Amy Maxwell & the 7 Deadly Sins (The Amy Maxwell Series Book 2) (5 page)

I stare up at the stairwell above me, instantly becoming dizzy from the upward winding.
We have to go up three more flights of stairs? Are you freaking kidding me?

“You’re lucky you ran into me,” River continues. “Most people don’t know that little tidbit about this building until they’ve gone up and down this staircase ten times looking for their classroom.” He snorts as he continues up the steps.

Lucky. Oh, so lucky
.

My legs are burning, in addition to my lungs screaming and heart pounding by the time we get to the sixth floor.
I really ought to get my fat ass to the gym more often
. I swear I feel my lung collapsing in my chest. I’ve been fooling myself thinking that chasing after four kids is actually legitimate exercise.
Maybe I’ll see if I can go to Beth’s club with her. Nah, on second thought, she’d get too much of a kick out of being right and would lord it over me for decades. I should go running with Joey instead. She’d be nicer to me. Or get those PX90 videos I see on the late night infomercials. Then I wouldn’t have to exercise in front of anyone. Maybe I can order them…

I am so caught up in the ludicrous idea that I am actually going to have time to exercise, that I don’t even notice that we have gone halfway down the long corridor and River has opened the door to room 321. We are now entering the lecture hall from the back of the room. River closes the door behind us, trapping the bottom with his foot, in attempt to be quiet, but the old building has other ideas as the door bangs shut like it is possessed by a ghost.
Loudly
.

Fifty heads swivel around to stare at us accusingly, the foremost being the professor at the front of the room. Even though he is dressed professionally in suit pants, beige button down shirt, and a paisley tie, he almost appears cartoon character-ish. His bottom shirt button is straining from the stress of his paunch and his shiny balding head has three strands of hair wrapped around it, like we are being fooled into thinking he actually has hair. His nose is red and bulbous, his eyes tiny and beady behind his coke bottle glasses.

He peers at us as we step toward the desks in the back of the room, giving up any hope of a discreet entrance.

“Well, how nice of you two to join us, Benjamin Braddock and Mrs. Robinson,” he practically sneers while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

The collar on my shirt feels like it is restricting my oxygen flow and I flush visibly at
The Graduate
reference.
As if!
I would NOT be cheating on Roger with this scarecrow of a kid. He is so not my type!

“No, it’s not Benjamin. It’s
River
,” my companion politely corrects the professor.

I stare at him, thinking he is being sarcastic until I realize, he has no idea that the professor was being facetious himself. He doesn’t have a clue who Mrs. Robinson and Benjamin Braddock are. And judging by the blank expressions on the faces of my youthful classmates, neither do they. My embarrassment is unfounded since I’m the only one who gets the joke. I’m in a room full of children barely older than my oldest child. I stick out like a sore thumb, old lady that I am. And judging by their casual attire, I am completely overdressed in my dress pants and
blouse
.

Geez, what the hell were you thinking, Amy? Did you ever wear something like this back in college? Of course not! You practically rolled into class in your underwear. Allie’s outfit today would have been much more fitting than this getup.

The professor scoffs as he waves his arm impatiently toward the front of the classroom. I can tell he doesn’t appreciate the lack of response to his joke. “You can sit at the front of the class. Two seats right up here. Front and center.”

He scowls at us, the room suddenly feeling incredibly claustrophobic, as I head down the middle aisle toward the desks that the professor has indicated. “Since neither of you felt the need to be present for the first part of my lecture, I’m assuming you will ace the quiz,” he remarks as he waves a stack of papers in the air.

Quiz? What quiz?

Unfortunately, I am thinking out loud, causing the professor to glower at me even more, his wrinkles on his forehead touching, making him look like a Shar-Pei puppy.

“The quiz that was on my syllabus, Miss…” He trails off, urging me to fill in the blank. I stare at his meaty hand, his wedding ring on his finger; it appears to be cutting off his circulation. I practically gag at the thought that someone actually married him.

I don’t offer my name, instead, I quickly retort, “Oh, well, it’s my first day. I didn’t get a syllabus yet.” I breathe a sigh of relief. He can’t
possibly
expect me to take a quiz if I haven’t even come to the class yet.
Can he?

