Текст книги "Painless"

Автор книги: Devon Hartford

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

I was adding dribbles of linseed oil to a pile of red pigment dust on top of a thick glass slab, mixing them together into buttery goop with a putty knife. It was sort of like making toxic cake frosting because you definitely weren’t supposed to eat the paint. Maybe I could make a toxic cake and deliver it to Tiffany’s house for her birthday. She’d never know it was me. Wicked grin.

There was a trick to getting the consistency of the finished paint just right, but I’d been doing it for a few weeks and was getting pretty good at it. When I was finished mixing, I scooped the finished paint into empty metal tubes with those screw top caps and crimped off the ends with pliers.

Nikolos leaned his head in the doorway. Bright clear blue sky silhouetted him. “How’s that cad red coming along?”

“Just finished,” I smiled, pulling off my gloves, mask, and goggles.

“Ready for a break? Dad made some fresh lemonade.” He was referring to Spiridon, who was over to sit for his portrait again, which Nikolos had almost finished.

“What is it with your dad and lemonade?” I grinned.

“I have no idea,” he chuckled. “You should ask him.”

I carried the finished tubes of cadmium red in a cardboard box as we walked back to the house together.

Spiridon walked out of the house with a pitcher of lemonade on a tray that also held three glasses filled with ice. We sat down at an outdoor table beneath an awning. Spiridon poured for everyone and served.

The view from the back of Nikolos’ house was breathtaking. The house was high on a hillside and looked down at the rolling hills of a beautiful canyon. It was probably the nicest view I’d ever seen in a person’s actual house. It was quiet and you couldn’t hear any sounds of cars or modern human cacophony. It was just nature. Birds chirping now and then, and a soft, warm breeze. The usual word people used for a place like this was Paradise with a capital P for perfect.

I had thought Spiridon’s beach mansion was awesome. This was the next level.

“How is your plein air painting class going, Samoula?” Spiridon asked before sipping his lemonade. “You said the professor was Katherine Weatherspoon?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“She’s good,” Nikolos said.

“You know her?” I asked.

“I know most of the faculty in the art department at SDU,” Nikolos said.

“Wow, you guys both do, don’t you?” I grinned.

“Pretty much,” Spiridon smiled. “How are you enjoying painting outdoors?”

“It’s the best!” I beamed. “I’m always thinking how awesome it would be to paint outside for a living.”

“Pretty awesome,” Spiridon smiled.

“That’s right! You painted all those landscapes over the years!”

“I’ve spent most of my life painting outdoors,” he said.

“I still can’t get over the fact that’s your job.” I sipped more lemonade and started crunching an ice cube. Normally, I wouldn’t have spoken with my mouth full, but that was with my parents. Spiridon and Nikolos were so laid back, I didn’t even realize I was breaking the rules.

“Hey,” Nikolos said to his dad, “remember that time you took me up to Yosemite, and you were painting by that river, and you thought I was a deer?”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“That’s right!” Spiridon chuckled, “You were a deer!”

Nikolos smiled broadly, that same dimpled grin that Christos had, and said, “Oh, you should’ve been there, Samantha. I was just a kid. My dad was busy painting, but I wanted to play.”

“You were probably, what, seven or eight at the time?” Spiridon said.

“That sounds about right,” Nikolos smiled. “So, there I was, tugging on my dad’s arm every five minutes to show him another pine cone I’d found or maybe another fancy rock, and I’m walking back toward where he’s set up by his easel to show him something else, and I see a full grown mama deer walk up behind my dad out of nowhere, followed by her two babies. The mama was two feet behind Dad, and she was one big deer. I was so scared, I couldn’t even speak. The next thing I know, that mama deer is nipping at the back of my dad’s jacket.” Nikolos glanced at Spiridon, “Didn’t you have an orange or something in your pocket?” Spiridon nodded agreement. “Anyway, Dad is so busy focusing on his painting, and without turning around, he says to the deer, ‘That’s wonderful, Nikos, beautiful. Now go see if you can find another one just like it.’ He didn’t even know it wasn’t me!” Nikolos cried laughter.

