The knock on my door startles me. I sit anxiously, waiting to see if it happens again. It’s not often that people come to visit me and I’d rather not get excited by the prospect only to find out that it’s a student bumping their way down the hall, inadvertently hitting my door. I focus my attention instead on the crime scene report I downloaded from the local police server. I’ve been hacking into their system since I arrived in Burlington, Vermont, and quickly started offering them subtle clues to solve their petty crime cases. As morbid as it is, I’m waiting for a murder to occur so I can hone my craft in the field of investigation. Of course, being a college student, my work is never credited.
Ron Smith is the local police chief. He considers me a thorn in his side. He’s not a fan of me, especially when my eighteen-year-old self discovers inconsistencies in his police work. More accurately, when my dorm was pranked as part of the Delta Phi fraternity initiation, his responding officer couldn’t find the offenders, stating that the evidence was inconclusive. The fact that Delta Phi was pasted to the outside wall by way of wet toilet paper apparently wasn’t a big enough clue. I bested the police department when I showed them the handprints left behind matched those of one Roger Stallworth, the center for our basketball team, who has the largest hands on campus.
The knock sounds again, but this time it’s louder and more defined against the metal door. Closing my laptop and sliding the investigation report into my file cabinet, away from the prying eyes of whoever lurks outside, I open the door with luster, acting calm and collected as if I have visitors every day. The person on the other side of the concrete box that I reside in doesn’t need to know otherwise.
“Lock Holmes?” she questions. I nod, but stand still against the doorjamb, preventing her from entering. My name is Sherlock, but I go by Lock. It’s more hip and easier to play off with my hippie parents. My mother, in all her peace-loving ways, couldn’t decide on a name for me, and ended up combining my grandmother’s name, Sheryl, with the nickname of Lock for the tiny tuft of hair I was born with. Sadly, my father never disagreed and forever branded me with the eccentric name that throughout childhood labeled me as an outsider.
The lady in front of me, dressed in a pinstriped suit, is nervous even though she’s trying to maintain a professional look. She forgot her watch this morning when she dressed. The tan line indicates that she wore it all summer, not caring about sunblock or the odd white block of skin she’d leave showing if she were to forget it, like today. The imprint left on her skin says she wears a women’s Timex—cheap and easily found in every discount store in America.
“I’m Professor MacAfee. Chief Smith suggested I come to you for some help.” Her dark hair rests on her shoulders and is curled forward, giving onlookers the illusion that she’s younger than she presents. She hides the gray hairs easily from those who aren’t paying attention. I rack my brain, trying to recall exactly who she is. My photographic memory never fails—her image reminds me that she’s head of Ecological Agriculture.
Professor MacAfee looks to her right and then left—watching for someone to come down the hall, perhaps? I could step aside and let her into my sanctuary, but I’m cautious. There’s a reason I room by myself—it’s easier than dealing with odd looks and minimizes comments being made behind my back. In boarding school, I couldn’t escape the mandatory requirement that I room with someone. For years my name was whispered among my peers as they talked about how different and observant I am, as if knowing your surroundings is a crime. For college, I forged my own path and made sure my roommate application was filled out meticulously so I could room by myself. It’s laughable how the administration never asked for my medical records when I stated I was allergic to everything.
“May I come in?” she asks, her voice low, but not quite a whisper. The hint of desperation almost makes me feel sorry for her, but to be sorry I’d have to have some sort of empathy toward her and I don’t.
I look at her, wondering why she would need to come into my room when the hallway, or better yet the library, would be a suitable place to speak. Chief Smith has a prejudice against me; for all I know this is a setup, a ploy to get into my dorm to see what information I have acquired on any of his recent cases.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I state, watching as her face falls. She hangs her head briefly before looking at me with unshed tears.
“Please,” she begs quietly. “I’ll lose my job if you don’t help me.”
Two things strike me as odd and interesting: One, she says she’s going to lose her job. What has she done to warrant such a desperate measure as to knock on a freshman’s dorm room door asking for help, and at the suggestion of the town’s famed police chief? Two, why is it my issue?
My curiosity, as always, gets the best of me, and I step aside and let her enter. My room is nothing like your average girl’s dorm room. I have a map of the city, pinpointing the recent rash of petty crimes. To call them a spree would be in haste, although if the person isn’t caught soon their minor attempts at notoriety will eventually escalate because they got bored. Criminals like attention, especially from the media. They want to hear people talking about them and they want to know that they’re striking fear in the community. None of that is happening.
“Chief Smith was right.”
“About what exactly?”
The Professor pulls out my desk chair and sits, leaving me no other place to rest than my bed. I choose to stand, giving her the illusion that I’m taller than I am.
“I have myself in a pickle and I believe, after speaking with Chief Smith, you’re the only one who can help me. You see, I’m one of the few teachers that still grade on a curve and my final is one of the hardest students will take. Each year, I’ve changed it drastically from the previous one to prevent students from sharing their results. After I type up the final, I print one copy with my answers and save another one to a thumb drive that I lock in my drawer. The final is in three days and both the printed copy and thumb drive are missing.”
“Why not create a new final?”
“Time,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t have it. It takes me two to three months to compile the questions and answers.”
“Have you looked—?”
