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2
Chapter Two: Yuri the Fish

DEIRDRE held her hand out flat, arm straight, palm facing the safe. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, furrowed her brow. Slowly, the lock began to move, first one way, then the other, finally making a loud, metallic "Clack-clak-clack-clak." The door swung wide open and Charlie started clapping respectfully. Deirdre stood aside and bowed.
"That was nice, D. Fastest time yet."
Ion stood agape. Deirdre put her glove back on.
"What was that?"
She smiled, a tantalizing smile.
"My secret. I'm a kinetic, which is to say, I'm telekinetic, pyrokinetic, and telepathic to a certain extent."
"Telepathic?" he wondered, holding her gloved hand for just a brief moment in his, then "How much so?"
She stared right into his eyes.
"I can tell what you're thinking right now. I shared your dream last night, too."
Ion shut his eyes as a reflex, as if that would somehow shut out his, er, drifting thoughts, which became exponentially more explicit the more he tried not to think them.
Charlie pushed them apart and said, "All right, all right. We can't spare a moment out here," very matter of factly, followed by a quick, "Randy, you stay here. Watch out for the goon squad, all right?"
Randy's reply came as a husky "Yes'm," evidence of a slightly more rural upbringing than he would have liked them to believe.
The three of them plunged into the darkness, and the safe closed behind them. Deirdre lifted her hand, setting it aflame in brilliant shades of cerulean and mauve. She touched a finger to the wall, and little torches lit themselves all along a steep iron stairwell down to a rusty steel trapdoor, which led to a hallway.
"Nice," Ion mumbled, standing fairly close to her.
The "hallway" was little more than a crawlspace only about six and a half feet high, with large heating pipes running along it, very much like the other tunnels that connected the various buildings on campus. Except, of course, that these were built deeper into the ground and were not connected to the rest of the system in any way. Charles informed him that these tunnels were probably far more complex than they had discovered so far, but neither of them had dared to wander them for fear of getting lost.
At the end of this particular tunnel was a room with a space for a room label that had long stood empty. The little brass doorknob was tarnished and worn with age, and the hinges protested a little at being opened.
The room itself was unremarkable. Four filing cabinets reached to the ceiling on one wall, a large slate and easel were propped up on the other. But at the end of the room directly opposite the door was another, barricaded with a lab table bolted into the floor. On the table were two large objects; an aquarium with a tube running up to one of the heating pipes, and a stainless steel cage. The aquarium was empty, but the cage held a small ferret, who was busily constructing an instrument from parts of a hamster wheel. A turtle's shell collected dust on top of the cage.
As they approached, the ferret seemed to mutter something in Russian, testing the instrument against the cage. It tuned around and proceeded to start picking the cage's locked door. It looked up at the intruders and cursed in very thick slavic.
Ion blinked. Charlie snatched the instrument away from the ferret and tossed it into the fishtank.
"This is Bob," he said, pointing at the creature.
"How do you do?" it replied, not actually moving its mouth.
A goldfish swam down out of the tube and picked up the strange instrument, before turning to look at the newcomer.
"Whatcha lookin' at, bub?" it said gruffly in a downtown brooklyn accent, before swimming up the tube quickly.
"That," Charlie explained, "was Yuri."
"Yuri," Ion thought aloud, "and Bob. You know, Charlize, the way you were talking about the truth being hidden, I was expecting something a bit more profound than a couple psychic pets," then, as an afterthought, "Not that they aren't an impressive, uh, contribution to science, of course."
Charles glared at a point just inside one of the file cabinets.
"They're not nearly as impressive as what we found in these files. Yuri and Bob are, in fact, a direct result of our scientific application of the data stored in this room, all of which I'm sure will be of great interest to you."
He reached into a drawer of the cabinet and pulled out one such file.
"It seems," he said as he handed the file to Ion, "that sometime between eighteen to twenty years ago, this entire network of tunnels was leased indefinitely by one Genera Corporation, an up-and-coming biotech company with its eye on a significant government contract. Apparently, they were in the process of attempting to create a transgenic, sentient, self-replicating war machine. Shortly afterward, the company faced a significant blow to public relations when one of its scientists was involved in a rape case following what Genera claimed was a 'severe allergic reaction' to a new 'pharmaceutical product.' Needless to say, it was all hushed up with astounding speed."
Ion opened the file, and saw a series of forensic photographs, one of which was his mother's face. He turned the page and saw a newspaper clipping detailing the "mysterious case," urging its readers to help aprehend the heinous perpetrator. Another page contained a tabloid cover with a fuzzy black-and-white of a creature, doubled up on the sidewalk in a mess of rags and blood and fur, policemen standing over it, guns drawn, with the simple headline "Allergic Reaction?" Held to this page with a paperclip was a laminated ID card, with blood caked into the plastic. Beneath the beady-eyed, sharp boned, spectacled, mousy face of a Genera scientist was a caption. "Hello, my name is ALBERT JONES, 41, from HARTFORD, CN."
He could bear no more of that man's unblinking stare. He gave the file back to Charlie and fought the urge to vomit.
Charlie nodded.
"The case began as rape/double homicide, because it was discovered that a security guard at Genera as well as the rape victim's husband had been killed, but later it was reduced to separate rape/homicide and homicide."
"Why the change?" Ion asked, still reeling.
Charlie obliged.
"The husband had a bullet in his chest, from a sniper. A year later, the sniper admitted responsiblity and blew himself up in a shopping mall. The case remains unsolved, but closed."
Deirdre touched his arm. It felt like a flicker of light in a very dark place.
"I know what this feels like," she said, "those bastards got my family too."
"What she means," Charlie explained, "is that she suspects Genera Corp or one of its competitors kidnapped her mother, presumably to extract a gene for telekinesis. Which was completely unneccessary, of course, because only a single cell would be needed, unless there was other experimentation going on. However, I do tend to agree with her assumption, as I have found evidence that a top officer from Genera is the pricipal founder and sponsor of ArmaTech, Incorporated, which went public six months after the Genera fiasco."
So... Ion and Deirdre had more in common than he thought. He was the result of this experiment, and her mother was taken from her because some executive couldn't let it go. Damnable... The whole, crappy deal was just damnable.
"Still, despite this, they simply left everything here, like they were waiting for someone to find it. Here, this file contains an abstract of the entire project that, we believe, culminated in you."
He handed him a brown file, closed with string. It was labeled "Prometheo-Chimera Project, Authorized Personnel Only."
"Congratgulations, Ion," Charlie proclaimed, "You're a success."
"Do me a favor, Charlie," Ion murmured, "stop talking."

