Phone Game Chapter 6 By Roe St. Alee
This story contains sexual content involving college age males. If this offends you, or this material is illegal where you live, please leave this page immediately. This story is a work of fiction, and any similarities to real life people, places, and situations is purely a coincidence.
If the above does not offend you, please enjoy! Sorry for the brief delay in posting. It's been crazy few weeks at work, but I'm back at writing and will try to get a few extra chapters out to keep it going in the next few weeks.
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I glance down at my watch as I enter the hallway and give myself a mental pat on the back. Much better than orientation, I'm a full five minutes early to class.
I shouldn't be too proud of myself for being punctual at ten o'clock, but I woke up earlier than I thought I needed to just in case. I even had time to shower, change my outfit once or twice, and meet Josh for breakfast after his class at eight, and before my own.
Being late wasn't an option this morning. Not only is it Monday morning and my very first day of college, but this is Lowry's class. The Dean of Students, my academic advisor, and the faculty liaison for the student paper. While it's technically going to be my second impression with him, I need to get off on the right foot.
It's fitting that it's my first class: Intro to Journalism.
I double check the number above the door - 207 - and take a deep breath. This is it.
I push through the door and see that I wasn't the only person with the idea to be a little bit early. There are already five or six people, but no sign of Professor Lowry at this point. The door opens into the back of the classroom and I make my way up.
I strategically grab a seat in the second row on the left sign of the classroom, the same side as the teaching podium. I want to be close, but not too close. Easy to pay attention and get noticed, but only if I draw attention to myself. Someone has already bravely taken up a chair front and center in the first row, and I'll leave them to it.
My butt has barely touched the wooden seat of the desk when a familiar voice comes from my right.
"Wrong."
I shudder involuntarily. Why?
Why does he have to be in my first class on my first day of college?
I turn to look and Dylan Litchman is only a desk away from me, back and to the right. I make eye contact with him and try to keep my stomach from feeling queasy at his presence. Having come in from the back of the room I didn't see him until now, and it's probably for the best. I might have just turned tail and run out.
"Seats are assigned," says one of the students at the front of the room, who has turned back to look at me. His tone is far kinder than Dylan's.
I stand up and try to end the conversation by finding my seat, but I'm not sure where to go. It appears I'll need to endure Dylan long enough for him to help me find my seat.
"It's like high school all over again," he says. "Right, Spitzer?"
He has a point, but probably not in the way that he's insinuating. Assigned seats are a hallmark of the first day of class in high school, but that doesn't bother me. It's sharing a classroom with Dylan, just like I had to for four brutal years. Anyone from high school would bother me, but he might just take the cake.
"You're over there."
Dylan points to the right side of the room, but still in the same row.
"I noticed your name when I came in a few minutes ago."
I grab my bag, trying not to visibly shake my head. Of course he did. I'm sure it was the first thing he did when he got to the room, nosing around all over and looking at where everyone was sitting. Just one more way for him to feel superior about himself around other people.
And I, unfortunately, am one of those other people. He is utterly incapable of leaving me alone it seems. Regardless of emanating the desire for him to do with fiber of my being.
And then I smile.
As I'm stepping away from my desk I see the nametag currently attached to it. Corey Bisset.
And that simple fact, no matter how inconsequential it might turn out to be in the long run, makes being stuck in a class with Dylan Litchman that much more tolerable.
Sure, Dylan's going to annoy the crap out of me all semester long, but it also means three additional hours in a room together with Corey. And maybe more. Studying together after class? Sharing notes if one of us isn't able to make an important lecture? Perhap a group project?
I try not to let myself get too far out ahead of reality, but it does put me in a substantially better mood as I take my intended seat on the far side of the room.
I pull out my phone to look busy in case you-know-who gets any ideas about starting a conversation before class begins. The classroom fills up over the next few minutes until we're less than sixty seconds until the scheduled time, and still no Corey. Stranger yet, still no sign of Professor Lowry either.
