PANIC

Chapter Twenty-Eight - ROOK

“Done yet?”

“You just fucking asked me that twenty minutes ago, Ford. No, I’m not done. I’m not quick at this shit like you are, OK? Just let me think it over.” I drum my fingertips on the coffee table and try and come up with three reasons.

“Rook, the application must be in by Friday or you’ll have to wait another semester to get into Boulder.”

Maybe I don’t want to go to Boulder, did that ever occur to him?

But I don’t say that out loud because he’s just trying to help me. Instead I chew on my thumbnail as I try and think of how to start. It’s an application essay. I’m just a few weeks into community college writing, so yeah, I’m not that good at this shit yet. I’ve barely mastered the topic sentence. Ford eyeballs me as he drinks a beer in the kitchen. “It’s a little early to start drinking, don’t you think?”

“You drive me to drink, Rook. What’s the hold-up? They want to know why you want to go to school. Surely you can handle that?”

I sneer at him and take my attention back to my laptop. The problem is I might be lazy. Now that I have all this money I don’t have the same drive to push myself in this area. Would I be a waste of space at this school? I’m pretty sure there are people a lot more deserving than me who could use a shot at this education that I’m not fully appreciating.

The cushion sinks as Ford sits next to me. “What’s going on?” he asks softly. “You’re not interested?”

I lean back and sigh. “I’m just not sure, Ford. This school stuff is not easy.”

“I’m not following. You thought it would be easier or it’s harder than you expected?”

“Both, I guess. I’m not super smart like you guys, but I’m not stupid, right?” He puts an arm around me and I almost have a heart attack. “What are you doing?”

His eyebrows go up. “Comforting you. Am I doing it wrong?”

A laugh bursts out and I just shake my head. “No, this is correct, I guess.”

“Do you want to quit school, Rook?”

“Am I a failure if I do?”

“Yes,” he says with zero emotion.

I laugh again. “Fuck, Ford. What the hell? I thought you were comforting me!”

“Do you want me to tell you the truth or lie?”

“Lie!”

“I’m sorry, I’m the honest one, remember? You are smart but you have almost no education. You should be embarrassed by that.”

“What the fuck? That’s enough comforting, thanks.” I finagle my way out from his embrace and try to get up but he grabs me and pushes me back on the couch. “I’ll do it in my room. Let me go.”

“No, we’re writing this essay and you’re turning in the application. You have brains, you have money, you have people supporting you. A few weeks ago your dream was to go to film school so I’ve pointed you in that direction and you’re staying on that trajectory and seeing it through until you have a damn good reason why the dream has changed. If you get in, then you can decide if you want to go or not. But you don’t get to give up before you try just because it’s hard. That’s unacceptable. You have thirty minutes to write this essay or I’ll ground you.” And then he winks. “And if I was Ronin I’d spank the shit out of you and make it hurt for being such a brat.”

I scoot over to the other side of the couch and kick him with my socked foot. “You’re dumb.”

“You’re juvenile. Now give me the three main reasons you wanted to go to school.”

“If it was that easy—”

“Just the top three, Rook. It’s not brain surgery. Off the top of your head, right now.”

“Money.”

“OK, you don’t really need that anymore. What else?”

“A cool job.”

“You have that as well. Or you could if you wanted, but you decided to take a boring one. You have options, should you ever want a cool job again, though, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So give me an internal reason. Something you can’t have, something you will feel. Like pride. Will education make you feel proud?”

“Sure.”

“What other internal things?”

“Well, respect, I guess.”

“Respect from whom?”

“I’m not sure. Me? I think I am capable of more than I’ve been doing with my life, so getting a college degree would make me feel like I’m fulfilling my potential. Does that make sense?”

He smiles and puts his arm around me and this time I lean in. “Yes, that’s a great reason. You should write that down and tell the admissions people all the reasons why you believe you have potential and what it means for you to live up to it.”

“You’re sneaky.”

“I’ve been known to sneak a time or two.”

I turn to my computer as Ford gets back up to grab another beer and head out to the shop. I still, still, have no idea what Ford does here as far as work goes. It’s like he’s only here to be my friend or something.

Hmmmm…

Those sneaky fucks.

I stay and finish up the stupid college admissions application while Ford covers for me on the phones, and picturing this is so freaking funny to me that I have to get out there and actually witness it myself before I go to tutoring. I pull the door open and immediately Ford puts a hand up, like he’s shushing me. Whatever. I stand patiently while he chats on the phone about this person’s custom order and upcoming meeting with Spencer.

Then I sigh.

Then yawn.

“Can I help you?” Ford asks as he hangs up the phone.

“I think you’re trying to replace me, actually. Since when are you polite?”

“Rook, I am nothing if not professional.”

“Yeah, you’re about as professional as Ronin is honest.”

Ford’s whole face turns white. “What did you say?”

“It was a joke, I caught him in a lie last weekend right after he fed me that same line, only it was about him being honest.” Ford just stares at me for a second, then relief washes over his face. “What. The. Fuck?”