She holds up her hand and smiles, effectively cutting me off. “I have looked everywhere. I am, without a doubt, a creature of habit. Very rarely do I deviate from a plan or change course, except when it comes to the questions I ask on my final. I understand that being this way is likely a downfall.”
I could tell her that I’m the same way, but the less she knows about me, the better. I don’t want her feeling like we’ll be friends after this, or even in the future. I’ll never have her for a professor, as agriculture isn’t on my list of classes to take.
“I don’t understand where I come into this, or Chief Smith.”
“Simple, Lock. I need you to find out who stole the final.”
“Can you just flunk everyone in your class? Surely threatening them with a failing grade will get them to crow.”
Her eyes are inquisitive as she looks at me. She may be my intellectual match, or she might be another person who wants to exploit my skills.
“And why not ask Chief Smith to find the culprits?”
“Culprits? You think there’s more than one?”
I mentally chide myself for giving her a clue. Of course there are two. You always need a lookout. Depending on the layout of her office, three or four could be possible. Someone knew where to find her thumb drive and final, therefore someone from her past, an aide or student teacher with knowledge of the items’ location, is the one singing Dixie.
It’s best to be quiet when you don’t want to answer a question, although in most criminal investigations that can prove you’re somewhat guilty.
“To answer your question about Chief Smith—I went to him, but they’re busy with other things and don’t have time to look for an answer key. The administration would not see this as favorable for my employment and I’m hoping to renew my contract.” Professor MacAfee stands and starts pacing in my overly small room.
“I’ll pay you for your services, Lock. It’d be much easier if a student were asking questions than a police officer or campus security. Students clam up when the men in blue come knocking on their door.”
She has a point and I do love a good challenge. Being able to solve a crime on campus may give me the respect of the police chief. He’d have to acknowledge that I know what I’m doing, whether he likes it or not.
“I’d have to sit in on your class. I need to be able to observe,” I say before realizing I’ve essentially agreed to help her. She nods furiously, her head bobbing up and down like a yo-yo. “And I’ll need access to your office.”
“It’s yours,” she says, coming over to me and shaking my hand. I pull away quickly, tucking my hands in the pockets of my jeans to avoid her touching me again.
“I’ll see you in a half hour,” I tell her, much to her confusion. “Your class, advanced agroecology—it starts in thirty minutes. I’m assuming that is the class missing the final.”
“Oh, right. I’ll see you then.”
I move her toward the door, whether she’s ready or not. I need to get on my computer and learn as much as I can about agroecology before I step into her class. If I’m going to befriend someone in there, I need to know what I’m talking about.
• • •
My brothers from Delta Phi gather around one of the many tables in Cook Commons, one of the few eateries we have on campus. Most of the time we don’t have the ability to go back to our frat house to eat, so we meet here. Brown trays full of food cover the table, giving us less space than the table actually offers. I squeeze between Roger Stallworth, known as the largest man on campus, and Warren Beatty (not to be confused with the actor), my roommate.
This is my third year in Delta Phi and I love it more than ever. I’ve just been named house treasurer and after last year’s fiasco of our toga party gone wrong, I’m determined to make sure our frat donates money to charitable causes. I’m incredibly thankful that charities don’t ask how the money was obtained, because having guys do handstands on kegs for payment probably isn’t an acceptable way of raising money. When the school asks, I tell them we charge people coming in to watch our eighty-five-inch high-definition television. We do, of course, but our profit isn’t earth-shattering.
“Who are you bringing to the ski lodge?” Jennifer Jamison asks as she sits down, acting as if she owns the table. It’s only on a rare occasion that we let any of the female population sit with us at our lunch table. Lunch is a man’s hour, even for those with girlfriends, according to our bylaws.
The ski lodge isn’t what it sounds like. It’s the party we host every year at the end of finals week, which will be in three days. We decorate our house like a ski lodge, complete with a flooded-out back yard that we turn into an icy ski jump. It’s not customary that you bring a date unless you’re looking for a little side action from that co-ed.
“Are you looking for a hookup?” Roger waggles his eyebrows at Jennifer, much to her disgust. Warren and I laugh. Jennifer is always looking for the next “in,” even though she’s on the cheerleading squad and a pledge at one of the biggest sororities on campus. Her plan is to marry rich and live the life of high society. She may want to reconsider her plan, though, since none of our athletes are making it to the pros.
“You wish,” she says, picking a piece of food off one of Roger’s many plates. I tire quickly of Jennifer and Roger’s back-and-forth conversation and start working on my lunch. My upcoming final in biochemistry has me perplexed. Between needing to study and my duties at the fraternity, time is not my friend. I am the only medical major in the house. My brothers have chosen paths in business, communications, and teaching, leaving their schedules much more flexible. My choice to pledge when I was a freshman was based solely on how my time in the house would look on my résumé. Taking the position of treasurer proves that I’m responsible and will benefit me when I apply for a loan to open my own practice. I’m always thinking ahead.
Warren elbows me and nods toward the table two away from us. Sitting there is none other than Lock Holmes, the object of my desires. Only she doesn’t know I exist, despite my many attempts at getting her attention.
