Page 10 of Notorious Man on Campus

My ability to hold out against him deflates. What’s the point? He reads me like I’m advertising my innermost thoughts in neon, seeing everything inside my heart and soul.

“Why shouldn’t she hate them?” I say, not really meaning it. “I’m going home. If she had her way I’d be home every weekend.”

“But you’re not going to do that, are you? How’d you get her to let you come to SPU in the first place?”

“My school advisor and younger sisters pressured her. She knows it’s a good opportunity. I think she’s truly conflicted, taking great pleasure and pride in me coming to here even though her hate for the place has been ingrained over the years.”

“Why is that? Because of Jimmy?” I hear the fear in his voice. He’s worried Mom knows his secret, our secret, but she doesn’t. I shake my head.

“No. It was even before Jimmy. I’m not sure what happened, because she never talks about it, but I think it might have something to do with the man … I don’t know.” I shrug. No need to share like we’re old friends, because we aren’t, according to our agreement, even if he does seem interested. He’s made it clear we’re enemies, so if he’s interested, I better be doubly careful. He nods. His eyes make me shiver, like he guesses what I didn’t say, that my mom’s grudge has something to do with my father and his desertion. Pure speculation, because I don’t know a thing about him except he was one of the bastard elitist snobs who can’t be trusted—Mom’s words, not mine.

“Since my family comes to every game, it’s best that you stay away.”

I open my mouth, irrational hurt stinging my eyes, but I don’t care. That’s what I tell myself.

“Keeping our past in the past is for your own good, too, Nyla.”

I know what he means, that it wouldn’t do me any good to run into his brother and father, and it wouldn’t do me any good to have my mother find out I’m living at BMOC House. Another unhealthy secret.

But I keep that to myself. No need to let Brick know how much I’m hiding.

Chapter 5

Brick

In spite of my unplanned conversation with Nyla, I make it to the weight room before everyone else as usual and lift my ass off for an hour before my first class of the day, ethics. Everyone has to take it to graduate, a new requirement this year.

So when I walk into the stadium style classroom that seats a hundred students, I shouldn’t be surprised when I see Nyla standing in the center aisle looking for a seat.

“Hey, there’s Nyla.” Roman picks up his pace, ignoring the half dozen girls between us and Nyla who are trying to get our attention, and heads straight for her, waving and grinning. He likes Nyla, finds her attractive because who doesn’t?

Walking down the aisle, I watch and listen to him flirt with her. Schooling my expression isn’t easy because he’s irritating the hell out of me. Not that I have a vested interest, but Majik made it clear I was to keep the so-called hornballs from BMOC House away from her. Roman counts as a first-rate hornball if there ever was one.

Before I get close enough to insert myself into their conversation, Willow Ford, the ultimate sorority princess, throws herself in my path. We spent a night together last semester because why not? And in spite of my warning that we weren’t a thing, that it was a one-and-done affair, she’s like a bad penny, as Majik would say, bouncing back relentlessly.

“Brick, I didn’t know you were in this class.” She smiles, her whitened teeth blinding, but at least it’s not what I’d call a sunny smile. More like a predatory smile. But I’m up to the challenge of going round two with Willow. I smile back, keeping my eyes on hers in spite of how she thrusts her breasts at me. I know, because I’m well practiced at exercising my peripheral vision, a benefit of playing QB for years.

“What kind of entertainment is there for BMOC House’s football season kickoff party this year?”

“You, Willow. Didn’t you know? You’re the entertainment. We’re all going to watch you hold court.” A blush emphasizes the pleased look that raises her entire face—mouth, eyebrows, forehead, all of it. She trills a laugh and edges closer. I look over her head and notice Professor Oliver emerging from his office and heading to his podium at the front of the room.

“I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.” She talks in a conspiratorial voice, like we’re plotting a crime. And she’s right. If she was our entertainment, it would be a crime.

“I’m sure you would. But don’t worry. We have a band. Ghost Hounds. They agreed to do our party as a warmup before they go on the road opening for Bob Seger.”

“How the heck did you get someone so big?” Her obvious awe and admiration presses a no-no button in me, so I button up my vest of steel that metaphorically blocks darts to my heart.

“One of Majik’s foster kids, Jazzy Romano, is a rock musician and sent them our way.” I smile at her surprise and touch her jaw, gently closing her mouth. She’s about to volley back some flirting, but I cut her off. “Later. Class is on. I’m sitting with Roman.” I move around her and jog down to where Roman is taking a seat next to Nyla. I intend to move past Nyla and Roman to sit on his other side, but another chick takes the seat. She looks at me hopefully and I stop short.

“Sit on the end,” Roman says. Next to Nyla.

Shit. For a full-grown man in his senior year of college, I feel more and more like I’ve gone back to high school every time I’m forced to spend any time with Nyla. And it’s not a happy place.

Concentrating on the prof and taking notes on my iPad, I have to admit, is easier with Nyla’s nose-to-the-grindstone focus on her notebook. Paper and pen. I glance over now and then at her precise, graceful handwriting, the well-organized sections, the underlined and starred items. I wouldn’t be surprised if she whipped out some colored pencils and started color-coding by category.

My notes are thorough, though admittedly more cryptic. And I’m lucky to be using an iPad because I’m far better at keyboarding than I am at handwriting. I almost ask her what’s with the pen and paper, but it takes a second to figure out she doesn’t have the money for a tablet.

“Read The Nicomachean Ethics by Aristotle, Books 1- 5 on The Human Good, Moral Virtue, and Justice for next class and your first essay quiz. I’ll also be assigning you group projects that you’ll be working on all semester and that will count for half your grade in lieu of a final exam. See you all in two days.” Professor Oliver stays at his podium while a dozen students rush at him with whatever questions or comments they have. The guy stands in the pocket and takes it like a true warrior. He glances up and our eyes meet. I nod in acknowledgment. He grins. He’s a fan of football, but I’m not going to talk to him today.