--<:<::V::>:>--

Ion awoke the next morning to a brilliant light that penetrated the curtains in his dorm. Everything was very fuzzy looking, and he had to squint to read his alarm clock. Apparently, the next morning was, in fact, the next afternoon. He hoped it was still Saturday.
He got up to discover that Sir Randolph had vacated the premises.
Good riddance, he thought. Not that he particularly despised Randy, but rather that he found him to be quite the annoyance. As he supposed most roomates were. Of course, he couldn't be sure, as he had grown up the only child in the family, and really never had to share his space with anyone. It was definitely an eye-opening experience.
Oh, woe for the essays that now bore the mark of Mr. Golding's incessant partying, depriving Ion of sleep and of inspiration. Oh, the agony of the late-night cram sessions prior to the mid-term exam, trying to fill the void that was Randy's attention span with knowledge that took half a year to aquire at a healthy pace! Yes, it was good that Randy was not there. For today was the day that he would finish his term paper in silence.
He walked over to the small desk that held his laptop computer, switching the machine on. He hopped online to check his email, so he could recheck his English professor's assignment, to make sure he covered all the major points of the essay, before he turned it in and found out the hard way.
When he arrived at the proper website, he discovered that Deirdre had dropped him a message as well.
"Sleep well? I want to talk with you, alone. Come down to the quad for a visit at 2. See ya there. Lotsa luv, D. "
He glanced at the clock on his taskbar. 1:15. Barely enough time to finish the essay, but if he really pushed...
He set his alarm clock for 1:55 and began whizzing away at his keyboard.