Spiridon, already laughing said, “I did when that mama deer leaned over my shoulder and licked my palette of watercolors!”

“You should’ve seen him jump!” Nikolos laughed, reliving the memory. “He turned around and that mama deer was staring him right in the face, not two inches away! He jumped out of his camping chair at least four feet in the air!”

“No way!” I said in disbelief.

“It wasn’t four feet,” Spiridon laughed. “But I sure beat feet when I realized it wasn’t you.”

Both of them threw their heads back and chuckled heartily.

Spiridon wiped tears of joy from his eyes. “Do you remember that time we were visiting your aunt in Mykonos?”

“Which time?” Nikolos grinned.

“The one with the pelican on our rowboat.”

“Oh,” Nikolos chuckled, “you mean the pelican who wanted your lunch?”

Spiridon nodded.

“You tell it,” Nikolos smiled.

Spiridon leaned over to me. “So, we had ridden bicycles from my sister’s house in Mykonos down to Ornos for the weekend. This was back before all the hotels started taking over the island.”

“Where’s Mykonos?” I asked.

“It’s in the Aegean sea, southeast of mainland Greece,” Nikolos said.

“So,” Spiridon continued, “I had gotten the brilliant idea of setting up my easel on a rowboat. I should’ve known better, with this one around,” he cocked a thumb at Nikolos, “but I wanted to paint the town from a view on the water so I could capture the white plaster buildings against the sapphire blue of the ocean. Nikos and his cousin Helena were busy swimming all morning. When it was lunch time, my sister pulled out the picnic basket she’d brought to feed everyone. Nikos and Helena climbed out of the water, soaking wet. They were dripping over everything. That should’ve been my clue I was asking for trouble painting watercolors in the middle of the bay, but all I could think about was my sister’s scrumptious gyros waiting for us. Once the food was out, a giant pelican landed on the prow of the boat to see what was on the menu. Nikos wanted to shoo him off, but I said it was okay. The next thing I know, I had set my gyro down only for a second, and the pelican hops off the stern and snatches up my lunch like it was a fish and swallows it down! Before I can stand up, Nikos shouts ‘I’ll get it’ and lunges for that bird. The pelican flapped its wings furiously to escape and knocked my painting right into the water! Everyone is hollering and Nikos turns on a dime, shouting ‘I’ll get it, I’ll get it!’ He dove right in the water and rescued my painting. But you can imagine what a dip in the ocean does to a wet watercolor painting.”

Spiridon and Nikolos were both laughing as they remembered.

“Oh no!” I laughed. “What happened to the painting?”

“The painting was ruined, but I couldn’t tell Nikos that. He was so proud for saving it.” Spiridon looked at his son and smiled lovingly.

Nikolos nodded, basking in the warmth of his father’s love decades after the fact.

Spiridon and Nikolos traded painting stories back and forth like that for an hour. Some of them included the misadventures of young Christos as well. Every single tale was filled with excitement, fun, and love. My childhood had been nothing like it.

“And that’s what you did for a living for all those years?” I said to Spiridon with an amazed smile. It sounded like a continuous vacation to me.

“Yes,” Spiridon said. “For a long time.”

“Why’d you ever stop painting?” I asked.

Spiridon sighed mysteriously. “That’s a long story,”

I glanced at Nikolos, who raised his eyebrows before looking away. Okay, they weren’t going to tell me.

“Maybe you should be a landscape painter, Samantha,” Nikolos said, drawing attention away from Spiridon.

“You think?” I said.

Nikolos shrugged his shoulders, “Why not? It’s a job like any other.”

It never ceased to amaze me how the Manos men took it for granted that I was going to be a successful artist someday. Now Nikolos was doing it too. Christos had the most awesome family I’d ever met. I was so glad to be a part of it.