It would be odd for Corey to miss the first day of a new class, even if she's already been here for a few summer courses. Come to think of it, it would be even more bizarre if Lowry didn't attend our first session.
But that's just my brain running in circles with a little bit of down time. With a few seconds to spare, the two of them step into the classroom.
Lowry is smiling his - what I now know to be typical - wry smile, and Corey is laughing. It throws me off for a second but then I remember that they already know each other. If they ran into one another in the hallway, it would make sense for them to have a conversation.
Corey takes her seat, walking directly to it with no hesitation. She definitely figured out the assigned seating thing a lot quicker than I did, and I'm glad she wasn't here when I botched it up earlier.
Lowry doesn't even wait for her to sit down, jumping straight into his introductions without missing a beat. He's telling us his name and official position at the university as he's setting down his bag. He's fishing through it for papers while sharing with us the name of the class and making sure we are all in the class that we think we are. And he's unpacking said papers onto the podium while launching into a brief overview of our semester.
I guess I didn't know what to expect from my first college lecture, but Lowry is going a mile a minute up there. Two more students wander in and he doesn't pause for a second. I can't tell if he doesn't notice, or simply doesn't care to let them interrupt his lecture with their late arrival.
He runs through the syllabus, grading scale, test and essay schedule, and a generic course overview. Before we know it, the period is almost over. He checks his watch, steps back from the podium, and asks if anyone has any questions.
There are still a few minutes left in the class, but most of us seem to be reeling from the onslaught of information he just gave us. Too much so to gather our wits and ask a question, in any event.
"Very well," he says, clapping his hands together. "One more thing for us to do today before I let you go. I'm sure you all noticed that you are currently sitting in assigned seats, which, as I mentioned earlier, is how I'll be taking attendance for the first few classes.
"I will ask that you sit in those same seats until I have your names figured out. I am giving myself until the end of the week to learn them, but I will need some help from you to do that."
Lowry pulls out his phone and holds it up.
"I will take a picture of each of you sitting at your desks with your name tags. I'll study up until I have them all down, and if I don't know all of your names by Friday's class, you'll get an extra weekend to work on your first paper.
"Which," he continues, holding up a finger for emphasis, "is due on Friday, October..." He points at one of the girls sitting in the middle of the room. "Ms. Johnson?"
The girl leafs quickly through her syllabus and sets a finger down on it.
"October fifth?" she asks hopefully.
Lowry nods. "That is correct," he says. "So if I can't get all of your names on the first try as of this Friday, that due date will extend to the eighth."
He looks out at us and searches for understanding in our faces. He must have it, because he steps up to the first desk in the front left corner of the room and points his phone at the tall, blonde guy sitting there.
"And you can wear whatever you like to class to try and throw me off," Lowry suggests as he takes his first photo. "Michael Abbott," he says quietly to himself as he takes the photo.
"You can go get a haircut, dye job, plastic surgery, whatever you want. The only rule is that you have to sit in your assigned seats each time you come to class."
He steps up to the next desk and smiles.
"Ms. Bissett," he says as he points the camera. "Easy enough."
He works his way through the rest of the classroom, and it immediately becomes apparent that we are not going to get an extension. He gets at least half the names without even looking down at the nametags, and the ones he cheats on feel like they were on the tip of his tongue anyway.
After `Jenna Sanders,' an attractive girl with short brown hair sitting in front of me, Lowry approaches my desk. He makes a point of keeping his eyes up, so I know that he already has my name down.
"Hello again," he says, holding up his phone. "Jake Spitzer."
The way he says my name is odd. I could almost pick up on it earlier, but now that he's standing in front of me I can hear his tone even more clearly. It almost sounds like an appraisal. Like he's weighing the name on his tongue, practicing the feel of saying it.
Maybe it's that he's committing it to memory. He's trying to not just remember our faces and our names, but the way he moves his mouth when he says it.
"It's almost cheating," Lowry muses to himself as he steps past me, "since I met you a few days ago."