--<:<::V::>:>--

Ion rushed down the dormitory's stairwell and onto the pavement. Three minutes to go, and counting. And the quad was up on the top Campus hill. He began running up the cobblestoned sidewalk, when he realized he was in full last-minute exam mode, and didn't need to be. Exam mode usually meant he arrived on time, and also several minutes before the majority of his class. But, seriously... If Deirdre wanted to talk to him, she would wait, right?
Of course she would. So he had nothing to worry about. He eased back on his pace a bit. After all, it would only be two weeks before his second semester was over, and then he would go home for a week or so, tell his mom what it was like, how many friends he'd made, etcetera. He might as well enjoy the campus while he was still there. Maybe, if he played his hand correctly, he might be able to bring Deirdre home to meet her. Probably not, but maybe...
He walked the quarter mile from the residential section to the academic section in silence. Everyone was inside or in town at this point, so most of his friends were gone. He had expected that Deirdre would be at a movie or something, but since she wasn't, it was worth his while to get out in the sun for a bit. A small, persistent voice in his head suggested that he ask Deirdre out on a date. Not just a couple of friends going to a movie like it had been, but on an actual date. He put the notion on the backburner for a while. It didn't make any sense, really. Other than physical closeness, what wasn't there in a close friendship? Certainly conversation seemed to be easier with a friend than a girlfriend, from what he observed in the romantic mishaps of his friend Edgar. Who knows how badly Ion could screw things up, if a sensitive guy like Edgar could have such bad luck. No, it was best to just be friends with Deirdre, and nothing more. He had said often enough that he felt this was appropriate... so why did he have so much trouble putting the idea out of his head? It was almost tangible, like a real pain in his chest, twisting his stomach inside out. It made no sense whatsoever... But if he coudn't trust himself enough to tell Deirdre what he felt...
No time to dwell on that possibility now. He arrived in the Quad, a fairly moderate sized open, grassy field, surrounded on three sides by academic biuldings and a parking lot on the remaining side. Trees dotted the area, lining the unobtrusive cobblestone sidewalks that crossed the field from corner to corner. At the intersection of the walks was a circle of cement, in which resided a small marble fountain, with statues at the four compass points. To the north an anonymous, lab-coated, spectacled student gazed beyond a test tube she held to the sky, offering a beacon in the direction of the College of Science. To the east, a smiling, greek, marble muse beckoned passers-by to the Liberal Arts Center, and incidentally, Library Hill. To the west, an abstract-looking sculpture of a falcon pointed the way to the Administrative Building, perhaps an odd punchline to a long-forgotten running joke manifested in steel. To the south, and the University parking lot, a nondescript figure stood with arms held wide open to visitors and students alike. Deirdre waited on a park bench beneath the muse, smirking at him. In a way, ever since he arrived on campus, she had become like a physical manifestation of his muse, seemingly always just beneath the surface of every creative work he'd done this past year. Strange... He'd never really thouht of it that way before. The thought sent chills down his spine. The Quad suddenly seemed to take on a dreamlike quality. He felt like some kind of knight in a meadow, approaching some elusive forest spirit. Or, putting a negative spin on it as his mind had a tendency to do, some kind of monstrous creature advancing on an innocent princess.
"Hey," she said melodically, adding with a grin, "You're three minutes late."
"Sorry."
She turned her head mockingly.
"Nope. Not talking to you."
"Oh, come on... your watch is off."
She looked at him over her shoulder, a silly grin splitting her beautiful face.
"Oh, fine... I suppose you're not too bad..."
She scooted over on the park bench and tapped the spot next to her. Ion willingly obeyed.
"So," he posed, "How goes it with you?"
"Oh, fine. Listen, are you... okay? After last night, I mean."
He nodded.
"Yeah. I'm doing fine. Hey, I was thinking this morning, o-on the way up, I mean, and, well, the drive-in opens up next weekend, and I thought, maybe, you would like to, uh, you know... go out with me. To the movie. Go to the movie with me."
She shook her head.
"Sorry. Can't go. The Writer's Club is holding the End of Semester Ball at Bucko's."
He nodded, a bit remorsefully. What was he thinking, anyway? A great girl like Deirdre would obviously already have a date.
"Okay. I guess, um... I'll just find someone else to go."
She laughed.
"You won't."
He stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because," she said as she swung her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to her, "you're coming with me."

