We’ve Always Got New York

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I placed the phone down and smoothed over Olivia’s bedspread. I reached my arms above my head and let myself feel a small stretch. I was thoroughly exhausted. I rolled onto my side and checked my phone to see if I had any emails. There was one from my brother, Aaron. I hadn’t spoken to him since the day I left for Brazil. I sent a postcard when I had the chance, but other than that we had no communication for nearly three months. I really wanted to keep to myself during that trip. It was nice to clear my mind of everything that was happening in New York. I rationalized that I was too tired to read and write back to the email right then and there, so I left it for tomorrow. Aaron and I had gotten closer, but there was still room for improvement. I closed my eyes and let my head sink into Olivia’s down-stuffed pillow. I would get up in a minute and make my way over to the couch, but for now it felt nice. My phone began to buzz and I knocked it over on the floor. No more interactions for today. I was done.

I woke up the next morning to harsh sunlight pouring into my eyes, and the painful sensation of an elbow jamming into the middle of my back.

“Ow,” I murmured. I lifted my head up and pushed the nest of blonde hair out of my eyes. Olivia was sound asleep next to me, curled up into a ball at the end of the bed. Shit, I forgot to sleep on the couch. I slowly reached over her and grabbed my phone from the nightstand. 7:00 am. Class today was beginning at 9, and I figured now was as good a time as any to start the day.

“Olivia?” I said softly, lightly touching her shoulder. She didn’t move. “Hey, we have to wake up now.” I shook her gently. It was our first day of the new semester and I was happy we would be walking in together.

Olivia’s brown eyes flew open, like when you see a killer regain consciousness in a horror movie. She turned and looked at me, then squinted. She lifted up her head and began scanning the room with her tired eyes. When she was finished, she scrunched up her face and let out a grunt. “Sorry, I didn’t know where I was for a second,” she uttered through a hoarse voice.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep in your bed last night,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty. “I closed my eyes for a second and the next thing I knew it was morning.”

“Don’t worry about it”, she yawned. “What time is it anyway?”

“Seven,” I said, and then immediately yawned myself. “We have plenty of time.”

Olivia let out another grunt and then threw the covers off her body and on to my face.

“Okay, okay,” she mumbled, coming to life. Olivia stood up and did a full-body stretch. She shook her head around, making her brown hair fly back and forth. “I’ll put on the coffee and then we can walk over to school.”

“Oh, joy”, I muttered, dramatically kicking off the blanket.

We made our way into the small kitchen area and I plopped down on a child-sized chair that accompanied a bistro table in the corner of her living room. Or maybe it was her kitchen. They kind of blended into one room. Olivia grabbed the electric kettle and filled it with tap water.

“Don’t forget about your apartment viewings later at 4 o’clock,” she said, hitting the power button on the kettle.

“I won’t”, I muttered, followed by another yawn. “Thanks, mom.”

“So last night”, she started, grabbing two matching mugs from the overhead cabinet. “I actually thought about something you could do for money. You know, for rent and food. All of that good stuff.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“When I was on the phone with Alex, he mentioned that the school is offering a few new Work Study programs for students who need help paying for tuition this year. The pay isn’t amazing, but you’d get research experience that you could put on your résumé. You’d definitely qualify, considering you have no job and you’re basically homeless.”

“Who knew my homelessness could help further my academic career?” I said, getting up to grab the skim milk from the fridge. “Did he say how I go about applying for this gig?”

Olivia poured a generous amount of milk into her coffee, leaving any sugar substitutions out of it. “He gave me the name of the professor in charge. It’s Dr. Greenfield. I’ll text you his email address.”

“Dr. Greenfield, eh?” I sipped my coffee. “Never heard of him.”

“Apparently he’s new. Flown in fresh from Charlotte.”

“Well, thank you, Olivia. That’s actually really helpful. And, hey, thank Alex for me too.”