As he slides by my desk his hip bumps into the top right corner and jostles the top, sending my pencil off the edge and onto the floor. The movement catches my eye, and I leave my pencil where it is.
The top of the desk moved separately from the rest of it.
I smile to myself and poke at the edge nearest to me. The top lifts up. Dylan prediction is more and more accurate. It's just like high school, sitting at a flip top desk.
This building, I remember, is one of the oldest on campus, so it would make sense that they still have an abundance of old fashioned desks.
With Lowry distracted and nothing else to do, I subtly pop open the front of the desk with my fingers and lean down to get my pencil. As I bend back up, I take a peek into the desk, curious if there's anything leftover from students and semesters past.
I freeze, hovering with my eyes at desk level.
There's a small, folded sheet of paper in the desk.
Even in the dim light, through the tiny crack of the desk, I recognize it clearly. The same paper from before. Faint yellow, lined, and neatly folded in two.
I gently let the lid shut and close my eyes, trying to slow the sudden pitter patter of my heart.
I glance behind me and Lowry is still making his way through the last few people. Being in the back of the room, all the people in front of me have turned around to watch him as he takes photos. That puts me directly in their line of sight. I'll have to wait.
A deep breath in. A deep breath out. It will only take a minute for Lowry to finish, but I desperately want him to wrap it up so I can open my desk and get the note without attracting any attention.
I know that it's for me. There's no other explanation. It's the same paper, and it's stuffed into a desk that had my name on it. I don't know when Lowry set up the room for class, but it's even possible that he did it last night, giving whoever placed the note more than enough time to put it there.
Or...
Dylan.
He was here early today, and he said it himself. He had noticed my name when he got in. He knew where I was sitting, and it would have been easy for him to inconspicuously place the note while he was snooping around the rest of the room. Maybe he even...
I startle back into the real world as I hear the shuffling of chairs and the footsteps of my classmates. We must be finished.
Indeed, Lowry is up in the front of the room and tidying up his papers to put them back into his bag. I push back my chair and deliberately put my notebook and pencil back into my bag before standing up. I don't want to make too much of a scene when I grab the note.
And of course, I need to kill a little bit of time to make sure Dylan has already left. If he is the one who has been writing me notes, I don't ever want to give him the pleasure of seeing me read one.
I glance around the room, pretending to stretch out my arms, and it looks like he's already left. It's a relief, but doesn't do much to calm me down. And now the excitement of opening this desk and getting another note is intermingled with the fear that he might be the author. It a double whammy, and more than enough to get my heart racing.
I pop the top of the desk up a few inches, trying to look casual. Like I'm just checking it out. Exploring the new classroom I'm in. My left hand closes around the piece of paper and I pull it-
"Hey!"
Startled, I jump back, making enough noise as the lid of the desk slams down that everyone in the room, including Professor Lowry, glances over at me.
It's Corey.
"Hi," I say meekly. At least I said a word. That's a better start than last time.
"You know," she says, mercifully choosing not to mention the commotion with my desk, "I realized something after we talked the other day."
The rest of the class is filing out, and their attention has returned elsewhere. It does a lot to calm my nerves, but I still feel like I might be visibly shaking.
I wait for her to finish, but she merely cocks an eyebrow at me. Does she want me to guess?
Eventually she laughs, and I feel my cheeks get a little warmer.
"I never got your number."
My brain does a somersault, and my stomach follows suit. A girl is asking for my number.
"Yeah," I breath, barely loud enough to be audible.
She raises both of her eyebrows at me this time.
"So..."
"Oh, sorry." If I ever get through ten minutes of my social life without doing something awkward, I should get an award. "It's 815-672-2474."
She punches my number into her phone and looks up at me with a smile.
"Cool," she says. "What are you doing Wednesday?"
My cheeks are really smoldering now. I will myself to speak.
"Uh, I have school, I guess."
I manage to get the words out, but they aren't anywhere in the ballpark of strong or confident. At least my voice didn't squeak or anything as bad as that.