--<:<::V::>:>--

The rest of the week was a blur, as classes wrapped up for the semester and exams were passed out, and students who had spent most of their time partying, lazing around, or both, rushed to finish their final projects. Since he had all his papers and projects turned in on time for his classes, the Writer's club decided to enlist him to sing a John Denver song at the ball. Why, he wasn't entirely sure, but it was good music, and it gave him something to do in the afternoons. Apparently, according to Deirdre, that's how she "wriggled out of paying for admission." (She would be singing with the band when they covered an Evanescense set.)
When he wasn't practicing for the ball, he was helping transform the Writer's Clubhouse parlor into a full-out dance hall, or perusing the men's clothes shop for a decent, cheap suit. He ended up deciding to just go with a black dress shirt, light brown khaki's, and a vest, all things he already owned. Deirdre kept her wardrobe selection a secret. Ion tried very hard not to guess what she would wear in his head, but that was a far more daunting task than he expected. He couldn't stop imagining her on stage in that blue kimono, slightly exposing one gorgeous shoulder as she played "My Immortal." He wondered if she even had one of those in her posession.
Still, that didn't really matter. Whatever she wore, he knew it would be beautiful, not that that was important, either. At the moment, what mattered was not missing the step that was quickly coming up underneath him. Evidently, that didn't really matter, either, since he missed it anyway, and fell the five feet to the sidewalk, barely grabbing the railing before he hit hard.
But he didn't hit at all. Instead, he found himself standing on the other side of the railing, his hair just settling over his face and his coat swirling around his legs.
Like I just jumped it...
He took his hand off the rail slowly. His palm was a little rugburned, like he'd spun around something really fast.
"Nice save."
Ion spun around quickly, putting his hands into his pockets.
It was the Dean of Students, Mr. Wilkins.
"We could really use that kind of talent on our skateboard team."
"Well, I don't think I'd really be much use. You've got too many great skaters as it is, Mr. Wilkins, yourself included."
The Dean just smiled a hearty, politician's smile as he shook Ion's burned hand.
"Oh, well, I'm retired now, Mr. Macleod. Somebody's got to fill that vacancy, eh?"
"I'll consider it, Mr. Wilkins."
"Good. You do that. But, I suppose you've got a lot on your plate already, don't you, eh? What, with the Writer's Club and the plays, and a girlfriend--"
Ion interrupted him.
"A... A girlfriend, sir?"
He nodded.
"Yes, that Deirdre character," he laughed, then, "My, where was I? Oh yes, the Club, the plays, the girl... and," he leaned on the railing and looked down at Ion with an expression that was both condescending and intimidating while masquerading as fatherly concern, "let's not forget the late nights poking around the Library basement."
Ion let the attack glance off his shoulder.
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
"What exactly were you doing down there, you and your girlfriend? Looking for trouble?"
He shook his head.
"I'm sure that wasn't the case, sir."
"Uh-huh. Well, I'll let it slide this time. Your Library pass is temporarily suspended until next semester."
"Sir?"
"It's a slap on the wrist, son. Besides, there are other places you can make out with that girl over the summer. Personally, I don't think she's worth your while. Theres something... wrong with her, if you catch my drift."
He walked past Ion, patting him on the back. His shoulders felt like he was whipping them.
"Hey, have a good summer, okay? And don't go poking around where you shouldn't. I wouldn't sleep at night if I knew one of my students seriously injured himself in an old part of the school, especially when there's no one near."
Ion clenched his fist in his pocket, infuriated. But he still managed a cheery, "I'll do that, sir."
"Hang ten, dude!"
"You too, Mr. Wilkins."

--<:<::V::>:>--

Ion was on the way back to his dorm when Deirdre and a small knot of his close friends ran up to him.
"Hey!"
She nearly ran him over when she jumped at him and hugged him tightly. He gently put his arms around her to keep her from falling.
"Hi!"
"Hi."
"Hey, I heard Old Man Wilkins stopped you today. What was that about?"
Ion couldn't believe the Dean hadn't given Deirdre a lecture, especially considering the way he talked about her.
"You know what it was about."
"I thought as much. So, what'd he say to you about it?"
"Well," he began, "besides telling me not to do it again and revoking my Library card, he told me basically that you were no good."
She laughed.
"He what?"
"He said there was something wrong with you, but that there were other places I could make out with you than the Library."
She laughed harder.
"He thinks we do that? In the Library? What a jerk-off!"
"Well, you can tell him that, 'cause I certainly won't. At least, not to his face."
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
"Well, don't worry about it," she said, "I mean, it's not like we'll be missing anything. You're still going to the ball, right?"
"Yeah! What, you'd think I'd miss out on hearing you sing?"
"Yeah, I knew you'd say that. Flatterer."
"Bad influence."
"Whatever. See ya tomorrow night, cutie!"
Ion gently felt his cheek where she had kissed him as she walked away, waving. It was only then that he realized his other friends were standing behind him.
"Dude," remarked Garet, "She just called you 'cutie,' man!"
"Dude," Thomas corrected, "She just kissed him!"
"Ion's got a girl-friend! Ion's got a girl-friend!"
"Aw, jeez, first Ed, now you?" sighed Ryan, "What about me?"
"Hey! Cut it out man!"
"Sorry, Ed."
Ion grinned at his friends antics.
"Speaking of Ed... Are you goin' to the Ball?"
"No, man... Last time I went to a dance, in high school, I--"
"Yeah, we know, Ed."
"Oh, gee, thanks for caring, man!"

