Serpentine Walls

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SW
Suite 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Serpentine Walls

© 2013 CJane Elliott.

Cover Art

© 2013 L.C. Chase.

http://www.lcchase.com

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-62798-213-9

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-212-2

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

October 2013

For my guys, Michael and Nathan.

T
HIS
BOOK
started as a short story I submitted to Dreamspinner Press for an anthology of stories set in colleges and universities. My first thank-you goes to Dreamspinner for not accepting my short story. The feedback I got helped me expand and deepen my plot and characters. My next thank-you goes to Dreamspinner author Ryan Loveless, who read this book when it was a novella and whose comments made me realize that my characters deserved a novel. Thank-you to my circle of faithful readers who read and commented on draft after draft; without you this book would never have been finished: Anne, Carol, Kathleen, Roberta, Ryan, and Sheri. Thank-you to my niece Nora for answering my questions about U.Va. and filmmaking. Thank-you to my husband and son for giving me the time and space to write and for being my two-man cheering section. Thank-you to the wonderful editors, artists, and staff at Dreamspinner Press for your expertise and professionalism, and for ensuring that this book is as good as it can be. Thank-you to my fellow Dreamspinner authors for sharing your knowledge and encouragement. And finally, thank-you to my parents and siblings for your love and support.

S
ERPENTINE
W
ALLS
is a contemporary story set at the University of Virginia. The university was founded by Thomas Jefferson in 1819, and the “academical village” that he designed is still standing and in use, serpentine walls and all. I fell in love with its beautiful grounds and historic buildings when I was a student at U.Va. many years ago. I enjoyed including many of the places and landmarks that I frequented in my own college days in the story, although some of the restaurants are made up. None of the characters or professors mentioned are real. I also took liberties with inventing classes, curriculum, and majors, as well as details about filmmaking. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies.

“W
HAT
’
S
taking him so long?” John glared out the car window at Bud’s house. “It’s almost nine.”

“It’s Bud. You know he’s always late.” Pete stifled a yawn and took a sip of his coffee. He hadn’t been getting much sleep lately and didn’t have the energy to get pissed at Bud this early in the morning.

“Totally. I better let Cleo know we’re going to be later than I said.”

John texted Cleo while Pete pulled his damp T-shirt away from his stomach. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck. Ah, Northern Virginia in August: not yet nine in the morning, and the car already felt like a sauna. He just wanted to get this drive back to U.Va. over with. The sooner they got on the road, the sooner they’d get air conditioning. And the sooner he put Arlington and his whole fucked-up family in the rearview mirror, the better.

“So?” John said as he set down his phone. “How’re you doing?”

Lounging in his seat, John was the epitome of laid-back. His dark-brown hair stuck out in several places, and his wrinkled Black Keys tee looked like he’d slept in it, which he probably had. Right now, however, he was fixing Pete with one of his tell-me-all-about-it-and-don’t-bullshit-me looks.

Pete drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He knew what John meant, but he didn’t want to get into it. John had been his best friend since childhood, and okay, John also happened to be majoring in psychology, but Pete didn’t feel like being psychoanalyzed this morning.

As if reading his thoughts, John added, “Hey, you don’t have to talk about it now, man. I guess I’m still in shock. Your parents are the last people I thought would split up.”

Pete nodded, feeling his throat tighten. “Yeah.”

The house door opened, and Bud appeared, baseball cap on backward like always.

“Yo! I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Does Bud know?” John asked.

“I don’t know. Mom just told us this past weekend, so maybe not. I think Aunt Barb and Uncle Jerry know.”

“I won’t bring it up.” John gripped Pete’s shoulder before opening his car door. “Gonna help Bud with his stuff and try to move his ass along.”

Pete yawned, watching John jog up the steps and knock on the front door; Aunt Barb appeared, looked around John, and waved at Pete. He waved back. She gestured to him to come in, but Pete just smiled at her and stayed in the car.

Hi, Aunt Barb. No way in hell I’m going in your house so you can pretend to be concerned. I’m sure you’re praying for us, though.

He took a breath, trying to shake off his crappy thoughts, and got out to open the trunk when Bud and John emerged from the house laden down with luggage.

“Hey, bro,” Bud boomed, handing over two of the four bags he was carrying. “I got another load of stuff in the house.”

Face red with exertion, Bud was already sweaty despite the tank top and gym shorts that clung to his slightly overweight body. Bud had always been the pudgy kid with the loud voice, but Pete thought he was looking good these days. Getting on the U.Va. rugby team last August as a first year seemed to have done wonders for him. He was even a little less obnoxious than he used to be.

Of course, as soon as Pete had that thought, Bud glared into the almost-full trunk. “Bro, where’m I s’posed to put all the rest of my crap? You and John took up all the room, and I still got three boxes of stuff in the house! This sucks.”

“Hey, cuz, you could’ve taken your own car, you know. Or had your parents drive you.”

“Dad won’t let me take a car to school after I totaled the Mustang.” Bud pouted, clearly considering this an outrageous decision on his father’s part.

Pete didn’t grace that remark with a comment. He piled the two bags he was holding into the trunk and slammed it shut. “Well, that’s it on trunk space.”