“My syllabus are online. When you registered for the class, you were supposed to click the link for my textbook requirements
and
my syllabus. The required reading for this quiz was listed.” He slaps a quiz on the first desk and points at it. “So unless you literally registered ten minutes ago, you will be expected to take this quiz.”

Sliding into the desk, I am instantly brought back to high school. With my face flaming, I feel the professor’s eyes boring through me, knowing that I am not up to this task of going back to school and embarking on a career.

Who was I kidding? I can’t do this. I can’t even make it to a class on time. Hell, I couldn’t even get it together to
register
on time. There’s no way I can raise four kids, run a household, graduate from college and have a career. Maybe some women can do it, but I’m not one of them.

I am considering just walking out, when River slides into the desk next to mine. The professor offers him a quiz paper, but with a lot less venom and absolutely no disgust. He then slithers up the aisle like a fat snake that has just devoured his prey, slapping quizzes onto the desks behind me.

I swallow hard, willing myself not to cry like an idiot, when River leans toward me and whispers, “Don’t take it personally. I had Professor Cummings last year. He’s a total male chauvinist pig jerk off.”

I stare at him incredulously. The guy’s name was
Cummings? Really?
River winks as he adds, “Yes, pun intended.”

“Miss ‘
Late for Class
’, do you have something to add?” I don’t turn around as the sharp voice of Professor Cummings slices through me.

I shake my head, not taking my eyes off of the paper on my desk. If I look at the professor, I know I’ll start blubbering and he’ll probably get a kick out of it. He most likely goes home and proudly logs all the students he has made cry that day into his diary.

“Then you may all begin,” Professor Cummings remarks sharply and I see his ugly brown shoes whisk past my desk. I flip the paper over, revealing a crammed ten question multiple choice quiz in the smallest font imaginable. I squint to read the questions, having absolutely no clue what they are in reference to and immediately feel hot tears stinging at my eyes.

Resisting the urge to hurl the paper at the jerk off professor and flee the room, I do the only thing I can. Start answering C for every question.

~Three~

I am sobbing by the time I get to my car, my eyeliner streaming down my cheeks, the rest of my make-up sliding off of my face like a pancake on a griddle. Fortunately, nobody notices me; the campus seems to be deserted.

I do see a swarm of students headed toward the main building on campus. River had been babbling about something as we left class, some demonstration of some kind, but I darted away from him as quickly as possible after class so I didn’t hear everything he was saying. Nor did I care. It was probably something else I was supposed to attend, but didn’t get the memo or check online.

I click open my car and slide into the front seat, tossing both of my bags on the passenger seat.

“At least you didn’t cry in front of the macho man professor,” I remind myself out loud as I reach for my phone. I might as well look online and find the textbook I am supposed to read while I’m on campus. Maybe I could actually have a clue on my next exam.

“Ugh, what a jerk,” I mutter as I stare at my ancient phone which is loading as slowly as humanly possible. I am certain the rest of the students in the class have newfangled phones and can whip up the internet on a moment’s notice.

I pause in my thinking.
Did you just say
newfangled phones
? You sound just like your father.

My parents are both extremely adverse to technology. My mother’s skills are limited to occasionally surfing the web, ordering things online (much to the dismay of my father), and reading my sister’s blog. Mom has a Facebook account where she posts three or four pictures a year and one of us has to help her upload them. She can also answer email (as long as it’s only a reply) and send a text in under ten minutes, which is a huge accomplishment for her. 

My father, on the other hand, may actually be retarded when it comes to technological advances of this era. Mind you, he has no problem with technology that enhances his TV or movie viewing experiences, like Netflix and Dish TV, but he is constantly screwing up his computer, loading up viruses and freezing up the screen. He calls me or Beth at least once a week with some sort of technology problem. Last year he actually dropped his phone in a puddle and then put it in the microwave to dry it off. Then, he tossed the cellular phone that we got him for Christmas at me like it was on fire, refusing to have anything to do with the “newfangled” phones. Hence, the old person phrase that popped in my head.

I only wish I had one of those phones as my screen loads at a painstakingly slow pace. My phone isn’t due for an upgrade for three more months; it’s been running incredibly slow ever since Evan covered it in Destin and tried to diaper it like it was a baby doll.

Finally, the professor’s page pops up, a picture of his hideous face in the corner next to his contact information. I resist the urge to smack the phone against the dashboard as I slowly scroll down the page to find the required reading material.