Corey laughs, apparently amused by my response.
"After school, I mean."
Of course she meant after school.
"Nothing?" I say. I can't think of anything I have going on after classes on Wednesday, but for some reason it comes out as a question.
"There's a party happening off campus that I heard about. Details are still hazy, but I'll text you."
I feel my cheeks turn into lava, and I must say something at least moderately conclusive, because the next thing I know I'm walking by myself down the hall and out of the building.
As soon as I hit the fresh air outside, I turn around the corner, put my back against the cold stone face of the entryway, and take a deep breath.
I did it.
I managed to have a substantial conversation with Corey without throwing up, saying something dumb, or fleeing. It wasn't stellar, but it's better than I would have expected of myself. Certainly better than I ever would have done in high school.
The fresh air is helping, and I start to feel my heart slowing down, my face cooling off, and the knot in my stomach subsiding. I let the tension flow out of my body with each breath, and feel the rest of my muscles start to loosen up. I relax my shoulders and unclench my fists...
And feel a piece of paper against my skin.
I feel excitement starting to build again, but more in control this time.
I unfold the paper, and take a look.
The sun is shining, the weather is warm, and overall I'd have to say that today is going great.
My walk across campus, if anything, bodes very well for what the rest of college is going to be like. Sunshine, high spirits, and more.
More.
If the last few days have taught me anything, I might be in for much, much more.
Who would have guessed? One day into my official college experience and I have a few new prospective friends, a girl who seems interested in me, and my first class is already successfully in the books.
Especially if I was to compare this to what I might have anticipated coming out of high school, I'd say I'm doing quite well for myself.
I wish I could put my finger on exactly what the change has been. Maybe it's being a new place, far away from everything in the past. Maybe that's all I needed, was to get away and start fresh.
I never felt like who I was in high school, I always felt like I was stuck in a rut. Like I was living the role of the person that I had been during my freshman year. But that's life in a small school. Once you've carved out your niche, you might never be able to find your way out, no matter how different you feel that you've become.
But college has been different. No one here expects me to be quiet and shy. Or uninteresting and solitary.
It's almost like everyone around me has expected me to be something better. And I've taken that expectation and lived up to it. A few times more awkward and fumbly than others, but I've done it.
It has been exactly what I was hoping for.
I spot Josh fairly easily across the quad since I remember what he wearing this morning and I make my way over to where he's sitting. I throw down my bag and take a seat on the brick and granite knee wall that surrounds our quad.
It's a beautiful space, and I smile as I take it in. I remember my first look at this space, browsing Walton's website sometime in early November during a free period in study hall. It caught my eye for whatever reason. And it's the image I held most clearly of Walton College through my entire application process.
And today does not disappoint. The knee wall I'm sitting on runs a few hundred feet along a bike path, ultimately terminating into the face of our main library, a huge building with all the hallmarks of traditional collegiate architecture. The entry promenade of the building faces a lush, grassy lawn, large enough to hold a football field and then some.
The weather is perfect, and the day seems intent on mirroring my own personal feelings on expectations being met.
"How was class?" Josh asks. He's halfway through cramming a hunk of cinnamon roll into his mouth. I wonder how long ago he got it and where. He probably snuck it into a pocket during breakfast.
"Good," I say. "Corey's in my class." Josh's eyes light up at the prospect, but I don't give him any time to bask in the good fortune. "So is Dylan."
That only makes Josh smile more, which annoys me, but in a good natured way. His good mood is as infectious as ever.
"Ok," I concede, "it's still good overall." I'll take a few hours in a room with Dylan if it means I can share that same time with someone I don't actively despise.
Josh laughs, and as he does his eyes glide past me. His expression changes and he puts his hand up on my shoulder, putting an effective pause on our conversation.
"Hang on one second," he says. "I think that might be one of Marsh's friends."
Hew steps away and out of the corner of my eye I see him give a huge bear hug to a lumbering linebacker of a guy. They start chatting and I get the impression that it might be a while.
