Positively Mine Page 13

  The two of us end up playing pool against Rita and Wolf once the bikers take off.

  “You guys come here a lot?” I ask Rita. “It seems so…local.”

  She laughs. “It’s eclectic, that’s for sure. But it’s usually packed with Colman students. If you want something more upbeat you can go to Little Ivy down the street to hear bands. They are strict with the ID’s, though. Other than that, a couple of restaurant bars are good for a date night. That’s it in this podunk town.”

  When Viv rings a cow bell in our direction, I jump. The clock over her head says 1am.

  “Time to go, kids. It’s a school night.” She’s got a raspy smokers voice and you can tell she’s been around the block a few times. “I need my beauty sleep.”

  I realize other than us, the bar is now empty.

  We grab our coats and file onto the street and I hear Viv bolting the door behind us. The neon sign goes dark. A thin layer of ice coats the ground and we hang onto each other while we take turns climbing into the SUV. Just like on the hill, there is no one around and with all the empty storefronts, it feels like a ghost town.

  I drop everyone at their respective houses, which are pretty close to one another on various side streets near the college. Rita is the only one of her friends who still lives on campus. When I turn to ask Wolf where he needs me to take him, it’s obvious by the way he’s clawing Rita I can just return to the hill. I park in the circular drive in front of Miller and keep the heat on, and leave them to maul each other in the back seat.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Three weeks of J-term fly by. Prof. Stoker knows how to pack it in and we zip through chapters in our text book at twice the pace I was used to in her Intro class. But she makes it fun so I don’t really mind having to hole up in the library for hours each day to stay on top of it. It’s been a good excuse to avoid situations with alcohol, too, because Rita and Bryn have tried to get me back to The Pine several times. I’ve gotten over being alone in an empty dorm. It’s actually been kind of nice having the whole place to myself. I make it a point to walk past Mike’s room whenever I feel like it, just because I can.

  It turns out, not only am I the only freshman taking Plant Biology, I am also the ONLY female. There are ten of us total: two sophomores; seven juniors and me. Meeting Bryn the night before our first class made it a lot less awkward than it could have been. We sat next to each other the first day and have done so every day since. He’s an interesting guy. I’ve learned he has two moms, newly-married thanks to New York passing gay marriage, and he’s traveled all over the world with them in their search for the perfect orchid. It’s how he got interested in science.

  He’s impressed I was daring enough to consider pursuing something other than law and he tries to encourage me to be a science major. He motions around the room, “Look at the guy to girl ratio. It is totally win-win for you…”

  I laugh.

  Although the class has been straightforward, working off of an abbreviated syllabus, Prof. Stoker arrives the day before our last one with a grin on her face from ear to ear. “Gentlemen…and lady…I have some exciting news. I know I said we’d finish this course with a test tomorrow BUT I just got word that Turner Hall, the new Life Sciences building, is finally open for business, six months overdue. And there is a brand new, state-of-the-art laboratory just waiting for some of us guinea pigs to give it a test run.”

  Bryn and I lock eyes. Is she saying what we think she’s saying? We had planned on pulling an all-nighter in the library to study for the test.

  She continues, “So instead of a final exam, tomorrow we are going to the lab. Plan on meeting me at ten o’clock on the second floor of Turner Hall. We’ll work through lunch.”

  The class lets out a universal cheer and Bryn and I high-five each other.

  ***

  On Friday at 9:30am, my alarm clock wakes me, tuned to Colman’s WCOL radio station. Two female students, who sound like they are deliberately trying to make their voices sexier than they really are, talk about the newest Indie albums to become available on iTunes. I switch it off and notice something I haven’t heard in weeks: doors creaking open; upbeat greetings; the voices of people in the hall.

