CHAPTER TEN

Spencer spent much of the next few days locked in her room. When Toby called, she refused to answer. When anybody knocked on the door, she forbade Hanna to open it. She didn't care how irrational she was being – she was done having her heart broken.

"I bet Cody just said those things to get in your pants," Hanna had protested. "Toby's not like that."

"I know," Spencer had agreed, "but the look on his face when I brought up Afghanistan was unmistakable. And I can't forgive him for not telling me that."

And she meant it. Somewhere deep down, she knew that Cody was probably lying about Toby's sexual escapades. Even Toby had seemed irrefutably baffled by the accusation. She had calmed down slightly about that. But the way his face fell when deployment came up…well, that just wasn't acceptable. It was totally unfair of him to swoop back into her life only to plan on leaving again.

The beginning of the semester came and went. Both Hanna and Spencer began busying themselves with their studies. Many an evening was now spent quietly sharing a pot of coffee and hitting the books. Friday night, Hanna insisted on going out again. Spencer refused, allowing Hanna to go on her way. It was 3 in the morning when she returned, to find Spencer still curled up in the armchair feverishly writing a paper on her laptop.

"You need some sleep, Spence," Hanna had stated. There was the distinct smell of alcohol on her breath, though she was completely coherent.

"There's a lot of work to do," she had muttered in response.

Hanna had paused behind the couch, distractedly running her hands along its stitching pattern. "I saw Toby at the bar tonight."

"Mmm," Spencer mumbled noncommittally. Hanna waited a moment to see if any further response would come; it did not. She had retreated to her room with a heavy sigh of resignation. Spencer refused to allow herself to think of it any further, continuing to bury herself in assignments that weren't due for weeks.

Spencer was continuing her homework ritual on Saturday morning, having entered well into advance projects. She was working on things that weren't due until October.

"Please call me. We need to talk. I love you." This was the latest text message he had sent her. It read much like the others: nothing of explanation or defense. That's what made her decide that it had to be true. If it wasn't, he would have surely said it by now.

"You need to talk to him some time," Hanna quipped, emerging from her bedroom in a nightgown and bathrobe. Her hair was tangled and askew, indicating that she had just woken up.

"Says who?" Spencer demanded, not raising her eyes from her computer.

Hanna paused behind the screen, placing a stubborn hand on her hip. "Did you even go to bed last night?"

"I don't remember," Spencer said distractedly.

Hanna threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "That's it." She slammed Spencer's laptop shut with one hand, nearly amputating her fingers.

"Hanna!"

"You haven't seen the light of day in almost a week," Hanna argued. "As your friend, I can't let it continue."

"I have homework!"

"That's not due for months," Hanna corrected. "Keep at it and you'll have your whole Bachelor's degree done by next week."

Spencer continued to stare at her closed computer helplessly. "I need to take my mind off things," she muttered. It was the first time in days that her mind was beginning to wander. Keeping up on her schoolwork had been a satisfactory distraction; now, however, as she looked around the room, the wound was beginning to re-open, as if salt had been poured on it. Her heart felt strangled but her body was numb. It took every ounce of strength not to run back to her bedroom, close the door, and collapse on her bed in sobs.

"Spence, c'mon," Hanna urged softly, seating herself on the arm of Spencer's chair. "Keeping busy won't make it go away."

"I know," Spencer agreed, unable to keep the whine from her voice. "But the longer I can put it off, the better I feel."

"Is that really true?" Hanna challenged, raising an eyebrow. Spencer did not respond. She knew that her answer would not be in her own favor.

"Listen," Hanna began, "I have a mission for you. And I won't take no for an answer."

Spencer looked at her expectantly.

"We're out of coffee. And, well, that's just not gonna fly."

Spencer creased her brow in confusion. "How can we be out?"

"You've been at the books like a crazy person," Hanna quipped. "You've been drinking it nonstop."

"Oh." She felt suddenly foolish.

"So," Hanna continued, "I think it's fair that you go pick some up for us."

Spencer considered this for a minute. She didn't feel like leaving the apartment. Not in Hanna's wildest dreams. But coffee was an immediate necessity. And she had the distinct feeling that Hanna could live without it more easily than she, even if it was just to prove a point.

