“So, what does your day involve?” I ask.
“Well, I’ve got American Lit this afternoon. Until then, I’ll probably read. Write. Have random chats with people I’m lucky enough to run into in the Gizmo so early in the morning.”
I giggle a little awkwardly, and try to remind myself that I am Maya Waters, I am bold, and I am beautiful.
And it is true. Though lately I’ve been forgetting it with all of my personal problems.
“That sounds lovely,” I say, smiling and looking out on the quad.
“Hey,” Grant leans in, and he laces his voice with concern. “You okay? Seriously. You seem like you’ve got something on your mind right now, like you’re distracted. I’ve got time for that long story you mentioned, by the way. Unless you don’t want to tell it. That’s cool, too.”
Right at this moment, two girls come in and sit down at the table next to us.
Grant and I both go silent, and his face tightens as he looks at them. We’re thinking the same thing.
Really? Nineteen open tables in here and you choose the one right next to us?
I sigh, and Grant notices.
“Or…” he starts, then hesitates, and waves his hand in the air.
“Or what?”
“Or, we could just hang out at my place. I’m in the yellow apartments right off campus living with my brother Sean this term.”
“I didn’t know your brother goes here.”
“Went here,” Grant corrects. “Sean is sticking around for a year to work in Greenfield down the road. I moved there to be close to the frat and to help him cut down on rent. Plus, Finn, my old roommate, was able to move in with our good buddy DJ in the Dalton dorms. Alex moved in with April. As you know.”
“Yeah I know that. So, why’d you hesitate just now?”
He laughs. “I was going to say we could go hang there and smoke a bowl and talk about it. But seven in the morning on a Thursday? I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Even for me.”
I check my watch. “Actually, it’s seven-fifteen,” I smirk and wiggle my eyebrows, then add, “And it’s legal in Illinois now.”
“Freaking A, Maya. I missed you. Let’s roll. Have you ever been to the yellow apartments?”
“No.”
My heart flutters thinking about all of those drunken conversations we had during fall term.
Here I was pretending like I didn’t know him this morning.
Now I want to know what he was thinking about while he was staring out that window.
Even more so, I want to know what’s in that darn notebook of his.
2
Maya
The yellow apartments are barely off campus, unlike my apartment. There are twelve units in a three-story building, and it is quite nice. Well, nice by college standards. It’s got a small kitchen and two rooms and is obviously an older design.
Inside, Grant’s got the place decked out. I mean, the coffee table is just a piece of plywood covered in red leather on top of two cinderblocks. Very bougie.
I laugh as we sink into the couch and comment on it. “That’s so Green State,” I joke. College students have a penchant for creatively making household items from things that aren’t normally supposed to be household items.
“I made it when I was drunk one time.” He chuckles as he packs us a bowl.
I’m no pothead, but at this point, I’m so stressed I’m wondering if I should apply for a medical card, which is a newly legal option in Illinois. But I’ll settle for this smoke session with Grant where I can try to think through my twelve-thousand-dollar problem.
“You may do the honors,” he says, handing me the bowl with fresh greens. I take a hit and feel the relaxation come over me. It’s an interesting high mixed with my coffee.
“I don’t usually smoke in the morning,” I say.
“Me neither. I don’t usually smoke at all, actually. But you’re stressed,” he says, then takes a hit.
“How do you know that?”
“It’s written all over your face. I’m good at reading people. I do it for a living.”
“What do you mean, for a living?”
“I’m a shaman.”
“You’re a man who does ancient rituals?”
He laughs.
“I’m kidding. I’m not a shaman, technically. But I wish I was a shaman. I’d be a good one. But alas, I’m just good at reading people’s energies. It’s sort of a weird application of my psychology major. I try and read people’s psychological profiles.”
My eyes widen. Am I seriously high, or is Grant—a frat boy—talking seriously about energies?
“Well, the psychological stuff I could see, but that energy reading is bull,” I say, and decide to call him out. My mother is a part-time chakra reader, so I’ve got more knowledge than the average person in this field.
“Not bull,” he says. “I can read energies. I can read tarot cards too. I kind of have an instinct for it at this point.”
I finish my hit and stare at him like he’s an alien.
So, the chiseled sculpture model with perfect abs, among other things, is a Renaissance man?
He sees the disbelief on my face, and gets up, walks to his room, then pulls out a set of tarot cards.
“I mean, I’m no expert. But I can give you a general reading if you want.”
He takes another hit and hands the bowl to me.
“Nah, I’m good,” I say.
“Pull one card,” he says. “And I’ll tell you what it means.” He flashes his gray eyes toward me. “And then I want to hear this long story of yours.”
I pull a card, and when I see it, I’m taken aback.
“The hanged man!” I exclaim. It’s an image of a man hanging upside down by one foot.
“What does it mean?”
“When the hanged man appears, you’ve got a decision hanging over your head that you’re not making, and thus not moving one way or the other. To move to the next stage, you’ve got to make a decision, pick a road and get on with it, and suffer the consequences, good or bad.”
Damn. So accurate.
I look up at Grant in disbelief. “What were you thinking about earlier, when you were staring out the window?”
“Uh, that’s random.”
“Not random. Was it something you need to make a decision about?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ll tell you. I was thinking about the consequences of joining the Alpha Z fraternity.”
“You’re not happy you did?”
“People tend to have certain stereotypes in their head about ‘frat’ guys. I don’t believe I fit those. I look at it as a way to have brothers whom you can grow with during the most stressful years of our lives. Not everyone sees it that way though.”
“The Alpha Z’s aren’t a normal fraternity though. Everyone loves you guys.”
“Aww. You’re too kind. But the baseball team found out, and now I’m not in the starting rotation for the year. The behind-the-scenes gossip is that Coach Johnson hates the baseball players in the fraternity, so he punishes them in silly little ways, like giving us less playing time.”