“You can thank him yourself today in Advanced Social Psychology,” she smiled. “Which Dr. Greenfield is teaching and I believe starts in a little over an hour, so we should probably get a move on.”

I looked down at my coffee and slowly swirled the spoon around. There was one question that had been plaguing me since I got off the phone with Cassandra last night. Something I had been putting off talking about. Something I was going to find the answer out to soon enough.

“Hey, Olivia?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly. “Do you know if Michael is in this class?”

Chapter 8 (#ulink_d9a0f808-7062-50d7-9701-b9502796fead)

Olivia (#ulink_d9a0f808-7062-50d7-9701-b9502796fead)

“Here we go, again,” Amalia stood with her arms across her chest and slowly scanned the room.

The old, rustic-looking classroom was packed to the brim with students. They appeared to be scrambling to say hello to each other after only a short three months apart. Everyone was broken up into their respective cliques. There were the hipsters, the wannabe Blair Waldorf’s, the Adderall addicts, the annoying people who always began their emails with “I hope this email finds you well!” and the 4.0’s, who barely conversed with anyone who couldn’t further their academic achievement.

Needless to say, there was a lot of energy in the air.

Amalia clutched her purse close to her chest and kept her blonde head down. Her jaw was tight and her shoulders were slouched. She was wearing silver sandals, skinny jeans, a low-cut light- blue tank top, and a fitted black blazer. She looked half professional, and half Weekend at Bernie’s. I noticed her lagging behind and I dragged her down the ramp of the exact same auditorium-sized classroom we had all colonized last year.

“Hey, I think I see Alex,” she said, pointing to a small group of people in the front of the classroom.

I craned my neck toward the front of the room and spotted him. He was wearing the new Burberry polo shirt I had got him as a surprise gift last week. I smiled widely and he caught my eye. Since Amalia had been staying with me the past few days, I barely had an opportunity to see him. Alex patted the guy he was talking to on the back and made his way over to us.

“Hey darlin’.” He bent down and kissed me on the forehead. Then on the lips. “You look great today.”

“Hey, yourself,” I said through a wide grin. I pulled him in for a hug and took the opportunity to breathe deeply through my nose, silently losing myself in a warm embrace of what smelled like cedar wood and rich nutmeg. When it was over, I turned to Amalia, who was currently engaged in an eye roll.

“Hastings, good to see you,” Alex said, with as much diplomacy as he could muster.

Amalia smiled tightly. Her red lip-gloss stretched perfectly over her lips.

I gave Amalia my best “be nice” look.

“How are you?” she asked, still smiling.

“I’m great!” he said, “Now don’t just stand there, give me a hug.”

Amalia’s small frame disappeared next to Alex as he pulled her in for an awkward hug. She recoiled slightly, but he didn’t let go for a few seconds. I tried not to laugh.

“This class is packed,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked around and spotted my friend Angela. We hit it off last year, but she was someone I had only one class with and I hadn’t gotten an opportunity to introduce her to anyone else yet. I noticed she was talking to some guy, but still decided to call her name out from halfway across the room.

“Hey, Angie!” I waved at her and smiled brightly.

She picked her head up and looked around the room for a minute. Realizing it was me calling her, she grabbed the guy she was talking to and made a beeline over to us. As she came closer I could see she was wearing a long, light-pink dress that looked great on her dark skin, her dark- brown hair hung straight down to the middle of her back, and she finished her look off with lots of long gold necklaces and chunky bracelets. The guy walking next to her was wearing suede loafers, dark jeans, and a blue-striped, button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His head was down in a book, most likely getting a head start with the reading for this class. I couldn’t tell who she was with; all I could make out was his brown hair.

“Who’s that girl?” Amalia asked, craning her neck to get a better look.

“Angela Edwards,” I explained. “She was in my Readings in Behavioral Sciences class last year. She’s really nice, you’ll like her.”

