The Bride Wore Size 12
Page 68
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Alcohol is said to have been present at this party in large quantities.
The morning after the party, a fellow Fischer Hall RA, Jasmine Albright, was found dead in her room in Fischer Hall. Cause of death has not yet been released by the medical examiner, but sources tell the Express that the student was not seen drinking at the party.
A petition has already been started by some of the RAs’ freshmen residents in order
to “save” the RAs’ jobs.
“I love my RA,” says freshman Lindsay Chu, “and I don’t think it’s fair that she got fired for something everyone else was doing too. And it isn’t her fault that that
a girl died. Everyone drinks. Who cares?”
So far the petition has over fifty signatures. None of the Fischer Hall RAs were available for comment.
New York College Express,
your daily student news blog
Cooper is still asleep when I leave for Fischer Hall the next day. The pills—and no doubt exhaustion, since it turns out I possess surprisingly excellent nursing skills—have finally knocked him out. I post a long list of instructions for Hal on the door to the refrigerator, which he eyes nervously.
“I think Coop wanted me to go with you,” Hal says. “You know, to protect you from the crazy person who’s killing people where you work, and from your mom’s boyfriend too.”
I laugh humorlessly. I know things must be pretty bad if Virgin Hal would rather hang out with me, a lady, than Cooper. Cooper’s not exactly someone who enjoys spending time in bed . . . unless I’m there with him, of course.
“I think my mom’s boyfriend is more interested in going after her than me, Hal,” I say. “Besides, it will look weird if I have a bodyguard following me around the residence hall. And someone has to stay here and help Cooper. He’s got a broken rib on top of a fractured ankle. He can’t use the crutches yet. Who’s going to bring him breakfast and make sure he takes his pills?”
The answer to this question should be me, but no way am I calling in sick to stay home to play nursemaid to my injured fiancé, even if he did do something incredibly brave and noble. I have a meeting with Rashid and Ameera at nine, and I’m not missing it, though I plan to come home right after.
Of course, I’ll have to rush out again straightaway, since I have my final wedding gown fitting at noon. No way can I miss that appointment the way I did the one with our wedding planner.
“Well,” Hal says, dubiously eyeing the list I’ve left, which says Bring Cooper breakfast as the first item, with Order egg, cheese, and ham breakfast sandwich from deli (for delivery) beneath it, and the number for the deli under that. Attached to it is a ten-dollar bill (I’ve included money for Hal’s breakfast, and a deli menu), and then, beneath that, because I’m not sure Hal knows, I’ve written, Deli guy is our friend. He will not hurt us. Do not shoot him.
“I don’t know,” Hal says, slowly, still staring at the list.
“Look,” I say. It’s nearly nine. “Have Cooper call me when he wakes up.”
I’m almost out the door before Hal calls me back. “Heather! You forgot something.”
I hurry back only to have him slip the .22 into my purse. Its weight makes the bag considerably heavier.
“It’s loaded,” Hal says, looking furtively up and down the street. The sky is overcast, for a change, and thankfully there aren’t many people around. “The safety is on. Remember what I said. Never, ever give up your weapon, no matter what. Not for any reason. Have you read The Onion Field?”
Oddly, I have. It’s a fact-based novel Cooper keeps around the house and which I’ve flipped through (unlike The Hobbit). That’s because it’s based on a true incident in which a police officer in California surrendered his gun to a criminal who was holding the officer’s partner hostage. The criminal then shot the officer’s partner with the gun. The case caused police departments across the country to enforce a strict new rule: No officer is to surrender his weapon under any circumstances whatsoever.
Although the incident had to have occurred before Hal was born, the fact that he keeps insisting I not give up my weapon, no matter what, gives me sudden insight into why he’s no longer on the force, and also why he himself owns so many weapons. He must have been put into a similar situation as the officer in the onion field, and broken the rule, with similarly tragic consequences.
“I have read it, Hal,” I say gently, instead of what I want to say, which is, Get this thing out of my purse. “I’ll be sure not to let anyone else get their hands on my weapon.”
“Good. If you won’t let me protect you,” Hal says, his eyes looking oddly bright behind the thick lenses of his glasses, “at least protect yourself. You know it’s what Cooper would want.”
“Yes,” I say. “I do. Thank you very much, Hal. And thank you for looking after Cooper.”
Hal nods briskly, then quickly closes the door, probably so I won’t see him looking misty-eyed. I’m glad, because I’ve grown a little misty-eyed, as well . . . which is absurd. Almost as absurd as the fact that I’m taking a target pistol to work. Fortunately, the bottom drawer to my desk locks. I’ll put my purse in it—after I’ve removed all the files—and lock it in there. Explosives, fireworks, firearms, and ammunition are all prohibited in the residence halls, and subject to confiscation and disposal if found, according to The New York College Housing and Residence Life Handbook. I’m fairly certain this applies to employees as well as residents.
I noticed the night before when checking my e-mail that someone at the Express—not Cameron Ripley, obviously—had posted a story online about the RAs being fired. It had garnered a number of comments, most of them in favor of the RAs.
So I’m not surprised when I turn the corner and see student protesters marching in front of Fischer Hall, holding signs that say new york college unfair! and i love my ra! while chanting, “Hire back my RA!”
Most of the students are obviously freshmen. Freshmen, though adorable, are sometimes easily led, especially during the first few weeks of school, before they’ve become hardened and jaded, like me. That’s why so many solicitors gravitate to the park in the autumnal months, offering free microwaves to kids who sign up for credit cards—carrying absurdly high interest rates—and passes to “rock concerts”—which turn out to be prayer meetings with a little live music thrown in.