--<:<::V::>:>--

;-) (Wink) — Description
2
Chapter Two: Yuri the Fish

DEIRDRE held her hand out flat, arm straight, palm facing the safe. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, furrowed her brow. Slowly, the lock began to move, first one way, then the other, finally making a loud, metallic "Clack-clak-clack-clak." The door swung wide open and Charlie started clapping respectfully. Deirdre stood aside and bowed.
"That was nice, D. Fastest time yet."
Ion stood agape. Deirdre put her glove back on.
"What was that?"
She smiled, a tantalizing smile.
"My secret. I'm a kinetic, which is to say, I'm telekinetic, pyrokinetic, and telepathic to a certain extent."
"Telepathic?" he wondered, holding her gloved hand for just a brief moment in his, then "How much so?"
She stared right into his eyes.
"I can tell what you're thinking right now. I shared your dream last night, too."
Ion shut his eyes as a reflex, as if that would somehow shut out his, er, drifting thoughts, which became exponentially more explicit the more he tried not to think them.
Charlie pushed them apart and said, "All right, all right. We can't spare a moment out here," very matter of factly, followed by a quick, "Randy, you stay here. Watch out for the goon squad, all right?"
Randy's reply came as a husky "Yes'm," evidence of a slightly more rural upbringing than he would have liked them to believe.
The three of them plunged into the darkness, and the safe closed behind them. Deirdre lifted her hand, setting it aflame in brilliant shades of cerulean and mauve. She touched a finger to the wall, and little torches lit themselves all along a steep iron stairwell down to a rusty steel trapdoor, which led to a hallway.
"Nice," Ion mumbled, standing fairly close to her.
The "hallway" was little more than a crawlspace only about six and a half feet high, with large heating pipes running along it, very much like the other tunnels that connected the various buildings on campus. Except, of course, that these were built deeper into the ground and were not connected to the rest of the system in any way. Charles informed him that these tunnels were probably far more complex than they had discovered so far, but neither of them had dared to wander them for fear of getting lost.
At the end of this particular tunnel was a room with a space for a room label that had long stood empty. The little brass doorknob was tarnished and worn with age, and the hinges protested a little at being opened.
The room itself was unremarkable. Four filing cabinets reached to the ceiling on one wall, a large slate and easel were propped up on the other. But at the end of the room directly opposite the door was another, barricaded with a lab table bolted into the floor. On the table were two large objects; an aquarium with a tube running up to one of the heating pipes, and a stainless steel cage. The aquarium was empty, but the cage held a small ferret, who was busily constructing an instrument from parts of a hamster wheel. A turtle's shell collected dust on top of the cage.
As they approached, the ferret seemed to mutter something in Russian, testing the instrument against the cage. It tuned around and proceeded to start picking the cage's locked door. It looked up at the intruders and cursed in very thick slavic.
Ion blinked. Charlie snatched the instrument away from the ferret and tossed it into the fishtank.
"This is Bob," he said, pointing at the creature.
"How do you do?" it replied, not actually moving its mouth.
A goldfish swam down out of the tube and picked up the strange instrument, before turning to look at the newcomer.
"Whatcha lookin' at, bub?" it said gruffly in a downtown brooklyn accent, before swimming up the tube quickly.
"That," Charlie explained, "was Yuri."
"Yuri," Ion thought aloud, "and Bob. You know, Charlize, the way you were talking about the truth being hidden, I was expecting something a bit more profound than a couple psychic pets," then, as an afterthought, "Not that they aren't an impressive, uh, contribution to science, of course."
Charles glared at a point just inside one of the file cabinets.
"They're not nearly as impressive as what we found in these files. Yuri and Bob are, in fact, a direct result of our scientific application of the data stored in this room, all of which I'm sure will be of great interest to you."
He reached into a drawer of the cabinet and pulled out one such file.
"It seems," he said as he handed the file to Ion, "that sometime between eighteen to twenty years ago, this entire network of tunnels was leased indefinitely by one Genera Corporation, an up-and-coming biotech company with its eye on a significant government contract. Apparently, they were in the process of attempting to create a transgenic, sentient, self-replicating war machine. Shortly afterward, the company faced a significant blow to public relations when one of its scientists was involved in a rape case following what Genera claimed was a 'severe allergic reaction' to a new 'pharmaceutical product.' Needless to say, it was all hushed up with astounding speed."
Ion opened the file, and saw a series of forensic photographs, one of which was his mother's face. He turned the page and saw a newspaper clipping detailing the "mysterious case," urging its readers to help aprehend the heinous perpetrator. Another page contained a tabloid cover with a fuzzy black-and-white of a creature, doubled up on the sidewalk in a mess of rags and blood and fur, policemen standing over it, guns drawn, with the simple headline "Allergic Reaction?" Held to this page with a paperclip was a laminated ID card, with blood caked into the plastic. Beneath the beady-eyed, sharp boned, spectacled, mousy face of a Genera scientist was a caption. "Hello, my name is ALBERT JONES, 41, from HARTFORD, CN."
He could bear no more of that man's unblinking stare. He gave the file back to Charlie and fought the urge to vomit.
Charlie nodded.
"The case began as rape/double homicide, because it was discovered that a security guard at Genera as well as the rape victim's husband had been killed, but later it was reduced to separate rape/homicide and homicide."
"Why the change?" Ion asked, still reeling.
Charlie obliged.
"The husband had a bullet in his chest, from a sniper. A year later, the sniper admitted responsiblity and blew himself up in a shopping mall. The case remains unsolved, but closed."
Deirdre touched his arm. It felt like a flicker of light in a very dark place.
"I know what this feels like," she said, "those bastards got my family too."
"What she means," Charlie explained, "is that she suspects Genera Corp or one of its competitors kidnapped her mother, presumably to extract a gene for telekinesis. Which was completely unneccessary, of course, because only a single cell would be needed, unless there was other experimentation going on. However, I do tend to agree with her assumption, as I have found evidence that a top officer from Genera is the pricipal founder and sponsor of ArmaTech, Incorporated, which went public six months after the Genera fiasco."
So... Ion and Deirdre had more in common than he thought. He was the result of this experiment, and her mother was taken from her because some executive couldn't let it go. Damnable... The whole, crappy deal was just damnable.
"Still, despite this, they simply left everything here, like they were waiting for someone to find it. Here, this file contains an abstract of the entire project that, we believe, culminated in you."
He handed him a brown file, closed with string. It was labeled "Prometheo-Chimera Project, Authorized Personnel Only."
"Congratgulations, Ion," Charlie proclaimed, "You're a success."
"Do me a favor, Charlie," Ion murmured, "stop talking."

