SOME PART OF ME IS startled when Derek approaches me in the hallway outside our Calc classroom. His hair looks freshly pomaded, eyes ablaze with something akin to excitement.
Derek has been slowly reviving himself these past two weeks, and comes to school looking more alive than I've ever known him. Out of habit, I almost roll my eyes at him, but refrain. We've been talking more, in Calc and Music. He thinks I've given up on the Revolution — since I make an effort not to bring it up around him — but the fact that it is still very much alive keeps me from letting him get too close.
"Hey," he begins, sidling up against the wall I'm leaning on. "You're still here."
Last period has recently ended, so I assumed he'd have raced out of school as soon as possible. "Yeah. You are too."
"Waiting for someone?"
Keeping my eyes trained on the floor, I say, "Benjamin." I'm waiting for him to come back from his Mathletes finals. From what he had told me in a succinct text, the ride back from the host school was long enough to lull him to sleep.
Benjamin asked to wait here for him, but made no mention of the actual results. He frustratingly said he wants to deliver the news in person. What a tease.
Derek seems to want to say more, but I quickly divert the conversation to another topic. "How are your kids?"
Confused creases fold between his eyebrows, only momentarily, before Derek realises that I'm referring to the kids he teaches guitar to. "Good. They're a smart group."
But even as he says this, I notice his jaw tense and the storminess of his eyes. It's not anger per se, but definitely different to that spirited Derek I've been seeing lately. Maybe it's a sore point to talk about his students. He obviously cares for them deeply, and the more people that know about his partiality to them, the more people could use it against him.
Of course, I would never drag children into this. But I know he has a dark view of the world, shaped by years being exposed to its shadowiest corners. Call it his weakness that he's been hiding for who-knows-how-long. Having someone suddenly intrude on such a personal secret must be quite aggravating, so never mind whether Derek trusts me or not. At this point, just my knowing about this is a risk that he might be regretting taking.
I'm rethinking what to say next, when a voice interrupts. "Sophie! We— what are you doing here?"
Benjamin storms up beside me. His fiery glare pierces Derek, who shuffles hesitantly backwards. My chest flutters with trepidation. The volatile history between Derek and Benjamin — before I even arrived at Carsonville — is no secret to me, from the fist fight they were in with Reece and Drew at the start of the year to Derek sabotaging the Mathletes last year.
But something else occurs to me for the first time. To even make it to the New York semifinals and finals, Derek must have had to play the part in all the months leading up to it. Tryouts, practises, prelims, qualifiers.
Benjamin did mention he was rather apathetic but for months, Derek had to have been dedicated enough to pull it off. Did Derek and Benjamin behave like friends? Did they get to know each other? Does Benjamin feel like he was betrayed in more ways than one?
"Derek was just leaving," Benjamin spits, looking menacingly at him. "Wasn't he?"
"Yeah." Derek sighs tiredly. "But before I go, I'm sorry about last year. You deserved better, and I hope you found that this year. See you, Soph."
"That's a shit apology."
"That's my best." Neither boys speak or look at each other, coldly brushing shoulders as Derek pushes past us.
Benjamin doesn't know the magnitude of what Brittany has against him. I do. So I can somewhat reconcile the terrible things he has done, but not completely. After all, the speed with which Derek left obviously points to some leftover guilt.
I cough lightly, clearing the awkward fog in the air. "How was it?"
Forcefully unclenching his jaw, Benjamin replies sullenly, "We won."
"That's great! I knew you could do it. Come on," I nudge his side with my elbow. "Don't look so sad just because of Derek." A few seconds pass. Then, his mouth stretches into a watery smile.
"There we go. Not so hard." Benjamin's smile gets progressively larger, beams of warmth spreading through the atmosphere. "Tell me all about it. What schools were there? Did you see Parmillan?" I ask, referring to one of the rival schools from New Jersey he mentioned.
"Yeah, they were. The second we walked in, evil eyes and trash talk started flying. It was amazing we didn't get disqualified for coarse language, I tell you..." We walk out of school together while Benjamin regales me with a recount of his day.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Quentin, Callum and I organised a guided tour around Halston University to get a taste of the campus today. Callum drove us in his camo green pickup, jabbering the whole hour's ride long. Gentle morning sunlight warms my face when I exit his car, illuminating the lush, daisy-filled grass and picnic benches. Scattered around the lawn are red brick buildings, each with rows and rows of windows.
As a group, we begin our trek to the student union. Quentin supposedly corresponded with the guide to meet us there at ten. Though the building looks rather quiet, I trust Quen's organisation skills completely. I use the map on the back cover of the university prospectus to navigate, taking in the scenery as we walk. We pass the clock tower, and I can see the top of the faraway stadium peering over the trees.
"Well, he should be here..." Quen mutters, upon our arrival at the front entrance of the student union.
There's no-one outside. I suggest, "Maybe he went inside?"
Just at that moment, a young man calls out. He seems to have come from the opposite direction from which we came. "Is one of you Quentin?"
"I am." Quen raises his hand, and exchanges a handshake when he reaches us. "Carter, right?"
"Yes. Nice to meet you," the man says, shaking each of our hands. He wears a lanyard with a name tag, keys and a pen hanging off the string.
"This is Sophie and Callum," Quentin introduces.
Carter smiles widely, gesturing to the pathway. "Shall we?" We enthusiastically follow him as the tour begins.