I shook my head and sipped more lemonade, which was delicious, as always, and basked in the warm spring air. It was hard to believe working for Nikolos was an actual job. It was like hanging out with my friends.

Lucky me!

* * *

I sat at my drawing table in the studio at Spiridon’s house, working on drawing drapery. Drapery meant the way cloth folded, usually on clothing when people wore it, sometimes just hanging like wrinkled blankets or hanging tablecloths and curtains. It was part of our homework for Drawing The Costumed Figure.

It was almost like doing fashion illustrations.

I’d already drawn a bunch of pictures of princesses in fluffy dresses and hot guys in slick suits striking GQ poses. I had a bunch of internet browser windows open on my laptop showing photos of various gowns and runway models, male and female. I was really liking this whole Art major choice of mine. My parents were really out to lunch about art.

Whatever.

Christos was out, hanging with Jake. Spiridon was out too, I wasn’t sure where. He tended to come and go without explanation. I could only assume he had an entire adult life he was living, but I never saw it. Maybe he was secretly a handsome Greek mafia kingpin?

I chuckled to myself.

My laptop was open next to me, playing iTunes. Wonderwall by Oasis wafted from the speakers on warm, loving waves while I drew in my sketchbook.

I was busy putting the finishing touches on a hot guy in a tuxedo who looked alarmingly like Christos. I hadn’t even realized I was drawing him. I sat back from my sketchbook and realized the tux guy stood next to a girl in a wedding dress.

How had that happened?

I swear, I hadn’t done it on purpose.

Maybe next I would draw babies in bodysuits.

I blushed to myself. What was I thinking?

I shook my head and stood up to stretch my legs and take a break. I started Wonderwall over from the beginning and danced alone, swaying to the groove, thinking about Christos, hugging my arms around myself.

I was so in love with Christos.

He had saved me from the horrid future my parents had planned for me. My life had opened up to possibilities I’d never dreamed would ever come true when I was a girl. Now I had hope like I’d never known hope before.

I was truly blessed.

My cell phone rang abruptly, cutting like a strident scream through the comforting music emanating from my laptop.

I jumped.

My phone was also on vibrate, and it danced maniacally in the tray of pencils attached to my drawing table where I’d left it, making the pencils rattle and clack together horribly.

Dread.

I grabbed for my phone, but it danced from my fingers.

Christos.

Something was wrong. On the third ring I got a hold of it. Oh no, Christos. My gut was churning.

Not again.

Falling, falling, falling.

I looked at the screen on my phone. It read:

“Mom & Dad”

What the hell? My heart was jumping in my chest. Images of Christos in a drunken car crash flashed through my head. So why were my parents calling me? They wouldn’t be the first to know if he got hurt. Would they? No, that didn’t make any sense.

So why were they calling?

I frowned. I could hazard a guess.

Did I even want to answer their call? They were probably going to bitch me out again. I sighed dramatically and answered my phone on the fourth ring, sounding irritated. “Hello?”

“Sam?”

“Dad?”

My dad cleared his throat.

I winced.

“Sam, I’m calling to inform you that your mother has moved out.”

“What?” I was totally confused.

“She’s taken an apartment in Friendship Heights. And she has taken a lover.”

“What? Dad! What are you talking about? You aren’t making any sense.” My stomach, which had imploded, said otherwise. Every organ in my body had been sucked into the black hole forming in my abdomen.

“Your mother is seeing someone,” he said flatly. “Another man.”

“What do you mean seeing? Like for a meeting or class or something? I know she’s always talking about taking tennis lessons at the country club.”

“Sam, your mother is having an affair. With another man.”

Silence punched me in the stomach. That black hole wasn’t the only thing hammering away at me. Every atom in the universe was rushing at me in a super nova of impending disaster.

Some detached corner of my brain shouted inside my head, “Who cares! Mom is lame! You’re lame!” But that voice was thin and tinny, drowned out by the cosmic thunderstorm that was unwinding inside me.