“
Criminal Justice and You
,” I scoff.
Really?
It sounds like an elementary school book. I nearly swallow my gum as I continue to read.
$278???? For a book?
And that’s not all that’s listed. There are four other required books and none of them are under $200.

“There is no way I can shell out $1000 for one class! I have two other classes!” I say out loud to no one in particular. It’s bad enough that going back to school is costing me $3000 a credit. Roger is going to blow his top when he finds out I’m going to need and additional $3000 for books.

Suddenly, it feels like the roof of the car is closing in on me, and once again, I find myself gasping for air. The tears are flowing as if they have been held back by a dam. 

“What the hell were you thinking, Amy?” I ask myself as I dramatically bang my head against the steering wheel. Roger was right. Beth was right.
Everyone
was right. It was my first day of my first class and I have fallen apart already. This might be a new world record. There was no way I was going to be able to raise my kids, run a household, AND handle the stress of college. Hell, I couldn’t handle the stress of college when I was a teenager with nothing to do
but
be a college student. And someone else to pay the bills, too.

“Deep breath, Amy,” I murmur in the calmest tone I can muster. “Don’t worry about the book right now. Maybe you can get it cheaper on eBay. Go home and take a deep breath.”

I attempt to dry my moist face with my sweaty arm, but the tears keep rolling. My vision is getting blurry and I’m worried that I’m not going to be able to drive home. For some reason, that thought makes me bawl even harder.

“You can’t do anything right. You’re such a loser, Amy,” I growl angrily at myself.

“No, you’re not,” I hear a quiet voice call out.

Startled, I immediately turn my attention to the back seat because in movies, there’s always someone sitting in the back seat unbeknownst to the person in the front seat. In this instance, that’s not the case.

My head rotates toward the window and through my watery lens I can see my new friend River crouched down, face pressed against my window, staring at me with concern. I practically leap out of my skin.

“Jesus, River! You scared me!” I manage to yelp. The window is cracked open at the top, ever so slightly. I turn the car on so I can roll it down all the way. Embarrassed that River has been listening to my babbling, I ask, “How long were you standing there?”

He blushes at the idea of eavesdropping on me. “Oh, long enough…” he stammers.
Another movie cliché. Too bad my day won’t end like a movie. There will be no romantic sunset walk with a handsome man who looks suspiciously like Jason…

Sighing, I ask, “What do you want, River?” I’m hoping the kid will take the hint that I’m not in the mood for company, and disappear.

“I just followed you because you looked upset and…” His voice trails off.

“I’m
not
upset,” I try to say, but the tears are leaking from my eyes.
Why the heck can’t you get your crying under control? Get it together woman!

“I’m not a psych major, but it looks like you’re upset, Amy,” he says, trying to crack a smile.

“Don’t call me Amy,” I snap. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”

River snorts. “Ha! No way! My mother is an old lesbian hippie with gray hair down to her knees. You’re nothing like my mother.”

I must have been staring at him with my jaw hanging open because he continues to explain. “She would have loved to be an original flower child of Woodstock, but she was too young when it happened. So instead she became a totally ‘burn your bra’ babe of the 70’s. She marched and protested and ran away to live on a commune when she was a teenager, and when she came back, well, let’s just say, she decided that she wasn’t interested in the men in this town. Totally drove my grandmother insane.”

I cringe as River continues. “So anyway, Mom decided when she was around 39 or so that she wanted kids and headed to the local sperm bank. She picked her baby daddy from a menu and, viola!” He sweeps his arm dramatically over his body. “Yours truly is standing in front of you, the product of an absent astrophysicist father and a very quirky, but loveable nut job of a mother. I’m the whole package; smart, good looking, and just a tad bit insane. I was born a few years after River Phoenix’s death, who she worshipped for some weird reason, so that explains my name.”

He is grinning absurdly and I can’t help but smile back. He wiggles his eyebrows and I start to laugh, snorting actually. Before I know what’s happening, the two of us are howling and I am squeezing my thighs together so I don’t pee my pants.

I really ought to do more Kegals
.

“Listen,” River says while we dry our tears of laugher from our eyes. “Don’t take that guy too personally. He’s a real prick. He really hates women; maybe his wife cut off his penis or something.” River grins mischievously as I cover my mouth to prevent myself from laughing again. “He really loves those textbooks. In fact, he wrote two of them, so as long as you scour every inch of them, you’ll do fine.”