I smiled and reached out for Alex’s hand. As I did, he pulled me in closer to whisper something in my ear.

“Did you know Angela and Michael have been hanging out?” he whispered.

Before I could answer him, I turned to Amalia, who had realized a few seconds before I did that the guy Angie was walking over with was none other than Michael Rathbourne. Amalia’s face froze. Her eyes were slightly widened and her mouth was tightly shut. She looked around the room for a few seconds, as if she was deciding what she should do. After a hard look at the exit doors, she finally settled for taking a small step back and then looking down at her feet.

“Guess that answers your question,” she muttered to the floor.

I had no idea what Amalia was going to do next. Sure, last year she had pined for Michael in an annoying and slightly self-destructive way. But to her credit, he did give her an evasive “stay here with me and help me figure things out” offer right before she left for Brazil, which she rightfully turned down. I was proud of her for that one. All I could hope for her was that the time she spent away helped to shed some light on what Michael really was. Selfish.

“Hey, Olivia!” Angie said, pulling me in for a hug. “Do you know my friend, Michael?” Her hazel eyes sparkled.

Amalia winced. But only subtly.

“Excuse me? Your friend Michael?” Alex said with a grin. “How’s it going, man?” He turned to Michael and patted him on the back.

“It’s going well, Alex”, he said, returning Alex’s pat on the back with one of his own. “Yourself?”

“So, I take it by all of the hugging, that you guys know each other?” Angie laughed. She tossed back her long, dark-brown hair and smiled widely, flashing her perfectly straight teeth.

“We all had classes together last year,” Amalia finally spoke. Michael looked straight at Amalia, but her eyes were fixed on Angela. “What did you say your name was? Andrea?”

“Angela,” she said warmly, unaware of Amalia’s little dig at her by pretending to forget her name. “But you can just call me Angie.” She stuck out her right hand and waited for Amalia to return the gesture.

“I’m Amalia,” she said through a tight jaw. Her expression was completely empty. She shook hands with Angela and then returned her arms to their guarded position.

“So, Amalia,” Michael started. “How’ve you been?” He bent down a bit to fix his eyes on Amalia’s face. It felt like an intimate exchange, but she appeared indifferent to his warm welcome.

Alex and I exchanged a quick glance and he lightly squeezed my hand. I had to admit, watching them interact kind of made me wish I had a bowl of popcorn in front of me.

Amalia smiled and stood up a little straighter. She held her blonde curls up like a crown on top of her head. “Me? I’m great.”

For a moment, the five of us just stood there, exchanging silent glances. Amalia caught my eye and offered her a small shrug. I noticed most of the students had found seats by this point and that we were on display for the whole room to watch. I made a mental note to ask Alex what he thought was going on in Michael’s head when we went out to dinner later.

“Well, anyway, we should all definitely get drinks sometime after class,” Angela said, breaking the silence. “Amalia, do you like tequila?”

Amalia raised an eyebrow just as a loud, masculine, southern-style voice boomed through the old transistor-sounding speakers.

“Excuse me, you five in the front of the room?” His voice was smooth and commanding, the sound of it made me shudder. I caught eyes with Amalia, who also appeared nervous. “Please do be so kind as to find your seats. Now.”

He was older than most of our other professors had been. He had to be in his early sixties. He was wearing a navy-blue-colored suit, unusually over-dressed for the faculty at NYU. Most just put on nice pants and a button-down. His brown hair was thinning more than a little, but he still held his head up with an intimidating air of confidence.

I reached for Alex’s hand and led him to a row of empty seats in the back of the classroom. Amalia, Michael, and Angela numbly followed.

“Who is that?” Michael whispered to us. “I thought Dr. Browning was teaching Social Psych.”

“Me too,” Angela whispered back.

One by one we fell into position in the furthest row back, with Alex to my right and Michael to my left. Leaving Amalia sandwiched in between him and Angela.