"Can I just pick something up at the coffee shop?" Spencer asked meekly. Starbucks was merely a couple blocks away, and would be an easy trek there and back. Minimal chance of running into anyone she wasn't prepared to.

"Sure," Hanna sighed. "Anything will do at this point. Caramel macchiato. Skim." With that, she raised herself from her seat and headed for the bathroom. Spencer sat alone on the chair for a minute, steeling herself for the task at hand. It was like dealing with 'A' all over again; scared to leave the house, scared to step a toe out of line. She was admittedly scared to death.

Nevertheless, she slowly began pulling on her sweater. It had gotten chilly over the past couple of days, as if the cold front had just been waiting in the shadows to emerge on the first day of school. It was symbolic in several ways. More ways than Spencer was willing to analyze. She carelessly slipped on a pair of Hanna's ballet flats, grabbed her purse, and was out the door.

Once outside, she had to admit that the fresh air tasted good on her tongue. It felt as though she had isolated herself for months rather than days. Though she would have preferred sunnier weather than was present, she was immediately grateful for Hanna's forceful nature.

Campus was quiet. Then again, it was early on a Saturday morning; surely everyone was sleeping in due to late nights and hangovers. It was unusual to be around when the hustle and bustle was on the downward track though. She was accustomed to dozens of other students making their way into central campus. Today, it seemed rather dead.

The heat was on in Starbucks, for which she was grateful. She approached the counter quickly, knowing that she had no desire to be around people for too long.

"Skim caramel macchiato and a venti peppermint mocha," she ordered, self-consciously twisting a lock of hair on her finger. She hadn't felt anxiety like this in months. It was as though her biggest weaknesses were rearing their ugly heads simultaneously, causing her to feel entirely helpless to their predation.

Just as the baristas were handing her coffees over, she heard a voice that made her blood run cold.

"Hey! Table-Crasher!"

Cody.

She didn't want to turn around. Would he notice if she simply grabbed her coffee and ran? Or perhaps if she tucked and rolled like a secret agent back to the door, undetected?

"Spencer! Come here!"

She slowly swiveled and forced a smile. "Jeff. Hi."

He was sitting at a nearby table with a banana nut muffin and espresso, working on his laptop. He was dressed down compared to the last time she saw him, for now he donned a simple hoodie and pair of sweat pants.

"Got a minute?"

"Not really, I have to get Hanna's coffee – "

"Just two minutes. It'll stay warm."

She hesitantly stood at the barista counter, feeling unbearably awkward. If she left, she was a bitch. If she stayed, sudden death was imminent.

"Two minutes," she conceded at last as she took a hesitant seat across from him, rationalizing that there was nothing any more eventful to return to at home.

"How have you been?" he asked, making a point to close his laptop to provide undivided attention to her.

She scoffed bitterly. "How do you think I've been?"

He nodded somberly. "I know…I'm sorry. I can't believe he didn't say anything to you before."

Spencer shrugged indifferently. "It is what it is," she stated, fighting to keep the conversation completely arbitrary.

"He's been pretty beat up," Cody began, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. "He really needs to talk to you…"

"There's nothing to say." Spencer sipped on her coffee, bound and determined to make the exchange as short as humanly possible.

"I know it's hard," Cody began softly, "and I can't believe he was so dishonest about it with you."

As much as she didn't want to buy into his support, she could see that he was being genuine. His green eyes were soul bearing, eager to share sympathy with her.

Nevertheless, she didn't respond.

"Not all of us are like that, you know," he added. "I, for one, think it's really important to be honest with someone you're into."

She nodded half-heartedly.

"For instance," he started, clearing his throat uncomfortably, "I find you to be a beautiful, smart, funny girl. And I think it's important that you know that. That you know there are other men who will value you the way you deserve."

She lowered her eyes to the coffee cup before her, struggling to keep the blush from rising in her cheeks. She had the distinct feeling that she was being hit on; but only part of her was uncomfortable with it. The other part was selfishly flattered.

He laughed awkwardly. "Wow. I can't believe I said that." She smiled hesitantly in response. "Not that I could ever take it any farther…I mean, you're Toby's…"

Wrong thing to say. Spencer became suddenly brazen, as though she had been struck with a whip. "I don't belong to anyone."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Cody began quickly. "Those were his words, not mine."

