Autofocus (5 page)

“It's my job.” She smiles, then turns when someone calls her name. I float back to the wall, where I was standing, and watch it all unfold some more. A person who I assume is the RA walks around, nodding. She looks older, serious, and one guy quickly hides a cup behind his back before smiling wildly at her.

It's like school, really. All the different cliques, and people in the same places pairing off. I wonder how I look among all of them. And then I remember that it's not just me I should be wondering about, but my mother, too. Did she live in this dorm? Did she lean against the wall or join the party?

Was she ever right here?

“You're Maude, right?” a guy behind me asks. He's wearing glasses and a hat. He's tall and in all black.

“Yep,” I say, wary this time. After College guy, I'm just not sure.

“Like Harold and—”

“Maude. Ha, yeah, my parents love that movie,” I say. “It's how I got my name.” What I don't tell him is that it's because Maude loved the idea of living life to its fullest, so they thought, since I was born from death, I should be named something to do with life. It wasn't until I watched the movie in high school with Tree that I realized Maude dies at the end.

“I do, too. I'm a film major, so I watch all those old movies all the time.”

“Cool!” I say, because I'm a sucker for old films. I was practically raised with them. “Like what else? I loved
Bonnie and Clyde
. Oh, and of course
Casablanca
.”

“Well, I prefer newer ones,” he says, “like
Scarface
.”

“
Scarface
?
Really?” I ask.

“It's awesome. I have the poster in my room. You have to see it.”

“Mmmm, maybe some other time,” I say, having learned from the last interaction.

“Well, sometime while you're here, you should come by and see my movie collection. It's epic,” he says. “I have a special edition of
Harold and Maude
, too. It's got all the deleted scenes. You know they had deleted scenes back then? Awesome, right?”

“No, I didn't,” I say, backing up. He could be totally innocent. Or not. I don't know.

“They found some!”

“Wow,” I say, thinking that this might be his way to relate to people—through bragging about movies he likes, movies he knows about. “But hey, I have to find Treena?” I say, feeling the largeness of the party and what's going on. “I'm staying with her.”

“Yeah, yeah—Treena's great. Well, stop by sometime. Room 412. Right there,” he says, pointing to it. “I'm the
Scarface
room.” He arches his eyebrows and I nod, not impressed
with
that
. Do you really want to be known for a movie about drug dealing?

I don't see Treena in the hallway, so I double back to her room and let myself in. “Hey, Tree—” I stop short. She's sitting on her desk, with Trey in front of her, and they're in the midst of serious kissing. I gasp, then quickly walk back out, shutting the door and blushing madly. I smile to myself, wanting to high-five her. She's been kissed before, of course, but not like that, at least not that I knew of. I cover my mouth with my hand, suppressing a laugh, and just shake my head.

I take a step down the hall and realize I have no idea where to go, and no one to talk to now. I don't want to risk bumping into another annoying guy, but I also don't want to go back into Treena's room.

And I'm in a hall of people I don't know. Great.

Down the hall there's a door to the stairs. I'm hoping Treena was wrong when she said people make out there, because I'm thinking that'll be a good place to go for a while, giving Tree her space. I make my break quickly, and press on the metal door, entering silence from a world of noise.

I sit down on the concrete steps and lean against the cool wall, taking a deep breath. The music is still outside, but it's muffled now, less in my face—or ears. No one is here. Privacy.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and see that I have a message from Celine.

   
Have fun @ college!

Maybe it is more like she said it would be, and less of what I expected. I wanted a week of me and Treena reconnecting, and finding out about my mother together. I wanted it to be like old times. But I guess things change. And I'm here, alone, in a stairwell.

I think about Treena and wonder if this is what's supposed to happen in college. If moving away means moving into a new role, a new you. My life has been so controlled, so defined, I never thought of going in a different direction. I wonder how my mother acted in college.