  I sit up and look out my window. There are dozens of freshmen unloading suitcases from mini-vans and SUV’s on the snow-covered hill. A pit forms in my stomach when I spot Mike, standing by a station wagon alongside what must be his mother and a couple of his siblings. I can’t help studying them. They all look alike. His mother has cropped hair and a freshly-scrubbed face devoid of make-up. She’s pointing to Mike’s room, telling him something, while holding onto a toddler who seems to be trying to break free and make a run for it. I glance at my clock, knowing I have to get to the lab but this is too interesting to turn away from. His sister is in pig tails and she’s leaning against the car, texting someone. Mike moves to the trunk and takes out a duffel bag, while his mom lets go of his brother’s hand to grab a large plastic bag from a home store. His brother takes off towards Miller’s lobby.

  Knock. Knock.

  “Laurel, are you there?” It’s Liz.

  I glance at my belly protruding over my pajama bottoms and clear my throat, “Yes. Um. But I’m not dressed.”

  “Just wanted to say hi. I can come back,” she calls through the door. “Damn it is cold up here!”

  I move closer to the door without opening it and say louder than I intend, “I’ll look for you later.”

  “Kay.”

  Her shoes clink down the hall.

  I pull on the maternity leggings I bought in the city and dig through my closet for a turtleneck, then grab the down vest I’ve been wearing every day this month. I ordered it online from a store in Maine via express mail after my first night back, realizing I needed a better cover. It’s a men’s size large, bright red, and does a nice job at hiding me. And, it’s been so cold, no one questions why I have it on ALL the time whether indoors or out. I slip on my snow boots and then toss my hair into a pony tail, examining my face in the mirror while I do. My cheeks are chapped pink from walking across campus in sub-degree temperatures, so I don’t need any blush. But I put on mascara and lip gloss, which I haven’t done since I arrived, not really knowing why. I say a Hail Mary and grab my bag, hoping I don’t run into Mike on my way out.

  But, that would be too easy….

  I’ve barely locked my door when a little boy scampers past me, veering in and out of incoming students, and then darting into the women’s bathroom.

  I’m not sure what to make of it until Mike comes bolting to the top of the stairs. He halts on the landing, looking left, then right, and we catch eyes for a second but he’s quick to look away. He’s out of breath and flushed. “I can’t find my little brother. My mom is having a heart attack over it.” He puts his hands on his hips.

  I point to the bathroom. His eyes follow my finger, “He’s in there?”

  I nod. “Do you want me to get him for you?”

  Mike lets out a sigh, “Would you mind?”

  “Of course not. What’s his name?”

  “Will.”

  My nerve endings tingle as I walk past him, close enough I can feel his winded breath on my face.

  It takes me all of two seconds to find Will once inside, because as soon as I call his name, he bolts out from a shower stall, giggling, and runs past the sinks and back into the hall. Mike swoops him up, kicking and screaming, and, turning his back to me he calls, “Thanks, Laurel.”

  They disappear down the stairs without another word. No further attempt to talk to me. Nothing. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I know I should be relieved but it actually pisses me off. A LOT.

  Barely acknowledging the hellos sent my way as I exit the dorm, I stomp through the snow to Turner Hall, repeating the same word over and over in my head. Jerk!

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The group is congregating outside the lab, waiting for Prof. Stoker to arrive. She’s not far behind and once it
is unlocked we wander around the shiny new work stations while she gets her bearings. She looks like a kid in a candy store. “I’ve worked so hard to get this. You have no idea,” she says more to herself than to us. Then finally, “Okay people, listen up. Everyone divide into groups of two, and then come up here and grab an experiment packet.”

  We do as told, Bryn and I teaming up, while she continues talking. “Today, for our final, we are going to be doing an experiment to observe the DNA from a variety of different plant species. To do so, we’ll be running an agarose gel, which most of you have probably done before, although maybe not Laurel yet.

  “From the data you collect, I want you to come up with an explanation for how the plants are evolutionarily related to one another. Your write up should include a figure showing the gel results and a few paragraphs describing your reasoning. Everything you need to conduct the experiment is listed in the packet and the supply room is down the hall. Before we begin, though, I’m required to disclose that the chemical we’ll be using to stain the gels, Ethidium Bromide, is a mutagen. It is very important you wear gloves when handling this substance. It can cause DNA damage. And, especially, if there is any chance you are pregnant, you cannot participate.”

