Page 24

SYMPHONY

J enna flops onto my bed. She was waiting in my apartment when I got here.

I toss my backpack on my desk. “I never should have given you a key.”

She waves her hand toward Sir Mix-a-Lot’s elaborate setup. “Someone has to feed your baby when you’re off banging bikers.”

I sit in the desk chair, anxiously rotating back and forth with my foot. It’s not that I think Jenna is going to judge me. I’m not up for questioning. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I can’t explain anything.

“At least tell me if it’s good banging. Or is he all leather and no snap?”

So many images of Diesel come at me that I have to physically bat them away to get my attention back. “I have never had so many orgasms in seventy-two hours.”

Or maybe in my life. I’d have to count them. He may very well have already surpassed the numbers of my long-term relationships.

“That’s something.” Jenna props herself up on her elbow, sinking a hand into her ashy blonde hair perfectly colored with intentional black roots. She had it done for the wedding, and nobody ever made that style work better than her.

I touch my chaotic post-teacher-desk hairdo self-consciously. I need to change clothes. Get underwear on before Jenna notices and I never live it down.

And think about what I’ve done by baiting Diesel to meet me tomorrow at an even riskier location.

I’ve officially lost it.

Jenna watches me go to the closet. “Is he going to wreck your GPA right before you start your thesis? You are a woman obsessed.”

I pull out a T-shirt and shorts. “No.”

“You sure? Because I don’t think you took a single note in class, and we all saw you zone out to la la land during the wedding and reception.”

I move to the dresser, then realize getting underwear will look suspicious. Damn it.

“I’m fine. I’m going to change.”

“You forgot to grab underwear.”

Damn it!

I throw a look at her, but if I’m busted, I’m busted, so I open the drawer and extract a pair.

As I head into the bathroom, she calls out, “It’s the lack of panty lines that gives you away. You might want to start getting underwear on sale if he’s going to keep ripping them off you.”

I firmly close the door. Jenna is killing me.

But is she right? I consider it as I lose the skirt and top and switch to clothes that weren’t chosen for a quickie in an empty classroom.

The full force of this hits me. Am I obsessed? Have I lost my judgment? My whole damn mind?

I toss my clothes in the hamper. It’s a wild fling. It’s new. This will wear off.

I’m not going to flunk my poli-sci coursework. Or mess up my GPA. Or harm my future.

He’s just … Mr. Now.

Nobody who meets you for nothing but high-risk hookups, who wears a damn skull chain like a fashion accessory, and who breaks up bar fights for a living is Mr. Right. Mr. Marrying Kind. Mr. Forever.

I’m okay with having a Mr. Fuckface. Mr. Cut-Your-Panties.

And I’ll figure out the balancing act. The distraction of seeing him, thinking about him, running off for wild times. And my degree. My plans. My career.

I can do this.

When I return to the bedroom, Jenna has spread out her laptop, the book we were supposed to have already read, and her hand-written notes.

“Let’s catch up today,” she says. “A few hours of work and then you can tell me all about your boyfriend’s mind-erasing sex.”

“Sounds like a perfect afternoon.” I heave my backpack onto the bed and dig out my iPad.

I’m perfectly sure I can have it all.

Tuesday’s class is without Jenna, a small study group I joined that focuses on Florida politics. We review news about bills, elections, the progress of legislation, and the impact of recent laws.

We have a sponsoring professor, but he doesn’t attend our meetings, just reviews our progress. It’s the type of learning I value most as I think about what’s next, where I want to serve, and what my post-grad life will look like.

One benefit of this type of class is we can meet wherever we want, so today, we’re sitting in the sunshine on the grass in the quad. Students walk around us on the sidewalks, entering and leaving buildings. The four of us feel pretty stoked about our freedom.

Mina, an activist from India, passes around a printout of a job board from the federal building. “Lots of openings were listed Friday. Clearly, something is going on with this many posts going vacant at once.”

“You think it was a walkout?” asks Henry, his forehead creasing. “It can’t be budget cuts, or they wouldn’t be replacing them.”

Mina shrugs. “I’m not sure if it’s an opportunity or a descent into hell. But I wanted to share them if anyone was going to get a jump on an internship or to work while you do your thesis. Several of us of are done with our coursework at the end of summer.”

