 members?” Campus newsletter and ads, nothing else, what a waste.
“Yeah.”
“A cult in Iowa?” I stick out my hand, Brandon grabs it and yanks me up.
“Yeah, it could happen.”
“Well, you’re wrong.” I brush off my pants, and start to walk down the hall.
“What, how am I wrong?” He jogs to catch up to me.
I hand him the newsletter. The headline screams: Lambda Upsilon Epsilon Initiates Leap from Lion Lodge.
“Well shit.”
“Yeah.”
“The initiates were protesting society’s dependence on electronics,” reads Brandon, “they were each clutching iPods. Sarah Gripes, head of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon, pictured right, says, ‘they were supposed to throw them, I don’t know what went wrong.’ Lambda Upsilon Epsilon is denying any knowledge pertaining to the deaths. ”
I grab the newsletter and study Sarah Gripes she looks like the typical sorority girl, blond hair with those stupid brown stripes in it. “So what’s this Lambda Upsid Epsid?”
Brandon stops walking. “Upsilon Epsilon and you’re joking, right?”
“No…”
“Only, like the most elite frat and sorority organization. They take the best of the best. Every Greek person wants in.”
“So, why would, they kill themselves, it doesn’t add up.”
“It’s a mystery.” He walks ahead of me, and I grab his arm.
“Dude, we should totally investigate, it’ll be kick ass.”
He strokes his chin. “Mm, I’ve always wanted to be a gay detective.”
“Investigator,” I correct in my best imitation of Sebastian Spence from Shock to the System.
“I get to be Donald Strachey.”
“It was my idea.”
“You can’t be Strachey, you’re not a guy or gay.”
“Whatever, doesn’t matter, my idea, I’m in charge,” I grin, “You can be Kenny.”
“Kenny’s a slut.”
“And you have a problem with that?”
“Whore.”
“Bitch.”
“Fag.”
“Hag.”
I stick out my tongue. “You’ll make a good assistant.”
“Office manager,” he mutters, folding his arms.
And we laugh.
“God, we’ve seen that movie way too may times.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Since Brandon I decided to investigate, we’ve done just about anything but that. First we decided to watch Third Man Out and Shock to the System. To get into the head of a detective we reasoned, and then I decided we needed to make a run to Borders, because really, through reading we can learn more about being a detective. We’re such bullshitters. But, on the bright side, I got a new book, its by Meg Cabot, yeah, I know she wrote the horrible Princess Diary series, but I’m excited. It’s a mystery chick-lit, Heather Wells, and I can’t put it down.
I’m walking and reading, something I’ve perfected over the years. I’m glad I’m reading because I’m about to pass the Lion Lodge and that place still freaks me out.
“You know what they call it,” sneers a voice from behind me. I turn and see some guy, nudging his friends, his smug face and frat tee-shirt screams asshole.
He smirks, “Lemming Lodge.” Then he and his buddies start laughing
I want to scream at him or slap him or do something, but I can’t move. Fucking asshole is on the tip of my tongue, but when I finally find my voice, he’s too far away for it to have any effect.
I throw my book. What is wrong with people? Don’t they realize real people died here? I take a deep breath. My book is lying in the grass; I walk over to get in. Bending down, the light hits something out of the corner of my eye. Grabbing the book, I peer through the grass. What is that? Reaching, my fingers close on it; it’s an iPod. Cool. Holy shit, it’s an iPod. Holy Shit, maybe it’s from the accident.
My phone is out before I know it and I’m calling Brandon. This investigation is finally underway.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Brandon meets me outside his dorm. He’s practically bouncing. “Danni-girl, I want you to meet someone.” He grabs my arm and pulls me in and through his dorm.
Sighing, I say, “Really, Bran,” I dig my nails into his arm to get him to release me. He gives a cry and lets go. “Now’s not the time for the potential boyfriend.”
He scoffs, rubbing his arm; he’s so dramatic. “Please, I’m not that…” He trails off at my raised eyebrows. “Shut up.”
“I love you, honey bear.”
“Love you, pookie,” he responds, knocking on a door.
“Come in,” shouts a voice.
The room smells stale, like most guy’s dorms, at least this one didn’t have the sock smell also. Hunched over a desk, is a guy, a mop of curly hair and thick reamed glasses, typing furiously on his laptop.
“Danni, this is David Kirs-” He makes some kind of guttural nonsense noise, and finishes with “Jewish last name.”
I roll my eyes up in disgust, “Nice, Edward Norton, American History X.”