--<:<::V::>:>--

Ion awoke the next morning to a brilliant light that penetrated the curtains in his dorm. Everything was very fuzzy looking, and he had to squint to read his alarm clock. Apparently, the next morning was, in fact, the next afternoon. He hoped it was still Saturday.
He got up to discover that Sir Randolph had vacated the premises.
Good riddance, he thought. Not that he particularly despised Randy, but rather that he found him to be quite the annoyance. As he supposed most roomates were. Of course, he couldn't be sure, as he had grown up the only child in the family, and really never had to share his space with anyone. It was definitely an eye-opening experience.
Oh, woe for the essays that now bore the mark of Mr. Golding's incessant partying, depriving Ion of sleep and of inspiration. Oh, the agony of the late-night cram sessions prior to the mid-term exam, trying to fill the void that was Randy's attention span with knowledge that took half a year to aquire at a healthy pace! Yes, it was good that Randy was not there. For today was the day that he would finish his term paper in silence.
He walked over to the small desk that held his laptop computer, switching the machine on. He hopped online to check his email, so he could recheck his English professor's assignment, to make sure he covered all the major points of the essay, before he turned it in and found out the hard way.
When he arrived at the proper website, he discovered that Deirdre had dropped him a message as well.
"Sleep well? I want to talk with you, alone. Come down to the quad for a visit at 2. See ya there. Lotsa luv, D. "
He glanced at the clock on his taskbar. 1:15. Barely enough time to finish the essay, but if he really pushed...
He set his alarm clock for 1:55 and began whizzing away at his keyboard.