After more silence, I finally spoke in a mumble, “Mom is having an affair?” Tears dripped down my cheeks against my approval.

“Yes.”

“With another man?”

“Yes. Someone she knew in college. He rides a motorcycle,” Dad said with no hint of irony.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I stammered.

“Yes, it does,” he said softly.

I sat down in my desk chair. I should say, I fell down where I was standing and was lucky that my chair happened to be behind me, because I didn’t stop to think what I was doing. I just collapsed when the strength left my legs.

Then dozens of disjointed memories all crashed together in my head. My mom had made it clear months ago that she thought Christos was not the kind of guy who stuck around. And she’d made it sound like she’d had experience with guys like him. Was the guy my dad was talking about some guy from Mom’s past who’d jilted her and made her so bitter about bad boys? But now she had gotten back together with him?

I could only wonder.

I wasn’t about to ask my dad for details. I’m sure the guy my mom was sleeping with wasn’t Dad’s favorite topic of conversation at the moment.

And then a memory of my mother’s words from February crashed through my brain:

“Not yet you aren’t. But you will be! Give it six months, maybe a year, and he’ll knock you up! Then he’ll be gone! Just like that! Make sure you have enough saved up for the abortion!”

She’d said it like she was speaking from experience. Was that possible?

Of course it was.

I suddenly remembered that growing up, people were always saying how much I looked like my mom. Nobody ever said I looked like my dad. And, my dad had always seemed so different and weird to me, I had a hard time believing we were related.

What if my mom had never gotten that abortion and had married dependable Bill Smith instead?

Was it possible that my dad wasn’t my biological dad?

Was I some other guy’s daughter?

Holy shit.

It was entirely possible.

No, that was crazy.

But it was all adding up.

What. The. Fuck.

Oh, gosh, it all sounded so desperately stupid. But why did it make so much sense?

I shook my head. Did it even matter? My mom was cheating on my dad and had already moved into an apartment. That much was fact.

Fuck.

I didn’t need three guesses to figure out where that went.

Just when my life had been expanding with good vibes like a colorful birthday balloon, BAM! My parents popped a needle in me and took it all away. More precisely, my mom.

My damn mom.

Every single damn time.

* * *

“I’m so sorry, agápi mou,” Christos said as he hugged me where we sat on the couch in the living room. “I know how hard it is when your parents split.”

I’d waited two hours for Christos to come home, crying my eyes out the entire time on the couch in the dark. I was somewhat surprised I was so sad my mom had left, but I wasn’t at all surprised by my anger at her. That was normal and familiar. But this sense of loss and I guess betrayal was new and made me uncomfortable. A part of me said the only feeling I should have for my mom right now was hatred.

But, no matter how much of a bitch she was, she was still my mom.

Fuck! I hated feeling this way.

“What are you going to do?” Christos asked softly. Although he’d been out with Jake for hours, I could tell he hadn’t had much to drink. He wasn’t even buzzed. I had that much to be grateful for.

“What can I do?” I asked rhetorically. “My mom left my dad. Period.”

“Do you need to fly home to see your parents? I’ll totally understand if you do. I can come with you if you want.”

I looked at him, tears dripping down my cheeks. I blotted them with a tissue from the box Christos had brought me. “I don’t know if that’ll make any difference. Besides, finals are coming up in a few weeks. I feel like if I went home, it would screw up all my classes and I’d have to withdraw and retake everything.” Agony and indecision swept over me. “Oh, Christos. I don’t know what to do!” I leaned into his chest and sobbed against him.

He caressed the top of my head and murmured, “Whatever you want to do, you let me know, and I’m there for you, agápi mou.”

I twisted my fingers into the material of his T shirt. I looked up at him desperately, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, agápi mou.”

“Hush,” he whispered. “You’re never going to have to find out. I’ll always be here for you.”

I couldn’t begin to fathom the kind of crazy person I’d become if Christos were to do what my mom had done to my dad. My gosh, what was my dad going through right now? I couldn’t even imagine. Was he mad? Sad? Did he hate my mom? Was he desperately wishing she’d come to her senses and come back to him? Probably all of those things.