The first time I saw her was at freshman orientation. I was there, representing Delta Phi, looking for new pledges. She was there, of course, because it’s mandatory that all incoming students attend. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I felt a stirring that I can only describe as heart palpitations. I’ve tried to recreate those feelings with other girls, but to no avail. It only happens when I see her, or when her eyes briefly meet mine in what I know to be nothing more than an accident.
Since that first day, I’ve strategically placed myself in her path only to be shunned or ignored. I’ve become a stalker, of sorts, hanging out in the library because I can see her dorm room window from the third floor. This acknowledgment alone should land me in the slammer for my voyeuristic ways.
“I don’t know what you see in her,” Warren says, much to my displeasure. Everyone sees beauty differently and just because Lock Holmes comes off as odd doesn’t make her any less gorgeous than the other women on campus. To me, her fragmentary style is what makes her stand out among the masses. She’s not like every other Barbie doll walking the brick paths of campus.
“What don’t you see in her?” I counter, hoping he’ll take a long look at his superficial requirements when it comes to women. I used to be like him, only wanting skinny blondes with voluptuous racks. That all changed when I spotted Lock from across the room, with her chestnut hair and slender figure. Had she been graced with eyes of caramel brown to contrast with her hair, blue to accent the sky, or were they as green as the spring grass? Finding out has become a task, one that I fully intend to fulfill.
“She’s plain,” he says, under his breath. He knows how I feel about sharing any love interest with the rest of our house, so at least he’s mindful to keep my crush under the radar. Even though we label ourselves as brothers in the fraternity house, we’re still human and human nature tends to lead you astray. I’ve seen brothers battle each other over women. I don’t care to battle anyone over Lock, although if tested, I will.
“I don’t find her plain at all. I find her refreshing. Look at her, Warren. She doesn’t conform to today’s cultural standards where co-eds must look a certain way. Her clothes aren’t the same designer trends the others walk around in, but she’s well dressed. Her hair isn’t a rainbow of colors or perfectly coiffed each time she steps out of her dorm. I like the fact that she’s here to study and not intermingle in the social scene.”
Warren looks at me and laughs as I finish my speech. I hadn’t realized I’d kept going, but my heart takes over when my mind should lead when it comes to Lock. Even though my infatuation is purely physical, I have no doubt that once I get to know her, all the pieces for a long-lasting romance will fall into place.
“She’s staring at you.”
“What?” I blink quickly so I can focus on Lock. She’s looking at me with what I hope is an interested expression.
“You should go over there and ask her to the ski lodge party.”
I quickly glance at Roger to see if he’s been listening to Warren and me, only to find him sleeping upright with his mouth hanging open. The other guys have vacated the table, leaving only the three of us.
“Yeah, I think I should.” As the words tumble out of my mouth, my body freezes. I’ve never been shy about speaking to the opposite sex before, so I don’t understand why my feet aren’t moving and I’m suddenly immobile. My chair should be scraping against the linoleum floor and my legs moving into the standing position, followed by putting one foot in front of the other.
“Don’t be a pansy,” Warren says in the most encouraging way.
“I’m going to do it.” I push my hands down on the table and force myself to stand. The gaze Lock and I share hasn’t wavered and a small part of me is excited by the fact that she could be interested. If she’s not, I go back to admiring from afar or until I can convince her otherwise.
Each step causes a bit of anxiety. My palms start to sweat and my heart picks up speed the closer I get. My legs feel heavy, as if bricks are cemented to the bottom of my shoes, trying to hold me down. The worst she’s going to say is no when I ask her, but I’ll be able to hear her voice and commit it to memory. It’s the small things in life that make a difference to me.
I square my shoulders and take each step with purpose. She watches me, making me wonder what she’s thinking. I have no doubt that she and I could spend hours in an intellectual debate. It’d be worth the time spent to figure out if we’re compatible or if we’re opposites who will fight and bicker until we make up in a mad, passionate embrace. Those thoughts cause me to falter in my steps, stumbling into the empty chair at her table. My hands grip the edge, holding the table in place before I accidentally push it into her.
Clearing my throat and standing straight, I introduce myself. “I’m John Watson,” I say, extending my hand for her taking. Except she leaves me hanging, her eyes wandering all over me like I’m the subject in some sort of weird experiment that I didn’t sign off on.
“Delta Phi treasurer?”
Her voice is pleasantly soft and soothing. I don’t know what I expected, but I’m surprised. I’m curious how she knows about my fraternity and duties there; it seems my reputation precedes me. Not that I have a reputation that casts me in a bad light. I smile graciously and pull the chair out and sit down, taking a bold step as far as I’m concerned. She didn’t invite me or even show the slightest indication that she would like to continue this conversation.
Before any embarrassing words tumble from my mouth, I seek out her eyes. My mother has always told me that the eyes are the window to one’s soul; they’ll tell a story if you ask the right questions. Lock’s eyes could be no different if I play my cards right. The hazel color seems to dance around with the overhead light, flickering and changing from specks of green to brown depending on the angle of her head.
“That I am. Lock Holmes, right?”
Her eyes widen as I say her name; she seems surprised that I know her. If she had any idea how I’ve watched her since the beginning of the semester, she’d likely be running for the hills. One thing I don’t know about her is her major. When I’ve seen her, she’s walking across campus or has her finger dragging along the spines of books in our library. I’m never there long enough to see what academic books she’s reading.