--<:<::V::>:>--

Ion rushed down the dormitory's stairwell and onto the pavement. Three minutes to go, and counting. And the quad was up on the top Campus hill. He began running up the cobblestoned sidewalk, when he realized he was in full last-minute exam mode, and didn't need to be. Exam mode usually meant he arrived on time, and also several minutes before the majority of his class. But, seriously... If Deirdre wanted to talk to him, she would wait, right?
Of course she would. So he had nothing to worry about. He eased back on his pace a bit. After all, it would only be two weeks before his second semester was over, and then he would go home for a week or so, tell his mom what it was like, how many friends he'd made, etcetera. He might as well enjoy the campus while he was still there. Maybe, if he played his hand correctly, he might be able to bring Deirdre home to meet her. Probably not, but maybe...
He walked the quarter mile from the residential section to the academic section in silence. Everyone was inside or in town at this point, so most of his friends were gone. He had expected that Deirdre would be at a movie or something, but since she wasn't, it was worth his while to get out in the sun for a bit. A small, persistent voice in his head suggested that he ask Deirdre out on a date. Not just a couple of friends going to a movie like it had been, but on an actual date. He put the notion on the backburner for a while. It didn't make any sense, really. Other than physical closeness, what wasn't there in a close friendship? Certainly conversation seemed to be easier with a friend than a girlfriend, from what he observed in the romantic mishaps of his friend Edgar. Who knows how badly Ion could screw things up, if a sensitive guy like Edgar could have such bad luck. No, it was best to just be friends with Deirdre, and nothing more. He had said often enough that he felt this was appropriate... so why did he have so much trouble putting the idea out of his head? It was almost tangible, like a real pain in his chest, twisting his stomach inside out. It made no sense whatsoever... But if he coudn't trust himself enough to tell Deirdre what he felt...
No time to dwell on that possibility now. He arrived in the Quad, a fairly moderate sized open, grassy field, surrounded on three sides by academic biuldings and a parking lot on the remaining side. Trees dotted the area, lining the unobtrusive cobblestone sidewalks that crossed the field from corner to corner. At the intersection of the walks was a circle of cement, in which resided a small marble fountain, with statues at the four compass points. To the north an anonymous, lab-coated, spectacled student gazed beyond a test tube she held to the sky, offering a beacon in the direction of the College of Science. To the east, a smiling, greek, marble muse beckoned passers-by to the Liberal Arts Center, and incidentally, Library Hill. To the west, an abstract-looking sculpture of a falcon pointed the way to the Administrative Building, perhaps an odd punchline to a long-forgotten running joke manifested in steel. To the south, and the University parking lot, a nondescript figure stood with arms held wide open to visitors and students alike. Deirdre waited on a park bench beneath the muse, smirking at him. In a way, ever since he arrived on campus, she had become like a physical manifestation of his muse, seemingly always just beneath the surface of every creative work he'd done this past year. Strange... He'd never really thouht of it that way before. The thought sent chills down his spine. The Quad suddenly seemed to take on a dreamlike quality. He felt like some kind of knight in a meadow, approaching some elusive forest spirit. Or, putting a negative spin on it as his mind had a tendency to do, some kind of monstrous creature advancing on an innocent princess.
"Hey," she said melodically, adding with a grin, "You're three minutes late."
"Sorry."
She turned her head mockingly.
"Nope. Not talking to you."
"Oh, come on... your watch is off."
She looked at him over her shoulder, a silly grin splitting her beautiful face.
"Oh, fine... I suppose you're not too bad..."
She scooted over on the park bench and tapped the spot next to her. Ion willingly obeyed.
"So," he posed, "How goes it with you?"
"Oh, fine. Listen, are you... okay? After last night, I mean."
He nodded.
"Yeah. I'm doing fine. Hey, I was thinking this morning, o-on the way up, I mean, and, well, the drive-in opens up next weekend, and I thought, maybe, you would like to, uh, you know... go out with me. To the movie. Go to the movie with me."
She shook her head.
"Sorry. Can't go. The Writer's Club is holding the End of Semester Ball at Bucko's."
He nodded, a bit remorsefully. What was he thinking, anyway? A great girl like Deirdre would obviously already have a date.
"Okay. I guess, um... I'll just find someone else to go."
She laughed.
"You won't."
He stared at her.
"Why?"
"Because," she said as she swung her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close to her, "you're coming with me."

