Spirit Legacy (7 page)

“You could have used my notepaper instead of my book!” I said, pulling myself together and feigning annoyance, lest he think me mentally incapable of understanding the word “telephone.”

“Yes, but this way, it’s in your favorite book, so you won’t lose it. And you have to look for it. It’s on my favorite page. Think of it as a little scavenger hunt. When you find it, give me a call. Maybe we could hang out sometime. Good luck finishing your paper.” He flashed that knee-weakening smile again. He started to walk away through the stacks.

He was just about to disappear around the corner when I called after him.

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know it was one of my favorite books?”

He just grinned again and slipped away between the stacks.

I stood in the semi-darkness, clutching my well-loved book, thinking how much more I liked it now that he’d written in it.

§

I forced myself not to open the book to look for his number. I told myself it would be a sort of reward when I had finished the paper. An hour later I stumbled exhausted through the main reading room, my final product in my hand. Yawning, I let my eyes scan the carrels. I was disappointed not to see Evan there; maybe he’d beaten me to the punch and finished his paper first. I ignored the impulse to look for him in the smaller reading rooms and headed back to my room for a few hours of sleep before class.

Tia was curled up in a ball under her comforter, snoring peacefully. She had finished her paper early, of course. It had been sitting neatly on top of her printer for three days, mocking me. I wanted to wake her up to tell her about Evan. She’d definitely think my meeting a dating prospect was well worth being woken out of a dead sleep. But my bed was calling to me. I decided my gossip could wait and I fell on top of my blankets fully clothed, sneakers still on my feet, and was asleep in minutes.

“Rise and shine, you overachiever.”

Tia woke me fifteen minutes before class, a pitying look on her face and two cups of coffee in her hands. She was so obnoxiously perky in the morning.

“I didn’t even hear you come in! What time did you finish?” she asked as I rolled out of bed and raced around the room to get ready.

“Around three. Hours to spare,” I replied, grinning at her horrified expression.

She bit back whatever scolding comment she had for me and contented herself with shaking her head at me in disbelief as she handed me my coffee.

“Hey, if you don’t like my study habits, you shouldn’t be such an enabler.”

“What do you mean, an enabler? I don’t help you procrastinate!”

I waved my coffee cup at her. “Sure you do. You caffeinate me.”

“Fine, I’ll take it back then.” She reached for my cup, but I danced out of her reach as I pulled on my sweatshirt.

“You wouldn’t want to do such a thing, would you, Ti? I might fall asleep in class and miss something important. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

Tia stuck her tongue out at me and slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Besides,” I continued, keeping my voice purposely nonchalant as I grabbed my bag and paper off my desk, “if I were asleep, how could I tell you about the guy I met last night?”

Tia’s mouth fell open as I bounced past her out the door.

“Excuse me! Hello? You met a guy in the library in the middle of the night?”

“Yup,”

“I don’t believe this! I could dance naked on the fifty yard line in the middle of a football game and not meet a guy! Who is he? How did you meet him?”

“Have you actually tried dancing naked on the—”

“—Jessica! Focus! What’s his name?”

“His name is Evan Corbett. He’s a freshman, and he’s in Marshall’s class with us.”

Tia almost choked on her gulp of coffee. “He’s in this class! You mean we’re gonna see him right now?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“So how did you meet him?”

“He was there finishing his paper, too. I was in the bathroom, and I guess he walked by my computer and stopped to see if I was working on the same assignment. And I came back and he was still there and—well, we just started talking. Oh, and he’s T-shirt Boy.”

“You’re
kidding
!?”

“Nope.”

“Oh my goodness, Jess, you have to point him out to me! Does he sit near us? Would I have seen him before?”

“I don’t know. Actually, I don’t remember seeing him in that class. But there are so many people. Besides, he says he doesn’t, um … always make it to class.” I tried to say this last bit quickly. I didn’t want Tia prejudiced against Evan before she even met him, and skipping class was a surefire way to incur Tia’s disapproval.