  The entire class cracks up except for me. My body freezes.

  Prof. Stoker holds up her hands, “I know. I know. 90% of you don’t have to worry about it. But I have to divulge it.”

  I notice that Bryn is eyeing me with a strange expression.

  “Don’t look at me.” I spit out as convincingly as I can and he laughs.

  I clench my hands. The air in the room suddenly seems much thicker. I stare at the experiment packet, trying not to appear as panicked as I feel. How can I get out of this? It’s the final!

  “Laurel, did you hear me?” Bryn breaks my spooling thoughts.

  I clear my throat. “Um, I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said let’s divide up the equipment list. Then we can go to the supply room and get everything at once.”

  “Oh, okay.” I see he’s turned to page three in the packet and I do the same, my hands shaking. I put them behind my back.

  He reads, “Part 1. DNA isolation. We will need microcentrifuge tubes, DNeasy mini spin columns, QIA shredder mini collection tubes, a mortar and pestle…”

  The temperature rises inside me. I feel tiny droplets forming on my forehead. My palms are damp. “Um, Bryn?”

  He glances at me, then gawks. “Are you okay? You’re bright red.”

  “I just got really, really dizzy.”

  “Why don’t you take your vest off? It’s hot in here.”

  I bite my lip. “I think I need to splash my face with some water. I’ll, um, be right back.”

  “Meet me in the supply room.”

  I rush out the door, and search the floor for a ladies room. There isn’t one, so I head down to the lobby and spot one near the front entrance. I scramble inside and lock myself into a stall. My heart is racing.

  I don’t know how much time passes but it must be quite a while, because soon Prof. Stoker is calling my name in the lobby. I don’t respond.

  The sound of her voice gets closer and closer until the door rolls open. “Laurel, you in here?”

  My first instinct is not to answer, but she can see my boots under the stall so I lie, “I just threw up.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry.” She comes inside. “There’s a nasty flu going around. I hope you aren’t getting it.”

  “I feel dizzy, too.”

  “Do you want me to have one of the students walk you to the health center?”

  I can see her hand is now draped over the stall. I flush the toilet and unlock it, grabbing some toilet paper to wipe my face.

  She backs up as I do, probably fearful of catching my fake flu. I have to admit I’m proud of my eleventh hour improvisation. “No. I can go by myself.”

  “Would you like me to grab your things?” There is such kindness in her voice, I can’t help feeling pangs of guilt.

  “If you don’t mind. Thanks.”

  She begins to walk out of the bathroom.

  But, instead of me leaving well enough alone and allowing her to return upstairs satisfied with my story, I blurt out, “What do I do about the final? I’m not going to be able to do the lab.” It comes out in a nervous, high-pitched squeal and she twists to look at me. The concerned expression that was just there is now changed to quizzical, her eyebrows raised. It’s like she’s had an “Aha” moment.

  She continues to observe me so I switch on the faucet and lather my hands, just to do something. Then she finally answers, “Don’t worry about the lab.”

  I grab for a paper towel in the dispenser but it’s empty. “Are you sure?” I gulp.

  “It’s fine. I’ll come up with a make-up assignment and email it to you. You can get it to me when you feel better.”

  There’s something in her voice, on her face…is she onto me?

  She pushes the door. “I’ll send Bryn down with your book bag.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The loss of wheels in the dead of winter turns out to be paralyzing. I’d gotten used to getting in my grandmother’s truck for anything from a trip to the pharmacy, to finding a decent cup of decaf, to my regular visits with Dr. Adler. As a result, I’ve skipped a couple prenatal visits and my pregnancy support meetings.