“I’m glad Pete takes his car and can give us rides.” John threw the last of Bud’s bags on top of the pile in the backseat. “It’s too much of a hassle to keep one at school. Cleo has a car down there, so I’m all set.”

“Shit, okay, fine. I’ll have to get the rest of my crap mailed to me or something.” Bud stomped back into the house, calling, “Ma! Hey, Ma!”

Pete smiled wryly at John, who laughed and opened the front passenger door. “Good old Bud. What do you wanna bet he bitches about having to ride in the backseat?”

“Poor baby. He’ll bitch about the music for sure.” Pete got in and turned the key in the ignition. “Oh yes, come to me, air conditioning.” The music came on, and he started singing along with Luther Vandross.

“I love Luther.” Even though he couldn’t carry a tune, John claimed he liked listening to Pete sing—one of the many things that made John an awesome friend.

Bud came back out of the house carrying a duffel bag.

“Of course he’s got one more bag,” John said. “Wonder where he’s going to put that?”

“On his face, preferably.”

Pete and John chuckled. Bud was Pete’s cousin, and he did love the guy, but he’d had to put up with him his whole life. John was pretty tolerant of Bud, given what a royal pain he’d been when they were kids, always barging into whatever room Pete and John were in and demanding to be included in their games.

“Hey, turd, open the trunk!” Bud stood on the curb, jiggling his foot, sweat trickling down his forehead as he passed his duffel from hand to hand. “We gotta get on the road.”

“So now he’s in a hurry,” drawled John.

Pete lowered his window. “No room, moron. Put it in the backseat or don’t bring it.”

“Aw, crap,” Bud grumbled, but he walked around, yanked open the back door, and crammed the duffel into the pile of luggage stacked on the other side of the seat.

Pete winced. “Watch out for my guitar.”

“S’cool, bro. Let’s get a move on.” Bud settled in his seat and yawned. “Change the station, okay?”

“Not likely.” Pete pulled away from the curb. “Soul and R&B are your penance for making us late. Now we’re gonna have to sit in traffic.”

“BS, you know 66 always sucks unless we leave at, like, five in the morning.”

Pete didn’t answer, intent on getting them to the freeway by the shortest route possible.

After a few minutes of silence, Bud spoke again, sounding cheerful. One thing about Bud, he was never grouchy for long.

“Where’re you guys living this year? Lambeth?”

“No,” John said. “Cleo’s got an apartment near the Corner. I’m moving in with her.”

“Ohhh—big step, man. Yes! You’ll be getting it regular, and she’s a fox.”

Pete tried not to roll his eyes. “Uh, Bud, there’s usually more to a relationship than ‘getting it regular.’ Not that you’d know.”

“Cruel, man. You wouldn’t know either, unless you got some boyfriend you’re moving in with that I don’t know about.”

“No, Angie and I are sharing a place off of Rugby.”

“You and Angie? Man, I’d love to get into her pants. Set me up, bro!”

“Jesus, is sex all you think about?” snapped Pete. “And no way I’m setting you up with her. Ask her out yourself.”
No chance in hell she’d say yes.

“I did, man. In high school. She shut me down. ’Course I was kind of an asshole back then. She should give me a shot now—I could take her to paradise!”

Pete and John caught each other’s eye, then burst out laughing.

“Bud, my man,” John said after they calmed down, “you most definitely have what’s known as a healthy ego. And you’re great for comic relief.”

“Thanks, man! I think. Oh, and I’m living at the frat house this year, in case you guys were wondering.”

“Living at SAE? You’re becoming a true Southern good ol’ boy, Bud,” Pete said.

“Damn straight, bro,” Bud said, Pete’s sarcasm sailing over his head as usual.

Once Pete got them onto I-66, the conversation lapsed into a welcome silence. Or not so welcome, because Pete started thinking about stuff he didn’t want to think about: his mom driving him to the shopping mall last weekend, and as she stared resolutely at the road, telling him that she and his dad were getting a divorce. His dad dropping by the house to pick up a bag with that redheaded bitch in the car. Right before school began, of course.

—
Great timing, Mom and Dad.

—
Fuck, shut up, you selfish prick.

—
No, screw them. They had no right to fuck up our family like this.

—
Ugh, shut
up
.

“Anything happening tonight?” Pete asked. He’d even talk to Bud right now, to escape the argument in his mind.

John opened his eyes. “Cleo knows about a party. We should go.”

“Party?” Bud piped up from the backseat.

Damn.
Before Pete could think of something to dissuade Bud from attending, John came to the rescue.

“Yeah. It’s the art department crowd and you have to come dressed as your favorite fairy or Disney princess.”

Pete glanced over at John, who gave him a barely perceptible wink.

“What?” Bud made a face. “That’s gay, man. Oh—sorry, Pete. Think I’ll pass on that party. But you should go, bro! You’ll get some action!”

“Doubtful.”

“Whaddya mean?”

Oh God, here he goes.
For some reason, Bud was quite invested in Pete’s sex life, or lack thereof. Pete sighed and concentrated on the road as Bud continued his rant.