I gazed up at Christos, my eyes pleading for comfort and reassurance. I asked him meekly, in a vulnerable voice that was on the edge of shattering into fragile shards, “Are you sure?”

Christos cupped my cheek and caressed the side of my face. “Yes. I’m not going anywhere, agápi mou. Ever.”

Looking into his loving blue eyes, I believed him with all my heart. The wave of energy that passed from my heart to his was confirmation.

He smoothed a lock of my hair behind my ear. That simple gesture of affection was so powerful, I broke into fresh sobs and collapsed into his muscled chest. In his arms, I felt safe. Protected. I never wanted to leave them.

I wept quietly for awhile, letting it out.

Eventually, I sniffed and said, “I think the guy my mom is seeing might be my father.”

“What?” Christos gasped.

I cringed now that I’d said it out loud. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m crazy. But my mom said all these things about you like she’d had experience with her own bad boy when she was young, and it got me thinking. Maybe this guy she’s seeing got her pregnant twenty years ago. With me. My dad said this guy is from her college days and he is a bad boy. Maybe it’s the same guy from when she was young and she wants to get back together with him now that I’m out of the house? Because she doesn’t need my dad anymore?”

“Wow, that’s insane,” Christos said.

“You’re right. I’m crazy.” I shook my head. “I’m making it sound like a soap opera storyline. It’s too crazy to be true. Right?” Desperate thoughts pulsed in my head, Please tell me I’m crazy, please tell me my reasoning is idiotic. Please please please…

Christos sighed, “Who knows. People do crazy shit. Anything is possible.”

I clutched his T shirt and heaved a painful sob, “You don’t think it’s true, do you?”

“I have no idea, agápi mou,” he said softly. “But whatever the truth turns out to be, I’ll be by your side through all of it.”

I burrowed further into his arms and sobbed.

At the moment, I was desperately afraid, half insane, but above all things, grateful I had Christos.

Chapter 22

SAMANTHA

Denial quickly became my best friend. It was the only way I could function and stay sane. I did my best to block out any thoughts of my parents’ crumbling marriage and focused on school and my new job.

Kamiko and I were eating lunch at the Adams College Cafeteria.

“What’s the Samantos status?” Kamiko asked before popping a french fry into her mouth.

“The what?”

“You and Christos? Duh.”

“Samantos?” I scoffed. “That sounds like a breath mint.”

“The fresh maker!” Kamiko quipped.

I chuckled, “We’re good.”

“How are his paintings coming along? Does he still have a parade of models coming in and out of the studio every day?”

“No. He’s, uh, changed directions.” I wasn’t quite comfortable telling Kamiko that Christos was painting me nude.

I wondered if I could keep Christos’ upcoming solo show a secret so I could avoid having my friends gawk at a nude picture of me. Who was I kidding? Kamiko followed the upcoming gallery shows like a hawk. She’d find out and she’d be there. At least I could appreciate her desire to show up and support.

Changing subjects, I said, “Have you done any new paintings to submit to Brandumb for his upcoming Contemporary Artists Show?”

“A bunch,” she smiled.

“How are they coming along?”

Kamiko had been crushed when Brandon had rejected her first batch of submissions.

“Awesome,” she said. “You wanna see them after lunch?”

“Sure,” I smiled.

When we finished eating, we walked our trays over to the trash cans and emptied them into the bin then walked out the front doors.

There was a newspaper rack right outside.

Kamiko stopped and squealed, “Oh my God!” She grabbed a fresh copy of The Wombat off the rack. “Sam! It’s your wombat!” She handed me the paper. “It looks so good!”

Wow, my art was on the cover, next to Tammy Lemons’ illustration.

“You should totally save like ten copies!”

“But I haven’t won,” I said.

“So what?” Kamiko said, excited. “You’re in print! That’s YOUR art!”