“How did you know my name?” I ask her, needing to know if she, too, has been checking me out.
Lock leans forward, resting her forearms on the brown cafeteria table. “I know a lot about you, John Watson.” The way she says my name, it’s endearing, yet quizzical.
“I’d like to get to know you, Lock Holmes. Delta Phi is having their annual end-of-the semester ski lodge party and I’d love it if you’d accompany me as my date.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I jump slightly at the sense of shock, which quickly turns to elation. This is the easiest date I’ve ever gotten.
• • •
Charlie Bell: suspect number one and Professor MacAfee brownnoser. From the moment he walked into the auditorium he’s been nothing but complimentary toward his teacher, and even though she’s been nothing more than civil in return, a few glances in his direction lead to me to believe there may be something more than academic going on there.
Suspect number two, Ginger Ralph: spent the entire time I was monitoring the class vying for the professor’s attention, but never received the simplest acknowledgment. Between the sideways glances she was giving Charlie and her dejected posture after not being called on, I think she’d have enough motive to steal the semester final.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Ginger suspects the same as I do about MacAfee and Mr. Bell and is planning on using it to her advantage. After a quick search in the administration’s database—more accurately, the dean of students’ computer—it seems Charlie Bell has been attending school for six years and needs to pass agroecology in order to graduate. His current grade is a D- and he would need to ace the final in order to pass, and score higher than everyone else in class.
Charlie Bell comes from money and has been buying his way through school for the past few years. He’s also the president of Delta Phi. According to their bylaws, a student must be in good standing in order to remain in office there. I know this because I read their bylaws after they so kindly decorated our dorm with toilet paper. Yet he’s far from an upstanding academic student and by all accounts should be living off campus.
Ms. Ralph’s academic record is less than stellar, but she’s still in the middle range in the junior class. This is the second time she’s had to take agroecology, having barely passed the first time; the passing grade isn’t enough to maintain the requirements for her degree.
The other members seem to have clean records, all attending class with a mix of passing and failing grades. My next stop is to visit MacAfee’s office with a plan to look as nonchalant as I can while watching students come and go. The test was stolen either while MacAfee was teaching or after hours, but she’s unable to recall the last time she physically saw both the papers and the thumb drive—or she does know and didn’t feel the need to tell me. I could be searching for files that have been gone for months or hours. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The test is about to be administered and as it is with most college students, the studying will commence in the next day or so.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I sit on the unoccupied bench near MacAfee’s office. Sitting next to someone could raise suspicion, especially if they’re used to seeing the same people in the hallway. Students mill around, chatting about the upcoming Delta Phi ski lodge party. A blonde, who dyes her hair every three weeks by the looks of her split ends, complains that she has yet to be invited, but plans to change that today during her lunch hour when she’ll see the Deltas in the cafeteria. She and her friend are out of earshot before I can hear what they say, but judging by her friend’s expression, she doesn’t care, more than likely because she’s been invited.
I open my textbook and pretend to read. It’s easier to watch people if they think you’re not paying attention to them. My peripheral vision is excellent and my eyes are always moving, constantly observing the scenes in front of me. To my right, two students are about to share what is likely their first kiss outside of their dorm rooms. They’re both unsure how the other feels about public displays of affection, but their bodies are gravitating toward each other. If they’d learn to read body language they’d both know that, yes, they do want to kiss. To my left, a guy walks slowly down the hall, letting his peers pass and bump his shoulder as he moves. He pauses and looks around as if he’s looking for someone, but the moment his face turns in my direction I can see fear masking his features. He’s done or knows something that’s causing him to watch his back. His knuckles are white as they clench his molecular genetics textbook. He’s in the wrong academic hall to be carrying a book that has to do with biology.
I’d peg him about six foot, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He shaved this morning, nicking himself under the chin not once, but twice. His jeans sag in the rear, a clear sign of being worn multiple times since being washed, while his shoes are clean, yet clearly worn.
This nervous student lingers around MacAfee’s door, reaching into his textbook for what looks like folded papers, but pulls his hand away quickly when someone approaches. A female student walks by and calls out his name—John—and he nods at his friend as he runs his hand through his coiffed hair. They start down the hall together, with the friend talking animatedly and John nodding along.
As quickly as I can, I pack up and grab my bag and follow them out of the building, keeping a safe distance, but still able to hear their conversation. It’s not nice to eavesdrop, but everyone is a suspect in this case until I can prove otherwise. Right now, I have three possible culprits: Charlie Bell, Ginger Ralph, and John with no last name.
When they head toward the cafeteria, I pause outside, waiting for someone else to open the door so I’m not required to touch the germ-infested handle. The cafeteria is a mecca for germs, cliques, and communicable diseases. I don’t know if the latter is true or not, but by the amount of filth that accumulates in that room there has to be some sort of health code violation. I have managed to avoid Cook Commons since the first day of school, only entering during the mandatory student orientation.
It’s only for the good of the investigation that I enter the building. As I step into the madness of the cafeteria, spotting John is easy. He’s at a table with Delta Phi member Roger Stallworth, my lead suspect in the dorm-pranking case. Sitting next to Roger is the same blonde girl from earlier, likely pleading her case to be his date in a desperate attempt to go to the Deltas’ ski lodge party this weekend.