I fiddle with my phone and check Twitter, my blog, my email. About ten minutes go by and I text Treena. I'd rather not go up there and interrupt again. She doesn't answer, so I wait longer, letting the noise filter in. I don't really feel like going back up there to talk to people I don't know without her.

As the minutes go by, I start getting irritated. With Treena. With myself. I should have made her stay with me, not go off with him. And she should have wanted to stay with me. Why did she sneak off with him? I mean, I
know
why, but shouldn't hanging out with me be more important?

I hear footsteps coming up the stairs and consider moving—but to where? I start texting Celine again so I don't look like a loser girl hiding.

“Avoiding the party?” a voice asks me. I look over and
see the stair climber approaching. He's skinny, with curly, dark brown hair, and is holding a notebook in one hand. “Oh, sorry, thought you were someone else. Wait, you're Treena's friend, right? I saw your picture in her room; she said you were coming to visit.”

“Yeah,” I say, offering a clipped answer, and wondering if he's going to invite me to his room, too, just like the others. I usually don't mind talking to strangers, but right now I'm just not in the mood.

“What're you doing out here?” he asks.

“Phone,” I say, waving my phone up.

“We're making that great of an impression on you so far?” he asks, and sits against the wall next to me, one step lower.

“Quite.” I'm not really sure what to say next.

“You know, I've nearly slept on these stairs. I wouldn't recommend it, they're kind of uncomfortable.”

I take the bait. “Why'd you nearly sleep here?”

“My roommate had a girl over, and I really didn't want to stay in there while they were . . . you know . . . um, in there.”

“That's kind of where I'm at right now.”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brow. “Treena is—”

“NO!” I gasp, remembering that he knows her. “No, no, but she
is
hanging out with a guy in there.”

“I see. So you're kind of room-less?”

“I guess.” I'm assuming he's hinting, so I say, “And I don't want to go back to your room, before you ask.”

“Whoa, okay, I wasn't offering, but now I know not to,” he says, but he doesn't get up and leave. He stays there. And something about that makes me turn my head.

He's cute, actually, in a nerdy way. He's in a
Star Wars
T-shirt, a hoodie, and cargo shorts, and has worn skater sneakers on. There's something authentic about him—he looks like himself, even though I don't know who he is, unlike the others who are trying so hard to look like a better, more polished version of who they actually are. The film guy. The College guy. Trey. They're all trying so hard to be someone. Even Treena, in a way.

“Sorry. Long night,” I murmur, putting my head in my hands, extremely embarrassed.

“It's okay.”

“It's not. It's just . . . I'm not used to guys being so in my face? It's like every guy here wants to talk to me just because they think I'm this new shiny high school kid waiting to get laid.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Welcome to college.” He puts his hand out to me. “I'm Bennett. I promise to not try to get in your pants.”

I blush, but smile at his comment. “Maude. And thank you.” I falter, trying to figure out how I know his name. “You're Bennett? You study with Treena and Trey, right?”

“Yeah, I live one floor up.” He points in that direction. “Wait. Is it Trey?”

“Hm?” I ask.

“She's with Trey, isn't she. She gets this, like, gooey look when he's around.”

I laugh. “Gooey look?”

“I don't know, you know, like . . .” He makes an exaggerated face with hands cupped and eyelashes batting.

“It
is
my best friend you're talking about,” I say. “But, yeah, she's with Trey.”

“I knew it. I'd be jealous if . . .” he starts, then stops. “Trey's a cool guy, have you met him yet?”

“Briefly. He asked about pregaming?” I answer, wondering what his “if” meant.

“Yeah, that's his thing,” he says. “So, Treena says you're here on some sort of mission? I mean, one that I absolutely promise to not help you out on because that means I'd be nice and, therefore, trying to get into your pants.”

I laugh again at him, feeling a bit shyer now, less confident. “Yeah. Um . . .” I start. She told him I was on a mission? I guess I am, but not one I really share that openly. But I'm probably not going to see him again, so why not talk. I haven't really had a chance to tonight. “I'm trying to find out about my mother.”

