As Easy As Murder

33. I plead gulticont

It was an intervention. 

Cheryl pulled some strings, called my parents, and ordered Prof Simons to come give me a pep talk to get me back to class. Directly Infront of a snickering Kori and a Felicity throwing her arms around his shoulders. 

I felt like screaming, "That's my line!"

I told them I wouldn't go back to class. 

I went back to class. 

It took a metaphorical slap in the face from Cheryl and physical slap in the face from Loretta for me to do it, but I went back. 

The slow trudge down the hallway was nothing short of a walk of shame, everying eyeing me. The carpet seemed to whisper my name, the light fixtures gossiping to each other. My doc martins squeaked on the tile ground as I neared the lecture hall I've come to know as twice a week 8am criminology. 

The hello song greeted my ears, and it wasn't just Prof Simons this time. It was everyone, the voices the opposite of melodical, a mismatched melody that would bring back beethoven's hearing, only for him to voluntarily lose it again. 

I cringed as I slipped into my seat in the back corner, putting on sunglasses, the florescent lights making me want to hiss like a vampire. 

Me and Loretta had a girls night last night which consisted of mani-pedis, face masks, sitcoms, and big girl juice. I could've sworn I was a heavyweight, but I woke up in a cold sweat with high blood pressure and photos I didn't remember posting racking up likes from creepy guys on instagram. 

Professor Simon's is as bright and cheery as always, her dress having a strawberry print, her curls flowing perfectly over her shoulders, and a rainbow lollipop in her hand. She explained that whoever impressed her the most would be rewarded the carnival dessert. 

"Did I hallucinate my 5th grade graduation or is this college?" Ian throws a crumpled peice of paper at her, then crosses his arms, slumping back, his cool guy hair looking more like a used mop. 

She chuckles, "I warned you at the beggining of the semester that my teaching Is not the ordinary, and none of you transferred out of my class."

I tap my fingers on the table, the hangover anxiety really getting to me. Why is everyone staring at me? Is everyone staring at me? Am I hot or ugly? Someone tell me. 

To top off all my other rum reprocussions, I woke up with the biggest zit ever on the tip of my chin. I look like a which, and Loretta let me know this by asking me if I was planning on getting to class by foot or broom. 

I zone back into the converstation, my body returning from the trenches from my bind, a bit battered and with a tummy ache, but still functional. 

Prof Simon's clears her throat, "I have a  a silly activity today to alleviate all of the hard work and persistence you guys have been exhibiting in the past few weeks. Your progresses on your cases has honestly took my break away. But today, you guys have my permission to kick your feet up a bit. Well, half of you. This is not an actual exercise and is just a game. I know I'm supposed to be educating you guys, but hey, I wanna have fun. I want you to have fun. So sue me."

She makes eye contact with me, the devil glimpsing in her eyes, her nose sniffing out my hangover and particularly targeting me as her victim of tortue. "Will Averen, Kori, Felicity, Ian, Anna, Jennia, and Anthony please come up here?"

I trudge up like I've just come from my own funeral. My hair is sticking out every which way as I make my way down the steps. My hands are tightly tucked into my puffer jacket, my sunglasses the only thing between me and judging gazes. I look like I have dirty buisness to take care of, like I just robbed a bank.

I lean back against the whiteboard, slumping. 

Kori positions himself beside me, looking in tip top shape. His hair is swooped into it's perfect wave, his scar is as adorable as always, his sweater vest perfectly ironed. "You look like a mob boss, you know that right?"

I roll my eyes and they land on Anthony who is on the other side of me. "You smell like alcohol. You know drinking is bad for you, right? A healthy liver makes you less bitter! If you cut down the booze, your organs will thank you! And hey buckaroo, drunk words are sober thoughts, wouldn't wanna let something slip, would you?"

I groan, "You're the reason I drink."