Stepping out of Cook Commons, I find a spot where I can boot up my laptop and learn more about John before I go in there to watch him. A quick search tells me everything I need to know. He’s a bio major and therefore has no reason to be in the agricultural building. His presence there is a red flag and the fact that he was lurking by Professor MacAfee’s door rings warning bells. Additionally, the fact that John Watson is the newly appointed treasurer of Delta Phi doesn’t escape my notice. Suspect number one is the Delta Phi president and now we have the treasurer lurking outside the professor’s office looking guilty, when he shouldn’t be there. It’s not enough to convict, but it might be enough to prod until one of the Deltas rolls on the other. I pull up the registry for the fraternity and see there is only one member who has anything to do with the agricultural program, and that is Charlie.
Charlie Bell is a Delta and is flunking MacAfee’s class. According to the Delta code, Charlie could instruct another member of the fraternity to steal for him and the brother would, for fear they’d be kicked out of the house. Ginger Ralph needs to pass too, but her grade is a solid B this semester so it’s unlikely that she’d steal the test, unless it’s to blackmail Professor MacAfee, but for what? Could it be that Ginger thinks that MacAfee and Bell are having inappropriate relations? By the way she was acting in class today, it’d be my guess that Ginger definitely thinks something is happening between them, and she wants special treatment. I make a mental note to ask the good professor about any blackmailing attempts from her students.
I close my laptop and make my way back into the cafeteria. The crowd has thinned out, except for the people at John’s table. There’s a table across and one down from his that is open and I walk over to it, holding my breath and hoping that no one will beat me to it. I sit down with a sigh and instantly pull out my hand wipes to clean the area in front of me. I don’t care if people are watching me; they should make a mental note about doing the same thing.
John Watson sits sandwiched between Roger, who is sleeping, and another student. I half expected to see John with the guy he walked out of the ag building with, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Of course, if he isn’t a Delta, he isn’t allowed at the table anyway. The one on his left keeps staring at me, while John looks only occasionally. I’m not that interesting, yet his table partner can’t keep his eyes off me. They speak too quietly for me to hear, leaving me to my imagination, which is never a good thing. I keep my gaze wavering, looking from their table to others, pretending to be interested in the ambience around us. The only thing I’m interested in is getting John away from his friends so we can chat. I’m not expecting him to spill the beans right away as to what he was doing by Professor MacAfee’s office, but maybe he’ll allude to something that will interest me.
The back-and-forth between John and his friend is almost comical, yet slightly annoying. I need him to leave so I can speak with John, but the friend seems to be more interested in talking with his hands and looking at me rather than eating his lunch or leaving. Just as I’m about to stand and seek out John’s attention, he starts to move, freezing me in my chair. His legs are shaky, much like a person who is learning to walk again after a traumatic accident, but building in confidence with each step. He’s coming my way and I find myself sitting up straighter, noticing the look in his eyes as he approaches. It’s hard to place a look I’ve never seen directed at me before, but adoration is what pops into my mind even though we—I mean, he doesn’t know me.
“I’m John Watson,” he says, extending his hand for me to shake, except I’m frozen in my chair because for the first time in my life my heart is thumping loudly and making it hard to think or process even the simplest gestures. I have never felt like this before, nor have I ever seen a set of eyes so blue (and not brown, as I originally suspected) that they make the sky look dull.
“Delta Phi treasurer?” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, instead of introducing myself like a normal person. John smiles, accepting that I already know who he is. For most men this is an ego boost, but it seems to surprise John that I know this about him, and somewhere deep inside I’m happy about that. Now that he’s standing mere inches from me, I’m agreeable to my emotional recognition that he is a handsome man. Too bad we’re out of each other’s leagues. Mine being that no one has ever liked me, so why would someone now, and his being that he’s a fraternity member and would never date an outcast. Or he’s likely involved in the conspiracy of the missing final.
Instead of sitting down, he stays standing and meets my gaze with his. He’s nervous, and I don’t know why. He approached me, not the other way around, and yet he’s unsure if he should be standing at the opposite end of this table. His posture, hips, and shoulders are square, indicating that he wants to be here, that he’s not being forced. Yet his chest moves more rapidly than it would for normal breathing and his cheeks are red. The shortness of breath could be a sign of something I have yet to pinpoint—guilt, maybe? It’s interesting that my mind jumps to guilt, without looking at the obvious, embarrassment. He doesn’t have a reason to feel guilty or embarrassed around me, at least not yet.
“That I am. Lock Holmes, right?” His eyes go wide when he says my name; he’s clearly happy with himself for knowing who I am. It makes me wonder how he does, but we’re not here to get to know me, or even him. I believe he has the answers that I need. He finally sits down even though I never invited him. The cat-and-mouse game of boy meets girl is foreign to me. I’ve never done this before, but clearly he has. I’ll have to follow his lead to make sure I don’t seem too out of place.
“How did you know my name?” he asks, as grin spreads across his face. The fact that I know his name pleases him; oddly enough, I find that I’m happy about this as well. It’s an odd feeling, really, and something I’d like to figure out how to control.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the surface that I cleaned. “I know a lot about you, John Watson.” I’m meaning to shock him, make him think that I’m mysterious, but the opposite happens.
