Majoring in Murder

Chapter 1

As I look back on how everything started, I can't help but blame myself for requesting a new dorm room. At the time, I was grateful that the student housing office approved my request to switch rooms that semester. If I stayed with my original roommate, I'm sure I would've flunked several of my classes. But in retrospect, I would rather deal with failing grades and my dad's disappointment instead of the new set of problems that awaited me.

My previous roommate, Jesse, was a party animal. You know the type; someone interested more in beer bongs and female anatomy than cracking a book. He always wore camouflage military pants that were cut off at the knees. "Homemade shorts, man," he'd say. His hair was long and blond, his goatee surrounded by days-old stubble. He would return to our room around midnight not worrying about keeping the noise level down. Many times, he wasn't alone.

On one occasion that I remember vividly, Jesse came in with a guy and a girl. I rolled over in bed to face the wall after the door opened and the hall light hit me in the face. I heard them shuffle through the darkness to his side of our room, then a lighter clicked repeatedly, followed a moment later by the smell of marijuana. Muffled giggles erupted soon after, until they finally returned to whatever party was happening. It was then that I knew I had to request another room.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a prude by any means. I like to have fun and drink occasionally, within reason, of course. But my parents—my dad especially—would skin me alive if I neglected my courses. My dad expected me to meet certain standards and I didn't question him since he was footing the bill. After all, he had taken out a home equity line of credit so I could attend college. I tried working diligently so I wouldn't let him down.

When I entered my newly assigned room, I was relieved to see that my roommate didn't appear to be the party-minded type.

"Hi, I'm Daniel," he said, extending his hand. "Daniel Marciano." A northern accent. He wore khaki pants, a blue and white button-down shirt, and brown loafers. His skin was olive, hair very dark and slicked back. He looked like a Mediterranean yuppie.

I shook his hand. "Hey, Daniel. I'm Jason Mashburn." I set my laundry bag on the unoccupied bed, let my backpack slide off my shoulder, and lowered it beside the bag. "Good," I said looking around the room, "you like to keep a tidy, organized place." Unlike my previous room, where dirty clothes formed piles here and there, the floor was clean and visible. Everything seemed not only to have a place but to be in it.

"Yeah. My mom would kill me if she saw my room was a mess. Was your other room a mess?"

"Well, let's just say that I never found my shower sandals before leaving."

Daniel smiled. "You won't have to worry about that with me."

I assured him that sentiment was reciprocal and told him I studied frequently, that my dad had already laid down the law.

He smiled again. "I feel ya. My uncle drops by on occasion to see how I'm doing. He'd blow his top if he caught me screwing around instead of studying."

"Is this your first year?" I asked.

"No. My second. You?"

"Mine, too. Have you decided on a major?"

"My uncle wants me to be an accountant, but I really want to study computers. Seems like that's the future, you know?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm still not sure what I want to do. I think it'd be cool to know computers, because I think you're right, they're definitely gonna be the future. The only problem is, I don't like the thought of sitting in front of a computer all day. I like to get outside. Deal with people. I think law enforcement might be cool, but not just a regular cop, maybe an FBI agent or something."