"So, you probably already know the student union. Inside is one of the five cafeterias on campus, as well as a games lounge and a few lecture halls. It's basically hangout central, especially in summer because of the bomb air conditioning."
As Carter explains the purpose of each building we stroll past, he mostly keeps his gaze on us. Sometimes he will look at whatever architectural feature he is describing, but surely enough comes back to fix on us his friendly smile.
"Do you know what you want your major to be?" Carter asks. "It'll help me decide where to take you and what route to walk."
"Callum and I are studying Engineering," Quentin answers.
I sigh, "No idea."
"No worries. That's absolutely fine," Carter assures me, his eyes fixed on my face. "I was like that, too, coming into college."
"When did you figure out what you wanted to do?"
"After my first semester. The good thing about Halston is you can try different courses. Drop some, switch some, add some. Taste everything till you find your favourite. You're in absolutely no rush, despite what high schools teach."
I smile in relief. "Huh. You don't say."
Carter taps his nose clandestinely. "Oh yeah, big government secret. Teenages don't have to make all the adult decisions right on the cusp of adulthood."
We all share a laugh at that, before Carter presents to us the music building and Callum goes crazy with excitement. He shows us around the interior, giving us all the inside information about which people to see about which specialty. Afterwards, he leads us to another building that is stark and new. Gleaming metal and glass, rather than red brick.
"Here we have our new Design Sciences and Innovation building," Carter explains, his gaze skimming my face and lips. The way he focuses so intently on my features is so confusing, yet vaguely familiar. I decide to keep quiet about it until I can better remember what it is. "It's only three years old. It's equipped with state of the art labs, maker spaces and study rooms. It's got 3D printers, anechoic rooms, textile rooms, everything you need to create. Most people who use this place are postgrads, since your lecture halls are in the regular, older buildings. "
Callum clasps his hands together, rubbing them together in anticipation. "That's sick."
The sun rises higher in the watery blue sky as the tour continues, resting at its apex by the time we've finished.
Surprisingly, Carter is very thorough in his description of the courses available, the history of each accommodation building and the climate of the campus. He's such a warm, quiet soul. As we strolled around, it's just nice to bask in it, never feeling obliged to talk but always feeling welcomed.
"Any more questions?"
Having done a full circle around the grounds, we are once again outside the student union. With his thumbs nestled through his belt loops, Carter rocks backwards and forwards on his feet. His face is open and curious.
"Nope," Quentin chirps, "Heard everything I needed."
Callum agrees, "Same."
"Definitely," I smile. "Thank you so much Carter."
"Alright, well, get home safe. Maybe I'll see you around campus next year."
With friendly smiles, we depart. "Guys, I'm going to use the bathroom."
"Kay," Callum chirps. "Meet us at the truck."
When I emerge from the student union bathroom, a flutter of surprise stirs in my chest when I see Carter sitting behind the reception desk. He is quietly reading a novel, one hand holding the paperback and the other pinching his bottom lip in concentration.
"Hey, Carter," I call. To my confusion, he doesn't respond. The odd qualities about him I noticed earlier bubble to the forefront of my mind; how he always stayed in the middle of the group instead of leading in front, his fixation on our faces—
"—Oh, Sophie, hello," Carter greets me, upon noticing my presence by the approach of my shadow on the desk.
Teasingly, I ask, "Didn't hear me before?"
"I— uh, no actually. I can't really hear anything. I'm deaf." Realisation slowly dawns on me, the various habits I observed today stitching themselves together to present the full picture.
"Welp. I feel like such an insensitive idiot asking that now." In embarrassment, I drop my head towards my toes and try to find something to busy my frantic fingers with, which happens to be the zip of my jacket.
"You didn't know, Sophie. Chill. And, I can't lip read if you're not facing me."
Carter's nonchalant cheerfulness puts me at ease, and I raise my head to him. "You can lip read? That's impressive."
"Mm, to an extent. It's not totally accurate, but I can fill in some words based on context."
"Well, I still think that's majorly cool. Can I get some of the residence hall pamphlets before I head home?"
"Sure thing." Carter pushes the wheely chair across the reception booth, plucking two brochures for me, meanwhile making casual conversation. "Where's home for you?"
"Carsonville."
"Ah, you're from Carsonville, too? Go, Royals."
My eyebrows lift in surprise at the notion of Carter once walking the halls of Carsonville High School. There probably wasn't such a totalitarian dictatorship in place like there is now. What was it like? Was the newspaper still popular? Was he ever bullied?
"No way," I chuckle, taking the pamphlets from his outstretched hands. "I can't believe you went there."
"What's so hard to believe?"
"You're so... so worldly and sophisticated and nice — at least, I get the impression you are. And maybe Carsonville High was different when you attended, but it's kind of gone to shit now."
At my candid statement, Carter actually laughs out loud. "Can't wait to leave, huh?"
"Mostly, yeah. A small part of me, though, has this feeling that the adult world is ten times worse than high school and will make me rue the day I ever bitched about it."
"Depends how bad high school was for you. I have a sister at Carsonville right now, and she thinks it's great. So, she'll probably get a shock when she leaves."
His admission has me leaning forward in curiosity. "You have a sister? Do I know her?"
"Maybe," Carter shrugs. "She's a senior, too. Madison. Madison Murdoch."