David smiles and waves a Red Bull in a whatever gesture. “Kir-schen-baum,” he enunciates, “it means cherry tree.”
“That’s why I call him Cherry,” Brandon flops down on David’s bed. “And because he is one.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek. Poor David blushes.
“Don’t be a dick,” I tell him. “Anyways, why I am here?”
“Cherry’s like a techno genius.”
“I prefer geek,” David smiles. Aww, he’s kind of cute.
Digging in my pants, I bring out the iPod. “Then maybe you can figure out something with this.”
“Shit, man, is this like, from that mass suicide?”
“It wasn’t a fucking suicide.” I can’t believe I yelled. I never yell. Staring at the floor, I toe at it. “Sorry. I just…”
“Hey, it’s cool.” David takes the iPod, sits down, and immediately starts taking it apart. He’s done this before. I shoot a look at Brandon. The slacker is lying on David’s bed, reading some magazine. I push his legs over and he gives me an annoyed look and goes back to reading.
“This is interesting.”
“What?”
“See, this isn’t…” He turns to face us and stops, he’s staring. I do a quick boob check-still tucked in. I follow his gaze, Brandon’s shirt has risen up and there’s a strip of six pack. Somebody has a crush. I don’t blame him, Brandon’s hot.
“See what?” I ask. His face flushes and he shoots me this desperate look. I give him a smile. They’d be a cute couple if Brandon wasn’t such a whore.
David coughs. “Um, yeah, there’s something extra here.”
I stand up and go to lean over his shoulder.
“See that.” He points to some microchip thingie.
I feign understanding. “Yeah.”
“It’s not suppose to be there.”
“Let me see.” Brandon snatches the iPod. He can be so childish sometimes.
“Hey, I’m not done.” David reaches for the iPod. Grinning, like an ass, Brandon holds it out of reach, using his five or so inches of height difference.
“Don’t be a-” Before I can say ass, Brandon jerks forward violently and topples over on to David.
“Brandon!” I fall to my knees and help David push him off. Oh my God, he’s not moving, he’s dead, shit where’s his pulse? My fingers fumble to his neck, I can’t find his pulse, shit. How do you do CPR?
And then he takes a gasping breath, like someone who has been underwater for too long.
I collapse on him, and bury my head in his neck. Thank God, thank God.
Tenderly he touches my hair and whispers, “Hey, Danni-girl, I’m okay, I’m okay. I swear.” He wraps his arms around me and scoots himself up so he can lean against the wall. I know I should get up, but I can’t move or speak. His hand cups my cheek and he rests our foreheads together.
“Gosh, Danni,” he says affectingly, “don’t be such a girl.”
My laugh comes out more sob, and I scrub my cheeks.
“You okay?” I don’t know if David is asking me or Brandon or both of us.
“Peachy,” we say in perfect pitch, and I try to match his smile, but my mouth doesn’t want to cooperate.
David reaches over and plucks the iPod out of Brandon’s hand.
“Don’t touch that.” I couldn’t deal with another near dead body today.
“It’s not gonna go off.” He seems sure of himself. “Think, you carried it around and I tinkered with it, it didn’t go off until-”
“Brandon held it up,” I finished. “Just like the Lambda Upsilon Epsilon initiates. Do you know what this means?”
“Murder,” we murmur.
* * * * * * * * * * *
After the realization that the Lambda Upsilon Epsilon initiates had been murdered, David figured out the iPod worked. He gave us rather technical report, but basically, when raised it acted like a taser. Brandon commented with, “Don’t tase me, bro.” In a failed effort to be funny. David rolled his eyes and I punched his arm.
Then David and I dragged Brandon out the door.
“Come on, guys, I feel fine.”
“I don’t care,” I snap. “You’re going to the health center, and that’s final.”
“Yes, mother.”
“If you’re good,” David says, like he’s talking to a five year old, “you can have ice cream afterwards.”
Brandon sticks his tongue out at me and hugs David from behind; David stumbles a little and his ears pinking. “That’s why he’s my favorite.” He gives him a sloppy kid kiss on his cheek and turns towards me. “So, where do you think the iPods came from?”
David is glowing and he has the cutest smile on his face. That would be so cute together.
“That is the question. We find the provider we find the perp.”
“You’re so 1940’s noir,” Brandon tells me, opening the door to the health center.
Once inside, he saunters over to the receptionist, a cute guy with a crew cut who must be pinging on his gaydar because Brandon’s got his flirting face on. I sneak a look at David, who seems very interested in the magazine rack. Poor guy. I love Brandon to death but he’s oblivious and kind of a slut. I take a seat.
