When I came home from school, I found the letter on my desk. My mother had obviously placed it there. She would be down in her study now, marking papers, just as interested in the contents of the letter as him, but respectful enough to not open it.
I took the letter opener and sliced along the paper, enjoying the satisfying rip that I heard all too rarely in my email-intensive life. And then unfolding of the paper, and beginning to read: "Dear Mr. Hook; We are pleased to welcome you to..."
I didn't need to read further. I folded the letter up again, and put it back in the envelope. My first instinct was to call Vernon and tell him we'd be going to the same university--he had gotten his letter the week before. But even before telling him, I'd need to tell my mother.
"Mom?"
She had her back to me at the desk, her dark hair still tied up behind her head. She put down her pen to listen.
"The letter from the University... I got in."
She turned on her chair, slowly, and gave me a look over the tops of her professorial glasses.
"I knew you would." She said it warmly, matter-of-factly, but I caught the tension beneath it--she was no more comfortable with the fact that our lives would be forced together any more than I was. There was nothing for it, though--Montclaire University had one of the best English programs in the country, and I would be foolish to settle for anywhere else. It's not like I would be in any of her classes, either--I had no interest in taking anything from the philosophy realm.
"I guess we can carpool then, on days when our schedules are similar."
"Yeah."
Carpooling with my mother. It was so lame, so high-school. It slowly began to sink in, how I'd have to look over my shoulder every time I tried to flirt with a girl.
"Anyway, I'm going to go phone Vernon."
"Okay, and congrats, honey. Be sure to call your dad and tell him."
Vernon and I made friends easily. Vernon had all the poise of a senior, casual and controlled, articulate, and sometimes outrageous. He'd lead us to midnight film showings, he'd smuggle expensive scotch into study halls, and pass it around to everyone in the hall, whether he knew them or not. He had blossomed--I hate to use that word, but it was true, he was nothing like the Vernon I remember from high-school. He attracted people to him, and I was happy to bask in his circle. He referred to me, frequently, as the brains behind the operation—any operation--because I would always quietly whisper things to him, which he would then announce to the group with a confidence I could never give my own thoughts. Billy, Karl and Oscar rounded out our group, all good guys, all sharing our general joy of the experience.
And as for my mother, I never saw much of her. Our course-schedules were almost completely different through the first term, and we'd occasionally see each other during a rush through hallways, a wave across the distance of people, or occasionally I'd get her a tea and stop by her office during her break. My grades were good. I didn't have a girlfriend yet--infact I was still a virgin, but that all seemed okay, because Vernon didn't place a high priority on girls either, except as a cursory form of distraction.
During the second semester, things changed in a number of ways. The first was the presence of Morag and Hannah in our circle of friends. They had been in our classes through the first semester, but for some reason they attached themselves to us. We regarded them awkwardly at first, girls who sought us out, wanted to hang out with us, but we quietly agreed that it was a good thing.
"It reflects well on us, to other girls," Oscar said.
"Word of mouth. They'll tell their friends what great, cool guys we are, and soon it'll get out and we'll have to beat the girls off," Vernon agreed.
Nobody mentioned the fact that Hannah and Morag, were, themselves, reasonably attractive--if somewhat geeky--and apparently available, but we were all aware of it. If there were two of us guys, say, just myself and Vernon, the math would be obvious. As it was, we nobody could act on these two girls in our midst without at least three guys being left out.
The second change was that I had a class with Mrs. Magunderson--Canadian literature. She took me aside during the class.
"I just want to make it clear, Sean, that just because your mother is one of my best friends doesn't mean you can expect a free ride in my class."
"Okay," I said. I had no idea that Ms. Magunderson and my mother knew each other.
"Infact, you can probably expect that I'll be a little tougher on you than the other students. After all, Paula is so brilliant, if you have half her brains--which, given all she's said about your father, is about as much as we should hope for--you should breeze through the
class."
"Okay." It hardly seemed fair, but I wasn't in a position to argue. I found beautiful girls mildly intimidating. But beautiful women like Ms Magunderson terrified me out of my mind.
"So I have a class with Mrs Magunderson," I announced to my mother during the drive to school--that was the other change in the second semester: our schedules were amost identical three days a week, so it made sense to carpool. I was sick of taking the buses, and my mother wasn't a fan of driving and was happy to let me take over behind the wheel.
"Yes, I know."
"She told me that the two of you are friends."
My mom sighed. "She told me about your conversation. She said she felt bad about it, she worried she might have scared you a bit."
"Oh."
"Did she?"
"Yeah, maybe a bit."
"Yeah, she's a little bit fierce."
I wanted to tell my mother what she had said about my father, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up so I left it alone. Probably nothing. We parted ways on the sidewalk between the buildings, her giving me a gentle pat on the arm.
I found everyone hanging around in the foodcourt.
"Hey Hook, I saw your ride this morning, pretty sweet!" Oscar called out.
"Oh thanks! A cadillac my dad restored. He was big into them."