[ Hello again. ]
The message from the note flashes through my mind now that I have a minute to myself. It's been like this for the last few days.
I'll be talking to someone on my floor, hanging out with Josh, or reviewing my schedule. In other words, minding my own business. Then there's a break in the action, even for a few seconds. And my mind instantly moves to the notes.
This one is just like the others. Simple and uninteresting on its face, even mundane. Nothing to get excited about.
But something about it keeps drawing my attention, making it impossible to stop thinking about it. It's almost too simple in a way, which makes me even more eager to build up some importance or meaning to it in my head.
And similar to the other notes, this one could have come from anyone.
My first choice, of course, is Corey. Somehow she knew we were in class together, knew Professor Lowry assigned our seats, and put the note there before class started. She was with Lowry this morning when they came into the classroom, so maybe she was with him before that, hanging out or even helping him to set up the room for our first lecture.
[ Hello again ]
I sound it out in my head again, but it has a different edge this time. One that raises an equally likely, although far less promising possibility.
Dylan.
When I sound it out that way, it's a sneer. A charming smile with a bag of crap behind it. It's cocky and mocking. I hate the way it sounds in my head when it comes from him.
He couldn't be bothered in high school, but now he suddenly doesn't seem capable of leaving me alone. He's taking every opportunity he has to talk to me, and maybe even writing me notes. Knowing he's at this college is bad enough, but I can't stand to think that he's trying to devote even more of my time and attention.
Which brings up an even more terrible possibility. What if he's taking a journalism intro course because he's in the same major?
I sigh and start to wish that Josh would wrap up his conversation and distract me from my thoughts, but he's still deep in it with his brother's friend.
Looking at Josh makes me think about his take on the Dylan situation and I shudder. What if he's into me?
It's not crazy to think that Dylan's reaction to liking someone is to be mean to them. It's juvenile and stupid, but after all, that's exactly what I would expect from him. I send up a silent prayer that it isn't the case. The notes are one thing, but God forbid he's using them to flirt with me.
Hopefully the note is from absolutely anyone else in the entire world. Honestly, I would prefer the note was from Professor Lowry.
[ Hello again ]
Coming from him, they sound polite and professional. Not nearly as exciting as the other possibilities I suppose, but it doesn't bother me if he's taking a special interest in me. Although it would be odd if he was in our dorm the night of Calvin's orientation, he could easily have placed the other two notes.
Of course, I like it the most when Corey says it. The words and tone seem natural coming from her. First it was See you around,' then just a smiley face, and now Hello again.' It almost has a wink to, or at the very least an intriguing rise of the eyebrows. Flirtatious and a little bit sassy. Just the way she talks to me in person, too.
I close my eyes and try to imagine her saying it, with a tiny curve of a smile on her lips...
"Hello again!"
My eyes jerk open and I look up at Josh, half expecting a knowing look from him as he was apparently reading my mind.
But he isn't even looking at me. He's talking to a girl that I've seen around our dorm a few times. She must live in the building, and Josh is clearly not wasting the opportunity of a little extra facetime.
I give myself a second to sort out my thoughts. He wasn't talking to me. It was just a coincidence. It's stressful enough trying to figure this out, I'm sure a psychic roommate wouldn't help anything.
As I wait for Josh to finish up, I feel a faint vibration in my pocket. I pull my phone out and turn on the screen.
A text message. It's not a number I recognize.
I unlock my phone and feel a new surge of adrenaline in my veins. There's only one person I can think of whose number I don't have but would be texting me right now.
[ It's me. ]
I know who it is without even thinking. Corey.
A smiley face appears next and I feel myself mirroring it, but in real life.
There is a brief sense of loss as I put her contact details in my phone. I'm too excited to let it bother me though.
After all, now that we have each other's numbers there won't be a need to send notes. But it was fun while it lasted.
In the next chapter: A party. A misfire. Another suspect...