I groan. “So I really have to buy thousands of dollars worth of text books?”

River looks confused. “Wait…what?”

“I just looked the books up on the college bookstore page. They were like $250 apiece.” I pointed to my phone but the page with the text books had already mysteriously disappeared, compliments of my crappy phone. “Well, they were here a second ago.”

River shakes his head. “Nobody buys from the book store anymore. Maybe that’s why they’re so expensive. You can download the books to your iPad.” He arches his eyebrow. “You do know what an iPad is, right?”

I resist the urge to hit him as I retort, “Yes! I know what an iPad is! I’m not from the dark ages, you know!”

He shrugs and remarks casually, “Oh, just saying. The elderly have trouble with technology…’cuz my mother has no idea how to use an iPad.” He grins wickedly and I narrow my eyes at him. I feel like I am being put through the ringer by my own kids.

“Here.” River pulls a marble notebook out of his back pack and scribbles on a piece of paper. He rips the page out of the notebook and pushes it through the window at me. “Try this website. You can get the books much cheaper from here.”

I raise my eyebrows as I accept the paper. “This is all legit, right?”

River rolls his black rimmed eyes at me. “I’m a criminal justice major. Do you think I would do anything illegal?”

I want to point out that I’ve met quite a few crooked cops, but instead I tuck the scrap of paper in my bag. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” River replies while standing up. Then, as if he has forgotten something, he crouches back down by my window and holds his hand out, palm facing up. “Give me your phone?”

I shrink away from the window.
After all that, he’s going to mug me? Geez, Amy, you sure know how to pick them. Obviously you aren’t cut out for police work if you can’t even read someone…

“
Relax
. I’m going to put my number in your phone,” he explains as I practically crawl into the passenger seat. “In case you have any questions or you ever need any help.”

“Oh,” I relax my tense shoulders. “Help with what?”

River shrugs. “School work? Or questions about college. Or police work. My cousin and aunt and uncle were cops so I know a lot about police work already. You’d be amazed at the jargon you pick up just sitting around the table at Thanksgiving.” He smiles as he adds, “You’re safe with me.”

Oddly enough, I feel that I am. I return River’s smile as I hand over my phone. He quickly taps a few buttons and then hands the phone back to me.

Suddenly, I am curious. “Why are you going out of your way to help me?” I ask with a twinge of suspicion. “Are you in some sort of ‘assist the elderly’ program? Because I’m sure there’s some old lady you could be helping across the street.”

It is River’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “I was joking about you being old. I…” He frowns as if he is looking for the right words. “I just saw the way you looked today after class.”

I wrinkle my brow. “Okay…how did I look?”

“Like someone who was defeated,” River explains while twisting his eyebrow ring nervously.

It feels as if all the air has been deflated from my lungs. I am about to snap at River and argue with him.
I’m not defeated!
And then I remind myself,
Amy…you were about to give up already, throw in the towel and call it quits. River is right.

Instead of arguing, I simply bob my head. “Thanks. I really need to go so I can get home before the kids do.”

River offers me a smile and a wave. “Oh, and my mother would never let me live it down if I didn’t help one of her kind,” he remarks with a smirk. I can hear him cackling with laughter as he walks away. I debate hitting him with the car, but instead I find myself laughing along with him. He’s not that bad of a kid after all.

~*~

Later that night, after I have tucked in all of my children (except for Allie who now only lets me in her room on alternate Saturdays and sometimes when the moon is full), I am crouched over the iPad as I sit in bed. I have managed, with the reluctant help of my teen, to download all of the books that are required for Professor Jerk Off, um I mean Cummings’ class.

I have also downloaded his lengthy syllabus and am now examining it. From what I can tell, the man is a sadist. Every class there is a quiz on the reading. Ok, I get that. In addition, he has mandatory study guide questions that need to be submitted before each class. Ironically, class attendance isn’t mandatory. I’m not sure how
that
works.

But the thing that really gets me is the
project
. Scratch that, not just a project, a
group
project. I’m going to be expected to huddle with these…
teenagers
at the student center, or worse, in their dorm rooms, and
work
with them. When the hell am I going to have time for that? I’m barely going to be able to make it to class and have time to read. As it is, my head is throbbing and my eyes are burning because it is dangerously close to midnight.