“Is she missing . . . ?” he asks gently.

“No, no. It's nothing like that. I never met her; she died when I was born. I'm adopted,” I say.

“Wow. We just met, and you're already telling me your deep secrets,” he comments, and I blush. Maybe it was a bad idea.

“Not so much a secret; I've had seventeen years to get used to it,” I say quickly.

“I bet, no, it's cool, sorry, I was joking,” he says, backtracking as well.

“It's okay.”

“So your mother?”

“So, yeah, I never knew her, so I'm trying to find out something about her.”

“And your birth dad?” he asks, genuinely interested.

“Never knew him.” I shrug. “He's not on my birth certificate. I have no idea who he is.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning forward to stretch, then relaxing back on the wall. “That's intense. Are you going to find him next?”

“You know . . . I don't know,” I muse. “I hadn't thought about that. Maybe?”

“It's an idea,” he says, stretching his legs out in front of him. They're long and lean. “This should be a movie or something.
Looking for Mom
, or something like that.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “I guess it is all a bit . . . theatrical.”

“So why Tally? I'm assuming she lived here?”

“Yep. It's the only connection I have, really. I know she went to FSU, so I'm going to the registrar to see if I can find her old professors. And then I'll go from there.” I shrug. It's the only thing I have, and even though it's small, I have to keep believing in it. It's what's pushing me forward.

“Seriously. Movie. There's a film school guy on the hall
who I'm sure would film it. But don't ask him, he's kind of a weirdo.”

“I met him!” I say. “For a film major, he has horrible taste in movies.”

“Did he tell you about
Scarface
?”

“Yes!” I laugh.

“I hate that movie. Then again, I'm known for watching
Star Wars
more than is healthy, so I probably shouldn't talk.”

“How many times have you seen it?” I ask.

“This year?”

The door bangs open and we both jump.

“
There
you are!” Treena says, coming over to us. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at her and seeing what I'm 99 percent sure is a hickey blooming on her neck. The sight of it kind of annoys me. “I texted you. . . .”

“You did? Crap, my phone died. I'm so sorry I lost you!” she says, and in the moment I see the nervousness in her eyes, the secret she's waiting to share, and I get it. She is sorry; she didn't mean to lose me. She was just . . . lost in the moment. She then realizes that Bennett is next to me.

“It's okay,” I say, trying to smooth it out. “I had a message from Celine anyway.”

“Oh,” she says, her face dropping a little, then coming back. “Cool. Oh, Bennett, hi! Hey, so I was telling Trey we should all go to dinner tomorrow night! The four of us!” She sounds excited, and I wonder which Treena I'll get. This
one, or the lovesick one. Whichever one, I'll be happy to have her.

“Sounds good,” he says, looking up at her.

“How's the party going?” I ask.

“Okay,” she says. “Ready to come back? I need my Maude with me. . . .”

I look at Bennett, and he shrugs. “Yeah, give me a second,” I say, kind of preferring the quietness of the stairwell, but also wanting to be back up there with her.

“Okay.” She shrugs, looking at me. I think she's trying to tell me something with her eyes, but I'm not sure what. “I'm going to go find Trey,” she says, then looks back at me. “Come in in a bit, yeah?”

“Of course,” I say, and it feels awkward, uncomfortable. Like there should be more said. After a second, she leaves and it's just the two of us again.

“Now, when she says ‘go to dinner,' that means I'm to storm you into my bedroom, right?” he asks with a cocky grin.

“Shut up,” I say, hitting him lightly and laughing.

“Is that the real reason you're here, hiding in the stairwell?”

“I'm not
hiding
,” I say.

“Uh-huh.”

“If you want to go enjoy the party, you can,” I say, gesturing toward the door, but in truth, I really don't want him to leave. I like talking to him.

“Uh-uh. Not without you. Don't want to leave you alone to be feasted on. These guys are like zombies, you know, always coming back for more.”