Happily, if Tia did disapprove, she didn’t mention it. As we entered the lecture hall and took our usual seats in the third row, Tia stayed standing, craning her neck eagerly toward the entrance as though someone had just announced the imminent arrival of a celebrity.

“Is that him? What about him? No, he’s blonde; you said he had dark hair. What about him in the red sweater?”

“Ti, will you shut up? When he shows up, I’ll tell you!”

The hall filled quickly. By two minutes of eight nearly every seat was taken, but there was still no sign of Evan. Professor Marshall arrived at eight o’clock on the dot, closing the door behind her.

“Where is he?” Tia whispered as she pulled her notebook out of her bag.

“I don’t know. He’s not here,” I hissed back, scanning the room again, though I was sure I hadn’t missed him.

“He wouldn’t skip class today, would he? Not with a paper due!”

“Maybe he’s just late.”

But an hour into Professor Marshall’s lecture, it looked like Evan wasn’t just late. I hadn’t listened to a single word as Professor Marshall explained the dramatic function of the character of Polonius. I was too busy worrying about why Evan wasn’t there. He’d told me himself he was hoping to do well on this paper—why would he stay up half the night writing it if he wasn’t going to bother to show up and turn it in? It didn’t make any sense. I doodled aimlessly on my otherwise blank page, occasionally writing Evan’s name without consciously meaning to do it.

“Jess, come on, let’s go.” Tia’s voice suddenly sounded in my ear. I looked around. Everyone was getting up and packing their bags; Professor Marshall must have dismissed the class. I shoved my notebook back in my bag and joined the queue to turn in my paper.

“Ti, will you wait for me? I just need to talk to Professor Marshall for a minute,” I said.

Tia nodded. She plopped her paper onto the pile and loitered in the doorway.

Professor Marshall smiled politely as I turned in my paper. “Thank you, Jessica. I look forward to reading it.”

“Looks like you’ll be doing a lot of reading,” I said, waving a hand at the formidable stack.

“Occupational hazard. I’ll survive.”

“Um, Professor Marshall, I just wanted to tell you something.”

“Sure, Jessica, what is it?” she asked as she started to pack up.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know that Evan wrote his paper.”

“Hmm?”

“Evan. He wasn’t in class today, but I know that he wrote his paper. We were both in the library last night and we were talking and he was almost done. I don’t know why he isn’t here, but maybe he fell asleep in the library or something.”

Professor Marshall looked puzzled. “I’m sorry Jess, who did you say?”

“Evan.”

“Evan who?”

“Evan Corbett. I only really met him last night and I know he misses class a lot, but I didn’t want him to get in trouble. I …” My voice faltered and died in my throat.

Professor Marshall’s usually friendly face was suddenly shocked. All the color had drained from it, leaving it drawn and pale. Her hand moved convulsively to her throat, shaking as she clutched at the collar of her blouse.

“Professor Marshall? I … are you okay?” I reached a hand out toward her instinctively; she looked like she was going to faint.

She leapt away from me as though I had extended a weapon instead of a helpful hand. Her voice escaped her lips in a breathless whisper. “I … Jessica, why would you … Is this supposed to be some sort of joke?”

“What do you mean? Is what a joke?”

“If this is your idea of a joke, I don’t think it’s funny. Not funny at all,” Professor Marshall continued, her expression transforming from fear to anger.

“I’m sorry, Professor, but I don’t understand—”

“—Neither do I, Jessica. I would never have expected this of you.” Professor Marshall seemed to be pulling herself together, but she still appeared deeply disturbed. I was still scrambling to understand what she was talking about.

“Professor, if I said something—”

“—Jessica, please go to Dean Finndale’s office.”

“Huh?”

“Just go. Now!”

I turned automatically and walked out the door. Tia was standing by the doorway, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. I walked past her and headed toward the elevator.

“I’ll see you back in the room,” I told her.

I waited for the elevator in silence. I went over the conversation with Professor Marshall in my head and struggled to make sense of it, but I just couldn’t. Was she angry that I was trying to make excuses for another student? Did it sound as though Evan and I had been cheating? Had something I’d said somehow reveal a breaking of a school regulation? The gears in my head were whirring, but no matter how I considered it, I just couldn’t see how anyone could take offense to what I’d said.