“I’d like to get to know you, Lock Holmes. Delta Phi is having their annual end-of-the-semester ski lodge party and I’d love it if you’d accompany me as my date.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I blurt out before my brain has been able to comprehend what I’ve agreed to.
John’s mouth drops open in delight and I find myself trying not to see if he’s had dental work done. Finding out would be easy, but inconsequential to my case.
“The party is Friday night,” he tells me, but that doesn’t work for me. I need access to the Delta house before Friday so MacAfee can do whatever she plans to do with the test.
“Coffee.”
“What about it?” John asks, subtly reminding me that I’ve only said one word.
“We should get some…now.”
He looks over his shoulder at his friends before looking back at me. “I’ll need to drop my books off.”
“No problem,” I say, standing and shouldering my backpack. Getting into the Delta Phi house is easier than I thought. I’m about to step into the lion’s den, so to speak, and John is my tamer without even knowing it.
John moves quickly from my table and back to his. The book he was holding earlier in front of the professor’s office is tucked under his arm. I’ll watch and see where he puts it and hopefully come up with a reason for him to leave so I can take a peek inside and see what he’s hiding. Part of me hopes it’s nothing, because I do believe I liked the way he was looking at me.
• • •
I try not to mess around with the girls here at school. For one, I don’t have time. My studies keep me busy. Another reason is that they’re clingy. I’m going to be a doctor and to them that screams “future.” To me it yells “headache.” At this point in my schooling, I’m content being single and taking girls with me to movies, to dinner, and to Delta Phi’s many parties. However, walking next to Lock—the girl I have had my eyes on since I first saw her—is making me rethink my current state of being single. I know it’s early, but I believe in kismet. She’s a mystery to me and as she walks alongside me, the subtle brushes of her arm against mine give me hope.
“What do you like to do for fun?” I ask, to break the ice. Even though we were just chatting, we really didn’t say much to each other. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that she said yes to my invite awfully quickly. The thought makes me wonder if she’s been crushing on me as long as I have on her, even though I know it’s probably not true. I wouldn’t be against a kiss or two.
“I’m sure my idea of fun is different from yours.”
“Try me,” I say, placing my hand on her back as we cross the street. She doesn’t need my guidance, but at this point I’m willing to do anything I can to touch or be close to her. Lock pauses, looks at me, and is met with probably the cheesiest grin ever before quickly turning her head toward the opposite side of the street. She may be trying to hide it, but I saw her smile.
“I like to study. I’m not here to party or be social. I’m here to get an education. For fun, I watch documentaries.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, Lock, you and I seem to be one and the same and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. For fun, I like to go over the musculoskeletal system and test my knowledge. What is it that you’re studying?” I point toward the house and use my body to guide hers into the parking lot.
“A little bit of everything at the moment. I’m undecided.”
I find her answer odd considering she just said she likes to study and watch documentaries in her spare time, but it’s common for a freshman to be undecided. I questioned what I was going to do when I got here even though I knew I wanted to be a doctor. I thought maybe I’d do something else but my passion for helping people won out in the end.
The closer we get to Delta house, the more dread starts to set in. It’s only cleaned the night before a big party, which means we still have a day or so until my brothers and I make a massive effort to pick up our many pizza boxes, beer bottles, and errant pieces of clothing. I open the door and step in, pausing as I take in the mess before me. My only consolation is that my room is somewhat clean, just not clean enough that I’d want to invite a girl in. My answer is made for me when I feel her step in behind me.
“Follow me,” I say over my shoulder as I head up the stairs. Only when I reach the top do I realize I should’ve followed her up, like a gentleman.
It seems that my mind isn’t where it should be right now.
“You’ll have to forgive the mess in my bedroom; I wasn’t expecting company,” I tell her as I open the door. I toss my book down onto my bed, watching as the papers I had tucked away in there fall out. I figure if I don’t pay attention to them, neither will she, even though they’re like a bright red beacon yelling at me. If I had planned things better they wouldn’t be mocking me right now.
“We can go now,” I say to Lock, interrupting her perusing session around my room. “Most of the crap belongs to my roommate.”
“The skeleton is yours,” she says, picking up Scully’s hand and letting it drop back down.
“Yes.”
Lock continues her exploration of my room, pausing at my dresser and focusing on my medical terminology poster that hangs on my wall. She wanders close to my bed, choosing to sit on the edge.
“What does your roommate study?” she asks.
I sit down next to her and point up. I keep my gaze steady on her as she takes in the solar system above us. It’s probably one of the best things about my roommate. He loves the stars and at night our room lights up like the night sky. It’s like having our own planetarium in here, just closer and the stars fall off the ceiling if it gets too humid in here.
“Isn’t this something mothers do for their children?”
I try not to give her a funny look, but her question strikes me as odd. Did her mother not do this for her when she was a child? Mine certainly did.
“Yes, but my roommate uses them to study at night.”
“Clever,” she says, turning to face me. Her leg is bent, opening herself up to me. I wonder if she knows that she’s in the perfect kissable situation right now. I could move closer and test the waters, see if she’s even remotely interested in me. I mean, we are in my room and my roommate won’t be back for a couple of hours. It’s college, I’m a guy, and she’s here. I could be smooth and lean in and see if she meets me halfway, or I can sit here and admire the object of my affections.
