Verse 22: Juiceboxes and the Gazebo

We never did find anything from Langston phone.

The next couple of months flew by.

The campus looked exactly the same. The skies were still grayish-blue, the coffee suspiciously bitter. I’m glad to say I had gotten accustomed to life here. No longer was I walking with handbooks to find classes.

Things were pretty much the same except for my routine. The weird way I now had to plan my day around not accidentally running into people who knew me was getting exhausting.

I’d gone from lone wolf to accidental heist accomplice and semi-popular guy in a matter of weeks.

Even the Psychology class which felt great at first, was now being ruined.

I was just enjoying some pre-lecture banter from Professor Charles K when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned and it was Remy.

Wearing dark sunglasses. Indoors. Again.

“You left your pen,” he said, holding up a pen that very much was not mine.

“I don’t think….”

He sat down beside me anyway.

“So, what’s up, bro?”

Bro? Since whe? I literally hadn’t seen this guy since the loophole club.

I blinked. “Hey…sup?”

“Heard you stopped coming to the club. What’s up with that?”

“Oh. Just been busy.”

Which was true. Late-night operations weren’t really my thing. Especially when Malik spent the next morning complaining about his hangover loud enough for me to feel it in my teeth.

It might be surprising to most but even I need my average-look sleep.

Remy leaned in. “So, what’s the topic today? I kinda dozed off last time, do you mind if I borrow your notes?”

There went my peace.

I don’t know how the extroverts do it. Just carrying a conversation was tiring me out. It was one thing after the other, he just wouldn’t shut up.

“So,” he said, leaning way too close. “You eat lunch yet?”

“We’re… still in class.”

“Yeah, but after. Come to the gazebo. Whole crew’s there.”

“I usually…”

“Gazebo,” he said, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at me, like we’d just made some kind of blood oath. Then he spun around in his seat and started whispering something to the girl beside him, who looked mildly alarmed.

Class ended and I debated just running out of there like a mad man, but Remy had that dangerous energy of someone who might hunt me down.

I found myself at the Gazebo—a semi-circular wooden structure by the quad that looked like it belonged in a bridal catalog or a small-town cult recruitment poster.

The place was already buzzing, with conversations, laughter and whatever that weird ginger girl was doing with a metal bat.

Malik was leaning back in his chair, whispering something to Sheila that made her chuckle. Keisha was scrolling on her phone but looked up and nodded at me. Elena sat cross-legged on the bench, a juice pouch in one hand and a sketchbook in the other.

“Loner boy!” Sheila called out. “Remy found you.”

I gave a half-shrug. “He’s very persistent.”

Malik tilted his head, balancing a soda can on his finger. “So, where do you eat lunch most days?”

Everyone really wants to eat lunch me.

“Somewhere by himself,” Elena smirked without looking up from her sketchbook.

I raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a crime.”

“It’s just… a pattern I’m noticing,” she said, finally glancing up. “One day, you’ll die alone and we’ll all be very sad. What will you do then?”

“I’ll be dead, there won’t be too much to do.”

There was still a bit of tension between us if you couldn’t tell.

“Morbid,” Malik said, grinning. “Can we change the topic, please?”

I gestured to Elena’s drink. “Is that… Capri Sun?”

“Don’t judge my hydration,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “These things are elite.”

“She drinks them when she’s stressed,” Malik said.

“I drink them because they’re delicious,” she corrected. “The stress is just a bonus.”

Keisha grinned. “So where has Davis been during lunch? You like vampire and can’t be out in the sun.”

I hesitated but Elena answered for me.

“Davis studies. Unlike you, Keisha. He doesn’t have time for lunch gossip.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

She smirked. “Still, it’d be fun if he showed up on some days to eat and catch up.”

“Yeah, man,” Malik chimed in. “We’re like Friends, but we hang out anywhere. Not just at McLaren’s.”

“Hold up, Mal. I think you got your references crossed,” Remy said, sliding into the conversation.

“No, I got it right, yo. Next you’re gonna tell me Courage the Cowardly Dog and Shaggy aren’t best friends.”

“What?!” we all said at once.

“Just kidding,” Malik said, and the group dissolved into laughter.

The conversation drifted from there into cartoons, with Remy arguing passionately that the best animated show of all time was Samurai Jack. Keisha said Winx Club, Sheila swore by Courage the Cowardly Dog and of course I had to represent Aan and the gang, if you know you know.

And somehow we ended up debating whether Scooby-Doo could take Courage in a fight.

I didn’t even notice the time until Elena leaned over and whispered, “See? Told you, it’s more fun with everyone.”

Keisha came back with a tray of fries and exactly three dipping sauces. “If y’all touch the honey mustard, I will throw hands.”

Elena was right, this was pretty fun.

Later, as we walked back to class:

Elena fell into step beside me, sipping the last of her juice pouch with a loud slurp.

“Just so you know,” she said, “I know where you disappear to every time.”