“I guess you’re right,” I smiled. “But maybe I’ll only take five copies.” I grabbed a handful off the rack.

“Will you sign mine for me?” Kamiko asked, digging frantically through her book bag for a pen.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Kamiko,” I dismissed.

“What, did you forget how to spell your name?” she asked sarcastically and thrust her pen at me.

I frowned, “No.”

“Then sign it, bitch! I’m so proud of you!” She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. When she was done, she pushed her pen at me again. “But seriously, sign it. I’m going to hold onto this until it’s worth a thousand bucks. I’ll sell it at San Diego Comic Con in twenty years when you’re a world famous cartoonist.”

I scoffed, “I think you’re getting a bit carried away, Kamiko.”

“Shut up and sign it. If I’m going to be a doctor for the rest of my life, I’m going to tell people I went to school with Samantha Smith, the awesome artist.”

I arched a doubtful eyebrow.

“Quit being fake humble and sign it!” she growled.

I wasn’t being fake humble. It just seemed weird she was asking me to sign the paper for her. I hadn’t even won yet. For all I knew, the students who read the paper and bothered to vote would pick Tammy’s art.

Some random guy with glasses and wavy long hair walked up to the rack and picked up a copy of The Wombat. He chuckled when he looked at the cover.

“My home girl drew that wombat,” Kamiko said to him. “She can autograph your paper if you’re nice.”

“Kamiko!” I hissed.

The guy looked at the pictures thoughtfully. “You drew this?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said sheepishly, “the one on the toilet. I didn’t draw the one with the baseball bat.”

“Oh,” he nodded, examining the drawings. He chuckled, “I love that he’s stoned while he’s taking a shit. That’s awesome.”

Kamiko nudged me, “Sign it!”

“Yeah,” the guy said, “will you sign it for me? I’m hanging this in our bathroom in the dorms.”

I couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or an insult.

He smiled, admiring my art, “The guys are going to love this.”

So I signed it. I mean, a lot of people read when they were on the toilet. Sure, a bathroom stall in the dorms wasn’t exactly Charboneau Gallery, but it was the next best thing, right?

* * *

Kamiko and I went to her dorm room in Paiute Hall.

“I’m trying something totally different,” she said, sliding a big black portfolio out from under her bed. She unzipped it and handed me a stack of paintings on 1/8” thick illustration board. “These are all done with pen and ink, and acrylics.”

They were drawings with washes of transparent color over the ink lines, and touches of opaque acrylic here and there on some, and more thickly applied acrylics on others.

“What happened to all your oils?”

“They’re in the closet,” she nodded toward the wheeled wardrobe next to her bed. “Since Brandumb didn’t want them for the show, I put them all away. Maybe I’ll try to sell them later. But for now, I’m doing this,” she pointed her chin toward the stacks of paintings in my lap.

I sat down on the bed and flipped through them. There was a half dozen of them, all in totally different styles. One showed a dolphin jumping out of waves made of blue human hands and arms. Another showed a beautiful woman in a giant Victorian gown with hands that snaked out in looping coils that ended in bouquets of roses. Another showed three identical young girls with black pigtails and kimonos standing on a Japanese garden bridge over a pond filled with koi that had human faces. “Are these kimono triplets supposed to be you?” I asked.

Kamiko nodded. “And those faces on the koi are supposed to be Brandumb, but I don’t think he’ll notice. I had to work from memory.”

“What is it supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Kamiko grinned, “that I’m three times more awesome than Brandumb, who is so un-evolved he hasn’t yet crawled out of the ocean with the other fishes that turned into humans a billion years ago?”

“You’re not still angry at him, are you?”

“I was when I did that one,” she smiled. “Now? Not so much.”

The rest of her paintings were equally bizarre and amazing. “Did you do all of these? It looks like six different artists painted them.”

She smiled and nodded, her eyes beaming with excitement. “I did my homework. I went through that catalog from the last show that you gave me until I had some direction, then I dove in.”