Professor Simon's walks Infront of us, holding up a clipboard. "Each of you will select a crime. Then, you will give an excuse as to why you didn't do it. Everyone else will guess If you didn't or not. Here." She handed us out cards, half saying yes, half saying no. "This is if you did it or not. Speak accordingly, no swearing."

I roll my eyes, thinking about a crime to choose. I go over the options. I might as well pick robbery while I look the part. Or being a Mafia boss, I could play that role as well. Everyone whispers and waits while we all select our dirty deeds and I get flashbacks to playing heads-up-seven-up in grade school. I shiver at the thought. 

No one ever tapped my thumb. Ugh. Unfair. 

I decide on bank robbery. 

It starts with Ian. 

He coughs, "Ey. I'm Ian. I am not guilty of gang activity because I would not associate myself with someone of lesser status than me. I was not even out at the time of the incident. I was chillin' at home in a bubble bath. And also my mother knows judge Judy, so, y'now, I wouldn't risk it."

"Your mother knows judge Judy?" Felicity gasps. 

He rolls his eyes, "No. I said that for the bit."

The symbolic mic is passed to Felicity, and she goes on a vivid and rambunctious monologue about how she's innocent against animal abuse because she adores her goldfish, Fishygoldton, and would never have the heart to even swat a fly. 

I want to swat her, but I don't say so out loud. I hope my eyes conveyed it. 

Anna and Jennia, who I don't know that well but are very intelligent and a lot less alcohol ridden, come and go with there defenses, both picking murder. They do a very elaborate theater-like script, a soap opera worthy affair story with plot twists and turns, which earns a standing ovation from the exhausted entertainment-deprived lecture hall. 

Unfortunatly, it became Anthony's turn. 

"Howdy folks, I am off the hook when it comes to vandalism. See, I can paint, draw, and wooo-hoo can I drive a hard bargain in the art of clay sculpting, but I'd never use my talents on property  that isn't my own. Afterall, ladies and gentleman, I have so many talents  that  I don't need to display them in illegal ways. I mean, why would I do something I get nothing out of when people would pay thousands to see me twist and turn like no one is watchin'?" He gets up and moonwalks across the room to the dismay of everyone in witness. I thank the holy Trinity that Loretta is not in attendance. 

It becomes my turn. I put on my best italian accent and wing it. 

"Ciao, the name's...bellicimo...I'm 39..born and raised in Cecily....I...i've done some bad things in my day, you see. I am bad man, very bad man. But I...I did not do it this time. See...wife #3 gave birth to my 9th child...and he is...my world. I am a changed man. I did not kill my boss. I only killed my coworker Tomasso because..he...ate my rissoto that girlfriend #8 made me....I am innocent...namaste." I bow, confused. I changed accents 7 times. I went on a whim. 

And everyone was thrilled.

Everyone in the 40 person lecture hall was whoopin' and hollerin' for ol' Bellicimo. I stand there, bewildered, astonished, honored. Nauseous. Kori just looks at me like I'm a piece of bread he burnt in the toaster. 

Everyone put in their guesses as to who was guilty and who wasn't all while I questioned if I was even awake. By the time everyone had their votes, I was slumped onto Kori, dead weight, his arms the entire support system, my bones having decided they were going on a nice getaway to a resort. 

I never found out what the guesses were because I drifted into a deep, deep hangover sleep. One of the ones where you sleep for a rediculously long amount of time and no matter what anyone does you just will not stay alert. From his heroic description, he lifted me up.  slumped me over his shoulder and carried me to my dorm, then laid me down on the bed and explained to Loretta, who was plowing her way through  a box of chicken tenders, that I was down for the count.

I woke up 8 hours later with a second pimple and no will to live. MTV was playing on the television and Loretta was sitting on me, shaking me.

I groaned. "Whaaaaat?"

Apparently a deep, deep hangover sleep is also the kind of sleep that tricks your best friend into thinking you passed away. 

She sighed in relief, "I thought you were dead."