  Dr. Adler’s office has left several messages, including a few from the doctor himself. He’s concerned. I only have ten weeks to go, and I haven’t been in to see him. I should have had a glucose screening test two weeks ago. Am I getting prenatal care elsewhere? Please call the office to let them know if I am no longer a patient.

  Alison has reached out to me also. She knows I no longer have the truck, and she’s offered to help find me rides to meetings. She, too, wants to know what I’m doing about my prenatal care.

  I don’t call either of them back.

  The bookstore has become my source for clothing since I’ve outgrown every slouchy sweater, all the things I bought with Tara in the city, and even my magical red vest. I thought about ordering more maternity clothes online but with my bank account dwindling on the brink of being totally depleted, my only means of paying would be my father’s Visa card. It’s not an option. So now, as I grow bigger, I purchase larger and larger Colman sweatshirts and drawstring pants. I’ve moved into the men’s department now, and I have to say, they’re doing a decent job covering me up. My face and butt are even rounder now, off-setting my basketball of a stomach. In these baggy clothes, I just look fat – twenty-five pounds fatter to be precise. I’ve stopped looking at myself naked in the mirror.

  The clothing department is upstairs with one lone dressing room, and the clerks behind the registers downstairs leave me to try on whatever I want. I think they are beginning to talk about me, though. I heard some whispering that sounded like “she should lay off the all-you-can-eat cafeteria food” one evening when I was in here.

  I don’t care. It’s an easy place for me to pick stuff up, and my father doesn’t seem to notice when the bills reach him that I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on sweats this winter alone. If he has, he hasn’t said anything.

  As I stand at the counter with yet another pile of clothes, I wait for the clerk to run everything through. It’s 8:50pm on Friday, and the bookstore is empty with the exception of me and this pimply-faced high school kid who doesn’t seem to know how to work the register. It’s not like I’m in a rush or anything. I have nowhere I need to be. I’ve declined every social invite I’ve received since J-term ended: first by feigning the flu; then blaming homework overload. Finally, people stopped bothering to include me at all which makes it really easy, although kind of depressing at the same time.

  While I wait, I can hear throngs of students clambering past the door, noisy with the enthusiasm of a Friday night. There’s only a week until midterms, so this is the last party weekend before everyone has to buckle down. There is an unusually loud energy in the
air tonight.

  Now the cashier can’t seem to get the scanner gun to work, and there is no supervisor around to help him, so he starts to manually type in every bar code number. My eyes wander over to the Colman school spirit table, and out of boredom I start riffling through the hats, scarves, mugs and magnets all adorned with Colman’s signature blue and green “C.”

  Bells jingle as someone enters the store, and I am hopeful a manager has returned who can show this kid how to check me out; otherwise I’ll be here ’til midnight. Instead, when I turn to look, it’s Liz appearing just as surprised to see me as I am her.

  “Laurel?”

  I instinctively pull the two sides of my coat together and fake a smile. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “Ran out of tampons.” The clerk blushes and coughs at this information. She doesn’t seem to notice and treads across the room to stand right in front of me, too close, and with the eight inches she has on me, I am forced to crick my neck to look up at her.

  “Where’ve you been, Laurel?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You, like, disappeared entirely.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Uh, yeah, you have.” She walks down the aisle with the toothpaste, toothbrushes, soaps, shampoos, razors, a collage of condoms and any other self-maintenance item a college student might need in a pinch and grabs a box of Tampax. Then she plops it on the counter. I don’t answer, but it doesn’t seem to matter. “You should come out tonight.”

  She’s chirpy and bubbly, maybe even a little bit buzzed already. And though my first thought is to say no, I’ve been so isolated for so long, “Okay,” comes out of my mouth instead.

  Soon, the two of us are standing in the crowded kitchen of an off-campus house that belongs to four junior guys Liz has become friends with. She is right at home, and I can tell she’s been here a lot based on how she helps herself to beers in their fridge and snacks in the pantry, not to mention how two of them slap her on the ass as they walk by and she giggles. I take a beer from her when she offers me one, though I don’t take a sip.