Bang Plan

V

Wednesday afternoon is the perfect time for a business meeting. First and last on the agenda is the plan, of course. Our work ethic is incredible. We decided that week one transitions to week two today. And from there, the weeks reset after Saturday night.

Sandy and I sprawl out in the reading room at Widener Library. The ceiling is a sweeping white arch, inlaid with robin's egg blue and skylights that illuminate the room with dancing sunbeams that change steps with the hour of day. I like that the room isn't a somber tomb, locked away from the outside in space and time like many of the other study spaces on campus. There is no doubting the hour of day here, and in the evening hours, it feels like an entirely different room. It's contemporaneous and bright, more like a dining hall than a reading hall. Open and welcoming.

Some freshman asks if someone's sitting in the chair that my backpack is clearly using. I shoot him a glare and he leaves with a sigh.

"You need to be nicer," Sandy scolds from behind her History of the British Empire textbook, but she's holding in a laugh. She's right. It's a crowded afternoon, and we're taking up enough space to could accommodate a small army.

"You need to update me on your looooove life," I sing, and she puts down the book.

"If you insist."

"You had class with him today?" I ask, feeling equal parts impressed and creeped out by my knowledge of their schedules.

"Yeah. I've been so sweet, I'm probably wearing down his enamel. He should go to the dentist," she says proudly.

"Good for you. If you were a candy you'd be a Nerds rope."

"Nah, I'm a Smartie, but nice try," she says.

"Okay, whatever. Just tell me about class."

"We talked about his little brother, and he showed me pictures," she gushes. "And, when we got hushed by the professor, he said he'd text me later!"

I grin. I've wondered how they get away with so much chatter in class. Or, I guess they don't, and that's worked out in Sandy's favor.

"Well, it's three PM. Where is he? Making out with Mike?" I ask.

Sandy bursts into laughter, but slaps her hand to cover her mouth. Once she recovers, she leans across the table to speak quietly.

"Mike's so... sneaky. Personally? I think he's hiding something," she whispers, eyes wide.

"Oh my God! I forgot to tell you that I asked Mike what his issue is this weekend. And he said that he thinks we're scheming!" I blurt. I'm glad that there's a barrier of space between us and the next closest people in this room, because our outbursts can't be popular with this crowd.

"Holy shit, he's on to us. When was this? What did you say?" Sandy asks, blinking hard. She's equally shocked and terrified.

"It was Saturday, while you and Archie were making goo-goo eyes at one another like a couple of fucking monkeys. And I said nothing, he immediately apologized."

"An apology? I don't know him, really, but that seems a little off-brand," she remarks, ignoring my monkey comment.

"Well, I think I've seen enough to gather that he apologized because he was drunk and felt obligated. Not because he wanted to," I point out.

Sandy falls back, settling deep into her chair. She picks her book back up but doesn't read. She's lost in thought.

"What if he finds out about the plan?" She asks, scared.

"He won't. It's not exactly common knowledge," I say, and Sandy nods hesitantly.

"Is it bad, though? Do you think?"