“How’s your tutor? Is it time to go?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, glancing up at the clock. “I do have to go or I’ll be late.” I think avoiding talking to Ford about anything to do with that tutor is a good idea right about now, so I give him a wave and skip out.

I think about what Gage will say to me tonight all the way over to the college and when I finally get there and park, he’s waiting for me outside again. “Wanna go to student lounge and study instead of the math center?”

“OK.” I could care less where he checks my work, as long as it gets checked and I can turn it in before midnight, because that’s the deadline for this set of problems. We walk across campus to the building that contains the bookstore and the only café-type place on the small campus, order our drinks, and then find a table near the back where there are only a few other students studying. I hand my paper over to Gage and busy myself watching people as I wait.

He works on it for a little bit, then hands it back with all the wrong answers circled in red and a short note about where I went wrong.

I’m not stupid at math, I just get mixed up at what I’m supposed to do at each step. I forget how, but once Gage points it out to me, it makes sense again. So I guess if I just tried a little harder to memorize the steps I might do better. Gage busies himself grabbing some paperwork from his backpack while I work and then I hand it back.

He checks it again. “Yeah, that’s good. Now just enter it into the computer and you’re all set.”

I do and then tick the little box that says I promise I didn’t cheat, and press enter.

“Done! And we’re early, it’s only seven forty-five.” I reach down to get my backpack so I can shove my shit inside and leave, but Gage slides some papers across the table at me. “What’s this?”

“Printouts of your friends, Rook. I hope you thought about what I said last week. They’re dangerous.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Gage, I think I know them better than you. They are the farthest thing from dangerous I’ve ever seen in my life. Maybe you’ve just been really sheltered or something?” I flutter my eyelashes a little to play it down and make him back off.

“Uh-huh.” He pushes the papers towards me with one finger. “Just read them, OK? Read them and then I’ll never say another thing about it. Deal?”

“Whatever. I already saw them, though. I looked it all up online.”

“This stuff isn’t online, Rook. So just read it.”

I pick up the stack of papers and read the first headline. It’s not a newspaper. It’s an FBI report. “What the fuck is this?”

“Just read it.”

It looks like your basic FBI wanted poster you’d see on TV, except it doesn’t say ‘wanted,’ it says ‘person of interest.’ And that phrase conjures up only one image since the 9/11 attacks. Terrorists. I look up at Gage and raise an eyebrow.

He pans his hands out in an innocent shrug. “Just read it.”

I continue. It’s all about Ronin. Height—so very, very tall. I snicker to myself. Weight—buffed the fuck out. Eye color—electrifying. Age—young. He’s only nineteen in this dossier. “Well, these are his general stats which I am already very familiar with. And his picture just makes me want to kiss the photo.” I look up with a smirk.

“You’re laughing now, but wait.”

I glare over at Gage and toss the paper back to him. “I’m just not interested. I don’t care what he did in the past or why the FBI thinks he’s important. It’s over. He’s a good guy. I love him. I’m thinking having his blue-eyed babies might be a good idea in about ten years.”

“Ronin Sean Flynn, age nineteen—”

“I said I’m not interested. Besides, that was years ago if he was just nineteen.”

“—picked up for human trafficking, cocaine distribution, grand larceny—”

My heart about beats out of my chest at the first charge. Human trafficking? “No! That’s not him. He didn’t do that stuff.” This is some kind of joke, for the show or something? I look around wildly.

“Rook, I swear to God, OK? The fucking FBI handed me these papers not two hours ago, they wanted me to tell you so you don’t get caught up in this, they would like you to talk to them—”

I grab my bag and bolt out the door, leaving Gage there with his stack of bullshit papers that might be ripping apart my whole world right now. I look around. Are they watching me? I stop in front of my truck, scanning the dark parking lot.

Nothing. No one out here at all.

I get in and take a few deep breaths. This is not my Ronin. Whatever those papers said, it’s a lie. He’s not involved in that kind of stuff, I know it. No man as gentle as him could possibly be involved in that stuff. I pull out of the parking lot, trying my best not to speed so I don’t get pulled over, and head east towards College Ave.

Shit. Who the fuck can I ask about this?

Why don’t I have any friends?

I chew on my cheek as I think. I have Elise, Spencer, Ford, Antoine, Ronin. That’s it. My whole fucking circle of friends could possibly be involved.

Except one, maybe.

Veronica.

I know for a fact that Spencer is a commitment-phobe, so even if some of this stuff with them is true—and I’m not even thinking it is yet, but even if it was—I don’t think Veronica would be involved. Spencer refuses to even call her his girlfriend.

I turn left on College and head up towards downtown to her tattoo shop. It’s Monday night so the place might not even be open. But it’s all I have right now.

Veronica, the girl who endured the agonizing pain of a bullet-induced scrape across her hip, called my ex an ass-faced bastard, and probably saved me from being dragged back to my own personal hell in Chicago, is as good as I’ve got as far as second opinions go.