I got out of the elevator and turned right along the third floor corridor. I knocked lightly on the open door to Dean Finndale’s office and her secretary looked up expectantly.

“Can I help you, dear?”

“Professor Marshall just told me to come up and see the Dean.” I tried to keep my voice casual, so I didn’t look like the naughty kid who’d been sent to the principal’s office. I’d never even had a detention in my life.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, she just told me to come straight up.”

“And your name is?’

“Jessica Ballard.”

“I see. Let me check if the Dean is available now. You can have a seat right there till she’s ready for you,” the woman said, bustling out of her desk and around the corner. I’d barely sat down when she reappeared. “You can go right in.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling slightly ill as she ushered me through the door.

Dean Finndale was sitting behind her desk, scanning a pile of papers from over the top of pointy, red-framed reading glasses. I recognized her from an address she gave to the freshman class during the first week of classes. She looked up as I entered.

“Jessica, right?”

I tried to smile in greeting. “Hello, Dean Finndale.”

She nodded toward a chair facing her. I dropped into it obediently.

She smiled at me. “We haven’t met before. How is everything? Are you settling in okay?”

“Yes, I am, thank you.”

“And what can I do for you, Jessica?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Professor Marshall sent me up here.”

Dean Finndale’s forehead was creased by the tiniest of frowns. “And why did she send you?”

“I have no idea.”

Still frowning, she reached behind her and rifled through a filing cabinet until she found a manila filing folder with my name typed onto the colored tab. She laid it open on her desk and scanned it quickly.

“Is there something you want to talk to me about? Are you having trouble in her class?”

“No! I like her class very much. I really don’t know what I’m d—”

“—Dean Finndale?” The secretary poked her round face around the corner.

“Yes, Linda?”

“Professor Marshall is here. She’d like to have a private word with you.”

Dean Finndale nodded. “Thank you Linda. Please tell Professor Marshall I’ll be right out.” She turned back to me. “It sounds like Professor Marshall is here to explain. Would you excuse me for a moment, Jessica? Perhaps she can clear this up for us.”

“Sure.” What else could I do?

Dean Finndale smiled at me again and left, leaving me sitting alone, stewing in my own frantic thoughts. She’d only been gone for five minutes, according to the clock above her window, when she walked back in. It may have been my imagination, but she seemed to approach me warily as she sat back down. When she spoke though, her tone was even and calm.

“So, I just spoke to Professor Marshall.”

“And?”

“Would you like to explain yourself, Jessica?”

“I’d love to, if I knew what it was I was supposed to be explaining,” I replied, starting to feel annoyed now.

“Professor Marshall says that you told her you saw Evan Corbett in the library last night?”

“Yes, I did. We were both working on our papers for her class. It’s the first time I’ve ever really spoken to him.”

“You spoke to him?” Dean Finndale’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair.

“Yes. What, am I not supposed to talk to people now? Is that against some sort of college regulation, no talking in the library?”

“You are claiming that you saw Evan Corbett in the library last night and that you spoke to him?” she repeated blankly.

“
Yes!
Now will you please explain to me why I’m being treated like some sort of delinquent? I talked to a boy in the library. I don’t think that’s really such a big—”

“—Jessica, please listen to me. You could not have spoken to Evan Corbett in the library last night. Is it possible you got the name wrong?”

“No, I’m positive that was his name. He introduced himself, he … what do you mean I can’t have spoken to him?” I stopped short, completely wrong-footed.

Dean Finndale didn’t answer right away. She was watching me through narrowed eyes and seemed to be sizing me up, coming to some sort of conclusion. Finally her expression softened into gentle, almost fearful disbelief.

“You really don’t know who he is, do you?”

“What do you mean, ‘who he is?’” My mind was racing. Was he some sort of criminal? Was he banned from the campus?

Dean Finndale reached across the desk and placed her hand on my clammy one.

“Jessica, listen to me. It’s impossible that you spoke to Evan Corbett last night. He’s dead.”