I’m about to get my wish, because Lock is leaning toward me and I’m meeting her halfway. She’s making the first move. I close my eyes and lick my lips, preparing them for hers. My nose smacks into something hard, and when I open my eyes I find that I’m staring at the wall and my head is cockeyed on her shoulder.
Lock is stiff, waiting for me to move. I do so as cool as possible so that it looks like I meant to do that—because, you know, smashing my nose into her shoulder is as cool as I get. When I’m upright and my manhood starts to come back, I see that the papers from my bed are now in her hand and she’s reading them.
“I thought you were a bio major?”
My heart and stomach drop to the floor while my pulse races. I knew this would happen if these were found on my person.
“I am.”
She shows me the papers that will end my college career. There is no plausible reason for me to have the agroecology final in my room. When it was handed to me, I should’ve thrown it back in my brother’s face, but I took a pledge and while he may be blurring the lines, he would’ve done the same thing for me.
Lock flips through the final, known to be the hardest one on campus. Delta Phi could’ve sold the test and made a killing. Instead, we’ve been using it to help Charlie study, because frankly, we’re sick of him hanging around. He’s been acting like an old man this year. It’s time for him to go.
“I can explain,” I say, pulling the papers out of her hand and moving closer to her.
“There’s no need,” she says, taking the papers back. “I know Professor MacAfee is looking for these.”
“I know, and I was trying to return them.”
“How long have you had them?” she asks.
“Months. The long and short of it is that we’re trying to help Charlie graduate and he needs to pass this class.”
“You’ve broken the law.” Lock crosses her arms, effectively hiding the papers under her arm. The only way I can get them back from her is to reach around or tackle her. Personally, I’d love to tackle her so that we’re wrestling around a little, but I have a feeling she’ll frown upon that move.
“I haven’t,” I tell her, defending myself. “I didn’t take the test. I was only trying to return it.”
“I know. I saw you.” Lock covers her mouth, clearly taken aback by her slip of the tongue.
“You were watching me?” The thought actually excites and validates my odd stalking habits when it comes to her. I can’t help but smile, letting her know that her admission is sitting very well with me.
“I’m investigating and have said far too much. I must go.”
“No, wait.” I grab her arm as she stands. She can’t leave with the test. It’s my responsibility to return it, sight unseen. “You can’t leave. Well, you can, but not with the test. I need to return it.”
“That’s what I’m going to do. Professor MacAfee will pay me for its return.”
Well, crap, it’s not like I can compete with money. That’s liquid gold to a college kid.
“How much? I’ll double it,” I tell her without really thinking about the ramifications of emptying my wallet or savings account.
Lock looks at me, perplexed, pulling her cheek in between her teeth. Either I’ve outsmarted her or…well, I don’t know, because she seems pretty damn intuitive and observant about things.
“I don’t know. She never said.”
Bingo!
I stand and place my hands on her shoulders and look her in the eye. “Lock, I think you’re beautiful and have thought that since I saw you on the first day of school. However, your beauty aside, I cannot let you return that to MacAfee. I will treat you to a month’s worth of dinners off campus if you allow me to put that back in her drawer.”
“Where’s the thumb drive?”
“The what?”
“There was a thumb drive too. It’s been stolen as well.”
My hands drop as I shrug. “I didn’t steal the test, and no, I’m not telling you who did. I was only tasked with returning it. I don’t know anything about a thumb drive.”
Lock studies me, no doubt watching my facial expressions to see if I’m lying. I have a feeling she’s good at reading people and that thought sort of scares me.
“I could use some food,” she says, catching me off guard. The smile that accompanies her comment is enough to make any man weak in the knees. I know mine are about to buckle. “But we need to return the test first.”
“How do you propose we do that?”
“Simple—we’ll go back to the ag building and wait until the time is right.”
My mind can’t find any plausible reason to disagree with her, making me believe that a life of crime is in our future.
• • •
Today I’ve committed a series of “Lock never does this” type of things. I’ve agreed to a date with a complete stranger, followed him to his house, and willingly walked up a flight of stairs to his bedroom all in the name of an investigation, while wondering what it’d be like to hold his hand. Today is a day of new experiences; why not test them all out? Because that’s not who I am, that’s why. I’m the one who pays close attention to my surroundings, notices mundane things like the comforter on John’s bed has been sewn, which I can tell because the corners aren’t square, or the fact that the house he lives in is slowly slipping off its foundation. He’ll never know, but the sliver of light coming through his closed door is a pure indication of structural issues.
I had never felt pure elation before until my fingers touched the papers on his bed. My gut instinct told me earlier that John had what I was seeking. It’s common for students to be in buildings that aren’t related to their area of study; what I found odd was how he was acting. Slinking down the hall and looking over his back as if he were waiting for someone. It was right for me to follow him. Except now that I know he has the test and have heard his explanation, I don’t want to turn him in, making me a less-than-stellar investigator. I should be strong enough to put looks and personality aside. He’s a criminal and should be treated as such. But when he brushed against me while we were walking, he sent shivers over my skin, something I’ve never felt before.