“Most of you probably haven’t heard yet, but I will be taking over this class for Dr. Browning,” the professor said, slamming a large, over-stuffed briefcase on the shaky wooden lectern. “He quit last week, just before the syllabi were due. The man is more useless than a screen door on a submarine.”

Alex and I just looked at each other and then slowly reached for our laptops.

“So, there you have it. I’m Professor Greenfield and I just moved to this godforsaken city a few weeks ago. I spent the last twenty years teaching and doing research at UNC-Charlotte, and now it looks like I am here for good.”

I glanced over at Michael, who was nervously fiddling with a pen. It wasn’t like him to show any signs of vulnerability. It wasn’t clear if it was the professor or Amalia’s return who was making him nervous.

“That’s Dr. Greenfield? The professor you were talking about this morning?” Amalia whispered to me. As soon as she did, the professor shot up and directed his attention to our back row.

“Excuse me, miss?” Dr. Greenfield’s southern drawl landing on the word miss. “Do you have a question?”

“Actually, I do,” Amalia said, shocking us all. Maybe Brazil had done wonders for her self-esteem.

“Well then, stand up so I can hear you,” Greenfield challenged.

Amalia and I exchanged glances. Alex kept his head down and Angela pretended to be engrossed with whatever she was writing in her notebook.

“Go ahead, you’ll be fine,” Michael whispered to her.

“I am fine,” she shot back.

She stood up, and I half expected her to pull a microphone out of her purse. But instead she stood there immobile as over fifty pairs of eyes turned around in their seats to watch her. Finally, she swallowed hard enough for us to hear and spoke.

“I heard you were running a work-study program and that you are looking for research assistants. Is that true?”

The entire room spun back around, eager to hear the professor’s response. Dr. Greenfield just smiled, the kind of smile where you can’t really tell if the person is happy or has just figured out a marvelous way to spend the next few months torturing you. He pulled out his chair, which made a scratching sound as it dragged across the old hardwood floors, and slowly lowered himself down.

“You want to be part of my research team?” he smirked.

“I do,” Amalia said, unwavering. “I think it’s a great opportunity.”

I heard a few students whispering to themselves. I couldn’t really make out what anyone was saying. Just a few select words like stipend, difficult, and competitive.

“Well, then, you can email me tonight and we can set up a time for you to be interviewed,” he said calmly, sitting back down in his chair. “That goes for all of you. Anyone who thinks they have what it takes to work with me for the next year or two can email me after class and schedule an interview. The program will begin next semester, and if you are accepted you will have to take the second half of this course. Which is also taught by me.” He cracked his knuckles and gave us all a nod. “Oh, and I’m only picking three of you.”

Amalia sunk back down in her chair. Alex gave my hand a little squeeze and whispered in my ear, “You should set up an interview.”

I whispered back, “Maybe I will.”

“One more thing,” Dr. Greenfield added, standing back up again. “This research position will be paid through work study, which means you have to treat this as a job. The last research assistant I had didn’t treat it that way. He was slower than molasses going uphill in January, so I fired him. Don’t make me fire you. It also means you need to first find out if you even qualify for work study. Don’t schedule an interview until you find out whether or not you qualify.”

I made out about every other word of Dr. Greenfield’s speech, then turned to Amalia and whispered, “We’ll sign up together.”

She didn’t say a word. She just sat in silence and nodded over and over again.

“Now if y’all don’t mind, I’d like to start my class,” Greenfield said, pulling out a large textbook from his briefcase. “Welcome to your second year of graduate school. Only one more year to go. Let’s hope you all make it. As I’ve already said, I’m Dr. Greenfield and this is Advanced Social Psychology. This class will begin promptly every Monday morning at 9 am and it will end at 11. It will not be easy. The word Social does not automatically imply that we will be watching Girl, Interrupted and then writing an eight-page paper on how it made us feel. You will work hard, and your work will be handed in on time. If you can’t do this then by all means, please leave.”

No one dared move.