She gazed at him questioningly.

"I mean, he said that everyone had to stay away from 'his girl.' That's all," Cody defended. Spencer's bullshit radar was in full commission, attempting to read how much of Cody's monologue was sincere.

"Please, that's not how he meant it," he pleaded. "Seriously."

"Fine." Spencer leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms stubbornly, eyes trained on the table. She noticed that beside his muffin was a novel. One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, to be precise.

"Are you reading that?" she asked curiously, momentarily forgetting her irritation.

"Yeah, for like, the eightieth time," he laughed. "It's my favorite book."

She smiled. "It's one of mine, too."

"Ken Kesey is brilliant," he continued. "The way he connotes McMurphy with Jesus Christ is mind-blowing."

Spencer's heart fluttered in slight. The last time she had heard the word 'connote' was out of her own mouth. Intellectual conversation was her most valued quality in a person.

"Did you ever read Fahrenheit 451?" he continued. She nodded. "That's another great piece of work. Darkly satirical, really, in regard to where our society is headed."

She wasn't going to lie. She was intrigued by his literary analysis.

"Sorry," he chuckled, looking as though he suddenly felt self-conscious. "Literature major. Not that it will take me far unless I teach…"

"You're a lit major?" she breathed. It had been one of her first choices, but had been immediately discounted when she considered the job market available for it.

He nodded. "My dad was the English teacher at my high school. He raised me and my sister on classic novels. I don't know what I would do without my literacy. Books take me into a totally different realm…I can't describe it."

She knew precisely what he meant.

"Poetry, too," he continued. "Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost changed my life. It's as though he wrote it for me." He paused. "I had a pretty messed up childhood…that poem epitomized it while simultaneously comforting the pain."

"It's a fantastic poem," she agreed. "Walt Whitman is my personal favorite."

"There's a poetry reading here tonight," he began hesitantly. "I have to attend it for a class. I'm interested in it regardless though." He looked to her inquisitively. "Would you like to join me?"

She felt the proverbial cane pulling her by the waist, thrusting her back into reality. So what if he was brilliant? And a literature major? And an expert flatterer? It didn't change the way she felt about Toby. And it certainly didn't make her want to date him. He was good-looking, sure; but she would be holding off from dating for a long, long time. She was going to focus on school. That was that.

A poetry reading was academic though. Right? Harmless…

She took a deep breath. "What time does it start?"

Cody entered the house with a skip in his step. He tossed his laptop bag carelessly on the kitchen counter, making a beeline for Lancaster on the couch. He plopped down beside him. "Where's Cavanaugh?" he inquired quietly.

"Work," Lancaster said distractedly, neglecting to look up from his video game.

"Holmes?"

"Dunno. Why?"

"Guess who I just scored a mother-fucking date with?" Cody boasted, buffing his fingernails on his shoulder.

Lancaster paused the game and looked at his friend warningly. "You didn't…"

"I did." Cody leapt off the couch and stood up, feeling suddenly energized. "My poetry nonsense actually paid off for once."

Lancaster shook his head disapprovingly. "You're an asshole, dude."

"Why? I wasn't the one that broke her heart," Cody defended. "I plan on getting a piece of that as soon as I can."

A light bulb seemed to go off in Lancaster's head as his mouth fell agape. "It was you that fed her all the bull shit about Cavanaugh sleeping around." It was an accusation, not a question.

"Brilliant deduction, Watson," Cody said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Not my fault he couldn't convince her otherwise."

Lancaster irritably tossed the Xbox controller to the floor, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "You are treading on dangerous ground. He's going to kill you."

"You're not going to tell him though. Are you?" Cody demanded threateningly, crossing his arms over his well-exercised chest.

Lancaster shook his head in resignation. "I'm not getting involved."

"That's what I like to hear," Cody declared happily. "I'll let you know how she is in bed."

Lancaster squared his chin in disapproval, but said nothing.

"Well," Cody continued, rubbing his hands together as though he had completed a successful business transaction. "Time to start getting ready." With that, he retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The sound of the shower being flipped on echoed from down the hall.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Lancaster lifted his head in alarm. There stood Holmes in the garage doorway, looking infuriated.

TO BE CONTINUED