The near kiss almost sent me into overdrive. I had to act quickly for fear he’d realize I’ve never been kissed before. Boys tend to make a mockery of a situation like this, so I did what any self-respecting future crime solver would do—I reached for the evidence. What I didn’t expect was his reasons for having the test and the pleading that came with it—or my willingness to help him continue the cover-up.
“I need a piece of paper,” I say to John, who immediately pulls his notebook out of his backpack, tears out a sheet, and hands it to me. The deep impression of his pen allows me to read the words he had previously written. It’s medical jargon and something I tell myself I should learn. You can never have too much knowledge. I pick up one of his pencils off his bed and start sketching the ag building from what I remember of it. As soon as I’m done, I hand it to John.
“Okay, what do we do with this?”
I don’t know? Think fast, Lock. All I’ve drawn is the inside of the building, which doesn’t do much for us. What we need are the blueprints showing us how to tunnel through the heating system and into Professor MacAfee’s office.
“Professor MacAfee trusts you, right?” John asks.
I nod halfheartedly because trust is such a deep word. I’m not sure if I trust anyone but my parents.
“So she wouldn’t suspect anything if you’re in her office, right?”
“Yes! Why didn’t I think about that? I have access to her office. I mean, I can call and she or her aide will open it for me. You’re brilliant,” I say, as I spring from my spot on his bed and wrap my arms around him. He holds me to him, not letting me go. The appropriate time for a friendly hug has passed, but neither of us seems to want to let go. That is, until I feel his right hand move from the center of my back to my side. The unfamiliar feelings have me pulling away and avoiding any type of eye contact.
I stand, moving away from John and his bed, and pull out my cell phone. “I’ll text MacAfee now and let her know that I’ll need access immediately. Hopefully by the time we get there, the door will be open and we can slip the test back in, unsuspected.”
“Sounds good,” John says, stepping behind me. I try not to let his closeness affect me, but I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t feeling something. I just wish I knew what it was. I look at him over my shoulder and fight the smile that is pushing its way out. His backpack is slung over his shoulder and without saying anything John and I trek across campus, keeping a healthy distance between us. Every time he steps closer I change my pace, only to find myself gravitating toward him. When we enter the ag building, it’s fairly quiet, most of the classes having concluded for the day. John leads the way to MacAfee’s office. At the last moment, I cut in front of him. If MacAfee is to have her room dusted for fingerprints, I don’t want his to show up. It’s best that I be the one who turns the doorknob.
I leave the light off and close the door after him, locking it so we can put the test back unseen. I pull out my penlight, a gift from my parents last Christmas, and light up the room enough for us to see.
“That’s the coolest light ever,” John whispers as he puts his arm around me. I don’t shrug him off because I like the way it feels there. MacAfee’s office isn’t big, but her desk sits back in the corner, set kitty-corner. It’s an odd configuration, but it must work for her.
“She said bottom drawer,” I say, as I tug at it. It takes what little strength I have to pull the drawer open. John catches me as I fall backward and it doesn’t escape me that his lips have brushed against my cheek. I should move, but I don’t. I sort of like the way he’s holding me.
John hands me the test and I set it in the drawer, right next to a thumb drive. I pick up the drive, holding it between my fingers.
“Do you have your laptop?”
“Yes, why?” he asks, slipping his bag off his shoulder and pulling his laptop out. He lifts the lid and types in his passcode. I show him the thumb drive and hate that I can’t see his expression.
“MacAfee said the thumb drive was stolen as well, yet it’s in her drawer. Let’s see what’s on it.”
John doesn’t hesitate, taking the thumb drive out of my hand and plugging it in. A video pops up with Professor MacAfee smiling at us.
“What is this?”
“I don’t know,” he says, pressing play.
“Hello, Lock and John. My plan couldn’t have worked out better. John, weeks ago your brothers came to me asking for help. They thought I’d be the best person to help, since I have neither of you as students. Your brothers have grown tired of watching you fawn over Lock Holmes and asked me to intervene.
“I came up with the idea that my final would come up missing after contacting my friend Ron, at the police station. He is well versed in all things Lock and said I would need an investigation if I wanted her attention.” She winks at the camera as if any of this is funny.
“The final for my class isn’t missing, in case you’re wondering. I changed Charlie’s grades in the computer system knowing you, Lock, would look there first, hoping you’d think he’d be your suspect.
“John had a specific time to try and return the test and Lock being there played perfectly into the plan. I’m hoping I can say everything else has worked out. The reason you’re in my office is because John likes you, Lock. I’m hoping that someday you’ll like him in return. Thank you both for being willing participants in Delta Phi’s plot to bring their brother some happiness.”
The video goes blank and John and I are left cloaked in the darkness of MacAfee’s office.
“I’m sorry, Lock. My brothers are…well, there are just no words.”
“Is it true?” I ask, turning around, relishing the way his hands feel as I move in them. I shine my penlight on him, as if he’s under investigation.
“Very true. I like you, a lot.”
My body warms at the sound of his words. I’ve never known someone who wanted to be with me before, and maybe I want to try to be with him. I drop my penlight and lean in, brushing my trembling lips against his. John pulls me close, deepening the kiss, until I pull away. I realize for the first time, I’m experiencing a stirring in my belly, which has to be the love butterflies, and John is reason for them.
“That was nice. I think I’d like to try that again.” And he does, pressing his lips against mine once more and hopefully not for the last time.