--<:<::V::>:>--

The rest of the week was a blur, as classes wrapped up for the semester and exams were passed out, and students who had spent most of their time partying, lazing around, or both, rushed to finish their final projects. Since he had all his papers and projects turned in on time for his classes, the Writer's club decided to enlist him to sing a John Denver song at the ball. Why, he wasn't entirely sure, but it was good music, and it gave him something to do in the afternoons. Apparently, according to Deirdre, that's how she "wriggled out of paying for admission." (She would be singing with the band when they covered an Evanescense set.)
When he wasn't practicing for the ball, he was helping transform the Writer's Clubhouse parlor into a full-out dance hall, or perusing the men's clothes shop for a decent, cheap suit. He ended up deciding to just go with a black dress shirt, light brown khaki's, and a vest, all things he already owned. Deirdre kept her wardrobe selection a secret. Ion tried very hard not to guess what she would wear in his head, but that was a far more daunting task than he expected. He couldn't stop imagining her on stage in that blue kimono, slightly exposing one gorgeous shoulder as she played "My Immortal." He wondered if she even had one of those in her posession.
Still, that didn't really matter. Whatever she wore, he knew it would be beautiful, not that that was important, either. At the moment, what mattered was not missing the step that was quickly coming up underneath him. Evidently, that didn't really matter, either, since he missed it anyway, and fell the five feet to the sidewalk, barely grabbing the railing before he hit hard.
But he didn't hit at all. Instead, he found himself standing on the other side of the railing, his hair just settling over his face and his coat swirling around his legs.
Like I just jumped it...
He took his hand off the rail slowly. His palm was a little rugburned, like he'd spun around something really fast.
"Nice save."
Ion spun around quickly, putting his hands into his pockets.
It was the Dean of Students, Mr. Wilkins.
"We could really use that kind of talent on our skateboard team."
"Well, I don't think I'd really be much use. You've got too many great skaters as it is, Mr. Wilkins, yourself included."
The Dean just smiled a hearty, politician's smile as he shook Ion's burned hand.
"Oh, well, I'm retired now, Mr. Macleod. Somebody's got to fill that vacancy, eh?"
"I'll consider it, Mr. Wilkins."
"Good. You do that. But, I suppose you've got a lot on your plate already, don't you, eh? What, with the Writer's Club and the plays, and a girlfriend--"
Ion interrupted him.
"A... A girlfriend, sir?"
He nodded.
"Yes, that Deirdre character," he laughed, then, "My, where was I? Oh yes, the Club, the plays, the girl... and," he leaned on the railing and looked down at Ion with an expression that was both condescending and intimidating while masquerading as fatherly concern, "let's not forget the late nights poking around the Library basement."
Ion let the attack glance off his shoulder.
"I don't know what you mean, sir."
"What exactly were you doing down there, you and your girlfriend? Looking for trouble?"
He shook his head.
"I'm sure that wasn't the case, sir."
"Uh-huh. Well, I'll let it slide this time. Your Library pass is temporarily suspended until next semester."
"Sir?"
"It's a slap on the wrist, son. Besides, there are other places you can make out with that girl over the summer. Personally, I don't think she's worth your while. Theres something... wrong with her, if you catch my drift."
He walked past Ion, patting him on the back. His shoulders felt like he was whipping them.
"Hey, have a good summer, okay? And don't go poking around where you shouldn't. I wouldn't sleep at night if I knew one of my students seriously injured himself in an old part of the school, especially when there's no one near."
Ion clenched his fist in his pocket, infuriated. But he still managed a cheery, "I'll do that, sir."
"Hang ten, dude!"
"You too, Mr. Wilkins."

--<:<::V::>:>--

Ion was on the way back to his dorm when Deirdre and a small knot of his close friends ran up to him.
"Hey!"
She nearly ran him over when she jumped at him and hugged him tightly. He gently put his arms around her to keep her from falling.
"Hi!"
"Hi."
"Hey, I heard Old Man Wilkins stopped you today. What was that about?"
Ion couldn't believe the Dean hadn't given Deirdre a lecture, especially considering the way he talked about her.
"You know what it was about."
"I thought as much. So, what'd he say to you about it?"
"Well," he began, "besides telling me not to do it again and revoking my Library card, he told me basically that you were no good."
She laughed.
"He what?"
"He said there was something wrong with you, but that there were other places I could make out with you than the Library."
She laughed harder.
"He thinks we do that? In the Library? What a jerk-off!"
"Well, you can tell him that, 'cause I certainly won't. At least, not to his face."
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
"Well, don't worry about it," she said, "I mean, it's not like we'll be missing anything. You're still going to the ball, right?"
"Yeah! What, you'd think I'd miss out on hearing you sing?"
"Yeah, I knew you'd say that. Flatterer."
"Bad influence."
"Whatever. See ya tomorrow night, cutie!"
Ion gently felt his cheek where she had kissed him as she walked away, waving. It was only then that he realized his other friends were standing behind him.
"Dude," remarked Garet, "She just called you 'cutie,' man!"
"Dude," Thomas corrected, "She just kissed him!"
"Ion's got a girl-friend! Ion's got a girl-friend!"
"Aw, jeez, first Ed, now you?" sighed Ryan, "What about me?"
"Hey! Cut it out man!"
"Sorry, Ed."
Ion grinned at his friends antics.
"Speaking of Ed... Are you goin' to the Ball?"
"No, man... Last time I went to a dance, in high school, I--"
"Yeah, we know, Ed."
"Oh, gee, thanks for caring, man!"

--<:<::V::>:>--