I rubbed my eyes. "Then why aren't you rejoicing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Av, we all care about you. Now, If Anthony died, I might break my respectfulness to have a little ra-ra shishcoomba, but you, you're like..half of me. If you died, I would half die. Only half of me would work. And that would be really inconvienent for me, so please don't."

I hug her, "I promise not to be a minor inconvienence by dying."

Loretta sneezed. I bless you'd. Then she sneezed again. Then I bless you'd again.

So then began the saga. 

Loretta's sickness escalated from a couple of sneezes, to a couple of sneezes and a couple of coughs, to a couple of sneezes and a couple of coughs and a sore throat, to a couple of sneezes and a couple of coughs and a sore throat and a headache, to a couple of sneezes and a couple of coughs and a sore throat and a headache to apparently being on the brink of death. 

See, when It comes to Loretta's body, a stubbed toe is the titanic. 

She stubbed her pinkie toe yesterday evening and I witnessed her fall to her knees like she had received tragic news, which I guess she did, if you count the death of her precious toe. I don't see the big deal. She's got 9 others. Well, 8, actually. A Disney princess bike with tassels on handles (she always bragged about them) incident caused Loretta to permanently paralyze her middle toe on her left foot. 

So when she gets sick, the whole world is sick in the other sense of the word. Everyone is horrible, there's no hope, she's dying, she needs this, she needs that, she's dying again, more Motrin, she starts crying over an ex, then a nostril clears and she can see the light at the end of the tunnel again. 

But we're still at square one right now. 

After going to my closet and loosing the mob boss getup, we jumped In my bug and headed to ol' faithful, the 7-eleven to pick up some cold and flu to save Loretta. 

"My dying wish is to have Anthony not be present at the funeral," She whimpered sadly as the bell to signify our entrance of the store dinged. 

I sighed, "Don't worry, we'll pump you with some Tylenol before you have to write your will and testament."

We acquired the sickness cure, some popsicles, a beanie boo, and some sprite. The essentials to surviving the dealthy plague that Loretta has aquired, AKA, the common cold. 

I put the items down on the counter and am met with the surfer guy casheir again. Loretta pulls her hood over her face, claiming that she can't be seen by anyone with decent features while looking like she just got CPR. 

"Hey Averen," The guy speaks for the first time and I yelp and jump backwards, startled by the opening of his mouth. He knows me by name at this point? How often do I come here? Do I snack that much? "Did I spook you?"

I nod, "Uh, yeah, a little bit."

I lean against my elbow on the counter, trying to look natural, but looking cartoonishly guilty. I realize that while I removed the rest of the Bellicimo get-up, I forgot to loose the sunglasses, so now I'm officially one of those jerks who wears sunglasses inside. Great. 

"You're so cute." He smiles gently. 

"Thank you...?"

"No, her," He points an index finger at Loretta. 

I smirk, wiggling my eyebrows in Anthony fashion.

Her eyes widen, and in her sick, stuffy voice, she sounded flustered for the first time in I'll time time I've known her. "Thanks." She smiled, a glob of mucus coming out of her nose, but I don't tell her. He just seems to chuckle. Wow, this guy is boyfriend material for sure.

If I didn't have my little sweater vest villain, I might've given him a chance. 

We exit the 7-eleven, and she's swinging the back like it's a bouquet of flowers and not nose spray and cough drops, her stuffy nose possibly spreading to her brain. "I might drop some of my sneaky links for him. I think I have 20. Maybe I'll drop 5 and add him. He's kinda cute. I like his tattoo."

She's never talked about a guy before unless to tell me how one's teeth was yellow, one had a mullet, one was prematurely balding, stuff like that. Never the word cute. 

I laugh, "Anthony is gonna be heartbroken."

"If he doesn't leave me alone, he's gonna be legbroken too."

I sigh, looking up at the stars, reminded of the night on the boat with Kori.

Everything seems to be falling into place.

Yet, I can't help but worry that someone is going to take the puzzle apart. 

I look down at my feet, suddenly feeling like I'm not on steady ground.

I feel like I'm falling. 

For Kori.