“I’ll be back in bit,” Brandon calls as he follows a lady in scrubs. I wave.
“So, David?”
“Yeah?” He slides into a chair next to me.
“How do you know Brandon?”
“I’m his CA.”
“That’s cool.”
“You?”
“We met at orientation, he was wearing this ‘I’m Proud of Chad Allen’ shirt and I was like I love Chad Allan. And then I said that by far Shock to the System was better than Third Man Out. And he was like what, no. Third Man Out has Vic from Queer as Folk, who is amazing. And then a friendship was born.” From the look on David’s face he has no idea what I just said.
The bell above the door chimes, and it saves us from a round of awkward silence. We turn to see who it is.
I slap David’s arm. “That’s Sarah Gripes.”
“Who?”
“President of Lambda Upsilon Epsilon. Dude she’ll know where the iPods came from.” I wonder how to approach her. She’s balancing a stack of papers and roll of tape, that I just know is going to fall. The tape clinks to the floor, followed by the papers, and I stand up ignoring David hissing my name.
Bending, down I help her pick them up. My eyes glance over the flyer, she’s organizing a candle light vigil for the students, the ceremony is going to be in front of the Lodge on Friday.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, not even glancing at me.
Handing her the flyers, I clear my throat. “You’re Sarah, right?”
“Yeah?” She takes the papers and pats the edges on the ground. “Who are you?”
“Uh, I’m Danielle Haines, um, I have a question for you.”
Her eyes narrow, “Listen, if it’s about what happened, I don’t know anything, okay.” Her voice is rough and I think she’s been crying. She stands up and strides over to the bulletin board.
“No, wait,” I follow her “Listen, I know it wasn’t a suicide, my friends and I can prove it.”
“Why should I believe you?” She tapes the flyer up.
“Because it’s the truth. Please, I just need to know whose idea was the protest?”
She gnaws on her lip, “It was Lucy, Lucy Dowells, but she was one of…them.” I think she’s about to cry, but I press anyways.
“And the iPods? Where did you get them?”
“Lucy is-was a computer science major, her teacher Dr. Barnes I think, used to work for Apple or something and he got all these broken iPods for them to use.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
If Brandon was really Donald Strachey and I was Heather Wells we would have confronted Barnes and gotten a confession on tape or been involved in some climatic life-threatening situation. But we’re not. Instead, we did the smart thing. David, Brandon, and I brought all the evidence to the police, and they arrested Dr. Barnes, who made a full confession.
“Barnes swears he had no knowledge of where the protest would be held,” Brandon reads, gum smacking between words. “He claims that he only wanted to ‘Embarrass the elitists on campus’ blah blah, ah here!” He points and David and I lean over to see. “Thanks to amateur sleuths, Brandon Fuller, freshman, Danielle Haines, freshman, and David Kursbam?” He laughs. “Wow, Cherry, no one can get your name right.”
David shoves him off the sidewalk into the grass, and I laugh. Brandon retaliates by wrapping his arm around David’s neck and pretending to squeeze.
“Anyways,” Brandon’s arm has moved from David’s neck to drape around his shoulders, he goes back to the newspaper. “Thanks to these young students, the forty-two victims and their families can finally have some justice.” He finishes dramatically and hands the paper to me. I fold it up and tuck it into my bag.
“You know what, I could get used to having my name in the paper. In fact, I think I’m gonna change my major to Criminal Justice” He pokes my side, “You should too.”
“Why?”
“Hello, because we’re awesome, and we make a great team. You and me investigating, and Cherry here making us cool gadgets, we could be unstoppable.”
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“I got it we can form an agency when we graduate. Come on.” He swings his free arm around me. “I even got a name picked up, F&H Inc. What do you think?”
“Fuller and Haines, not very original.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Fag and Hag.”
“You’re such a bitch.” I try to hit him, but he dances out of the way.
He laughs. “That’s why you love me.”
Raising my fist, I go in for a punch, but he grabs my hand, and twists me around, tickling me. I curl forward and he lifts me up.
“Come on Danni-girl, please be my partner.”
“No,” I gasp out between giggles.
“Come on come on,” he begs.
“You know you want to.” David gains up with Brandon against me.
“Et tu David? Et tu?”
He shrugs, “It could be fun.”
“Fine, fine, God, put me down.”
Brandon laughs and uses his free hand to take out his gum. “Good,” he says, and sticks it to the bottom of my shoe. “Now you’re a real gumshoe.”