The morning after the party, a fellow Fischer Hall RA, Jasmine Albright, was found dead in her room in Fischer Hall. Cause of death has not yet been released by the medical examiner, but sources tell the Express that the student was not seen drinking at the party.
A petition has already been started by some of the RAs’ freshmen residents in order
to “save” the RAs’ jobs.
“I love my RA,” says freshman Lindsay Chu, “and I don’t think it’s fair that she got fired for something everyone else was doing too. And it isn’t her fault that that
a girl died. Everyone drinks. Who cares?”
So far the petition has over fifty signatures. None of the Fischer Hall RAs were available for comment.
New York College Express,
your daily student news blog
Cooper is still asleep when I leave for Fischer Hall the next day. The pills—and no doubt exhaustion, since it turns out I possess surprisingly excellent nursing skills—have finally knocked him out. I post a long list of instructions for Hal on the door to the refrigerator, which he eyes nervously.
“I think Coop wanted me to go with you,” Hal says. “You know, to protect you from the crazy person who’s killing people where you work, and from your mom’s boyfriend too.”
I laugh humorlessly. I know things must be pretty bad if Virgin Hal would rather hang out with me, a lady, than Cooper. Cooper’s not exactly someone who enjoys spending time in bed . . . unless I’m there with him, of course.
“I think my mom’s boyfriend is more interested in going after her than me, Hal,” I say. “Besides, it will look weird if I have a bodyguard following me around the residence hall. And someone has to stay here and help Cooper. He’s got a broken rib on top of a fractured ankle. He can’t use the crutches yet. Who’s going to bring him breakfast and make sure he takes his pills?”
The answer to this question should be me, but no way am I calling in sick to stay home to play nursemaid to my injured fiancé, even if he did do something incredibly brave and noble. I have a meeting with Rashid and Ameera at nine, and I’m not missing it, though I plan to come home right after.
Of course, I’ll have to rush out again straightaway, since I have my final wedding gown fitting at noon. No way can I miss that appointment the way I did the one with our wedding planner.
“Well,” Hal says, dubiously eyeing the list I’ve left, which says Bring Cooper breakfast as the first item, with Order egg, cheese, and ham breakfast sandwich from deli (for delivery) beneath it, and the number for the deli under that. Attached to it is a ten-dollar bill (I’ve included money for Hal’s breakfast, and a deli menu), and then, beneath that, because I’m not sure Hal knows, I’ve written, Deli guy is our friend. He will not hurt us. Do not shoot him.
“I don’t know,” Hal says, slowly, still staring at the list.
“Look,” I say. It’s nearly nine. “Have Cooper call me when he wakes up.”
I’m almost out the door before Hal calls me back. “Heather! You forgot something.”
I hurry back only to have him slip the .22 into my purse. Its weight makes the bag considerably heavier.
“It’s loaded,” Hal says, looking furtively up and down the street. The sky is overcast, for a change, and thankfully there aren’t many people around. “The safety is on. Remember what I said. Never, ever give up your weapon, no matter what. Not for any reason. Have you read The Onion Field?”
Oddly, I have. It’s a fact-based novel Cooper keeps around the house and which I’ve flipped through (unlike The Hobbit). That’s because it’s based on a true incident in which a police officer in California surrendered his gun to a criminal who was holding the officer’s partner hostage. The criminal then shot the officer’s partner with the gun. The case caused police departments across the country to enforce a strict new rule: No officer is to surrender his weapon under any circumstances whatsoever.
Although the incident had to have occurred before Hal was born, the fact that he keeps insisting I not give up my weapon, no matter what, gives me sudden insight into why he’s no longer on the force, and also why he himself owns so many weapons. He must have been put into a similar situation as the officer in the onion field, and broken the rule, with similarly tragic consequences.
“I have read it, Hal,” I say gently, instead of what I want to say, which is, Get this thing out of my purse. “I’ll be sure not to let anyone else get their hands on my weapon.”
“Good. If you won’t let me protect you,” Hal says, his eyes looking oddly bright behind the thick lenses of his glasses, “at least protect yourself. You know it’s what Cooper would want.”
“Yes,” I say. “I do. Thank you very much, Hal. And thank you for looking after Cooper.”
Hal nods briskly, then quickly closes the door, probably so I won’t see him looking misty-eyed. I’m glad, because I’ve grown a little misty-eyed, as well . . . which is absurd. Almost as absurd as the fact that I’m taking a target pistol to work. Fortunately, the bottom drawer to my desk locks. I’ll put my purse in it—after I’ve removed all the files—and lock it in there. Explosives, fireworks, firearms, and ammunition are all prohibited in the residence halls, and subject to confiscation and disposal if found, according to The New York College Housing and Residence Life Handbook. I’m fairly certain this applies to employees as well as residents.
I noticed the night before when checking my e-mail that someone at the Express—not Cameron Ripley, obviously—had posted a story online about the RAs being fired. It had garnered a number of comments, most of them in favor of the RAs.
So I’m not surprised when I turn the corner and see student protesters marching in front of Fischer Hall, holding signs that say new york college unfair! and i love my ra! while chanting, “Hire back my RA!”
Most of the students are obviously freshmen. Freshmen, though adorable, are sometimes easily led, especially during the first few weeks of school, before they’ve become hardened and jaded, like me. That’s why so many solicitors gravitate to the park in the autumnal months, offering free microwaves to kids who sign up for credit cards—carrying absurdly high interest rates—and passes to “rock concerts”—which turn out to be prayer meetings with a little live music thrown in.