I could still remember how Kamiko’s confidence had been shattered by Brandon when he’d rejected her art, and hit on me right in front of her. For two weeks afterward, I had been afraid she’d never climb out of her funk. But her confidence was now back in full force.

“Well, they’re all awesome, Kamiko.” I handed the stack back to her. “I’m blown away.”

She took them and slid them back into the big black portfolio. “Are you going to submit anything, Sam?”

“What, to Brandon’s show?”

“Yeah.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it. I guess I’ve been too busy.”

“Considering you’re on the front cover of The Wombat, I think you probably should.”

“Do you have that show catalog of Brandon’s?”

Kamiko pulled it off the bookcase on her desk and handed it to me.

I flipped through it. The first thing I noticed was that Kamiko’s new paintings would totally fit right in. “I don’t know, Kamiko. These are all really good. I can see you did a lot of research. I don’t know if I’ll have time to come up with something before the show.”

“You’ll think of something,” she smiled.

As much as I’d improved while studying art with the help of Christos, Spiridon, Kamiko, and all my art teachers, the paintings in the catalog were probably better than I could do at the moment, especially on short notice.

“You have tons of great ideas, Sam,” Kamiko said. “I bet you’ll come up with something awesome.”

Once again, I was super grateful that all of my San Diego friends were so supportive of me. Their confidence bolstered my own.

“You’re right,” I grinned confidently, “I will.”

* * *

Madison and I were studying in the Main Library in our favorite private study room on the fifth floor, which had the best view of the ocean.

My laptop was open and my email program chimed when a new email came in. It was from the SDU Registrar’s Office. Subject: A date has been set for your appeal.

I groaned.

“What?” Madison asked, looking up from her gigantic Marketing textbook.

Not only had the subject line of the email been a spoiler for the content of the message, it had also spoiled my mood. I clicked on it to get it over with.

The message read, “A date has been assigned for you to appear before the administrative tribunal of San Diego University to discuss the grievance(s) pending against you, at which time your standing as a student at SDU will be reviewed. In addition to the initial claim of theft leveled against you by Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse (plaintiff), an additional charge of assault has been brought against you, Samantha Smith (defendant)…”

Tiffany and her stupid stolen credit card.

And my stupid slap.

I never should’ve smacked her.

According to the rest of the letter, Tiffany had gone to the SDU police to report my “attack” on her. At least the letter made it sound like my slapping her wasn’t a federal offense with the death penalty attached. But for a second, I imagined the cops showing up in their police cars with the red and blue lights flashing so they could cuff me and haul me to jail for committing Assault and Slappery.

Wow, I suddenly felt like my situation and Christos’ had been reversed. Or he was having a bad influence on me like my mom had warned. No, that was crazy because my cheating mom was crazy.

“Bad news?” Madison asked.

“Huh?”

“You look like you swallowed a poisoned pie.”

“Poisoned pie?”

“Like one of those blackbird pies with twenty four birds inside? You look like they’re flapping around in your belly right now, trying to get out,” she smirked.

“I’d rather have that than this,” I scowled.

“What is it?”

“My date for the Tiffany thing.”

“Oh,” Madison said morosely. She already knew the whole story. “I’ve told you before, give me the word, and I’ll cut a bitch.”

“Which bitch?” I snickered.

Her eyes went crazy, “Any bitch! Just give me the word!” She stood and waved her highlighter marker around like a knife. “Watch out bitches! I’m cuttin’ mad!” she shouted.

“Don’t you mean, Cuttin’ Mads?”

She sat down and giggled.

I joined her and we shared a good laugh.

As always, we sat in one of the glass walled private study rooms. I’m sure the kids studying outside who were glaring at us thought we were goofing off. Some of them probably wanted to use our study room so they could goof off.

Well, me and Mads had gotten here first.

A moment later, a random girl stood up from one of the study carrels outside and walked up to our door. She had imitation blonde hair and wore a Delta Pi Delta T shirt, which was Tiffany’s sorority.