“I’m interested,” I say. “I submit my thesis topic in the fall.” I glance over the list. Eleven spots. This is unprecedented. I could work with a judge. Or in appropriations as a researcher. Or be a letter writer who responds to constituents. Three of those are open.

Henry shakes his head. “Something’s going on.”

“There’s always something going on,” Mina says. “Florida politics are the most volatile they’ve ever been.”

“It’s snowballing, for sure,” chimes in Billy from where he lies in the grass, a Miami Dolphins ballcap covering his face.

The wind picks up, and Mina tugs the scarf covering her hair before it falls, deftly pinning it back into place. “You all are worried?”

Henry marks the printout with a yellow highlighter. “Can we figure out who was working those posts before? If they were recent college grads or even students like us, they’d walk out over any number of issues happening right now.”

Mina runs her finger down the list. “I’m not sure how we would find that out. It also begs the question, do we go in and replace them and sit in the belly of the beast? Or fight from the outside?”

“We can’t protest,” Henry says. “The first thing they check these days when they hire you on the hill is if you’re politically aligned.”

Mina fiddles with the end of her scarf. “It puts us in a difficult place, doesn’t it? We see the damage, but we can’t do anything.”

“I think being inside is the best place to be,” I say. “It’s powerful to carry a sign and take a stand. But it’s even more powerful to be in the room where the decisions are made.”

Mina gestures to the paper. “But all these people left the room. What does that mean?”

I run my hands over the supple grass to calm myself. I don’t know the answer to that. What could make me quit? Was it clear to them they wouldn’t get anywhere? Did it get too awful to watch?

Did they not want to have any part in what they saw?

Everyone is looking at me like I might have the answer. “We can’t get spooked,” I tell them. “We have to assume they got burned out or pressured to go or something went very wrong. We won’t let it happen to us. Let’s all apply. We know each other. We will help each other find our way.”

Billy peers out from under his hat. “Somebody’s optimistic.”

Henry smirks and hides a laugh behind his phone. “She got laid.”

My face flames. “How can you guys have degrees and still act like high school morons?”

“We saw you with biker boy,” Henry says. “Everybody talks.”

“I’d do him,” Billy says. “We’re just jealous.”

I need a redirect. “So, what do you think? There’s four of us. We could all get hired. We have professors who will recommend us.”

Mina folds her paper. “I agree with Symphony. Let’s all try to get hired. These positions are related. We could even do this class from the federal building. How cool would that be?”

“Pretty damn cool,” Billy says.

“All right,” Henry says. “But someone is going to have to help me with a résumé.”

Students stream out onto the lawn. It’s time to move to the next class.

“Bring a list of your skills and work history on Thursday,” I tell the others. “We’ll put them together. Make sure you write a couple of profs to request references.”

“Good plan,” Mina says. “Let’s get in there and see what spooked so many people.”

“Probably vampires,” Billy says.

Mina shoves his leg with her foot. “Are you in?”

“I’m in.” He overs his face with his hat again.

Mina stands. “I have class. See you all Thursday.”

I get up, too. Time to go to the library.

As I cross the student parking lot, I spot Jenna heading to her Tuesday class.

“Hey!” she says. “Want to grab some coffee later? I already finished my notes on the essay for tomorrow.”

I haven’t read it yet. “Sure. Maybe on the later side?” I need time for Diesel at the library and to read the essay myself.

“Sure. Like six?”

“Sounds great.” I quickly unlock my car and duck in before she can ask where I’m headed. She doesn’t know about the library, and I don’t want to explain myself right now.

For one thing, I don’t know what I’m doing.

But then several key parts of my body heat up, and I remember exactly what I’m doing this for.

When I park in front of the tall stone building, I’m about to get out when I remember my panties.

I glance around. I’m between two empty cars, and no one is walking along the sidewalk in front of me.

“The things I do for sex,” I mutter, lifting my hips to scoot the panties down my legs. I stuff them in the center console. I’ll have to buy more skirts at this rate. I don’t wear them often enough to have a whole stash of options for meeting Diesel.

“Maybe this will be the last time,” I tell the windshield as I pull my small purse from the backpack and shove the larger bag down in the footwell.

But I haven’t taken three steps toward the entrance to the library before I’ve already started laughing to myself.

There’s no way I’m giving up Diesel any time soon.