Final Exam by Maggie Barbieri Page A

be living on campus for the rest of my known days if this kept up. But I had to get out of here and I was resigned to the fact that the NYFD was going to be involved. “Okay. Go ahead. Call 911.”
    “Okay.” I heard her muffled voice as she relayed the location of the emergency to the operator. She came back on the callbox. “Called them.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Hey,” she said, apparently to pass the time while we were waiting for the fire department. “Have you found out anything about Wayne?”
    Wayne, Wayne, Wayne. This girl was a one-note Johnny. “No. Have you?”
    “Well, no,” she said, indignant. As if she would tell me if she had.
    The callbox being our version of the confessional screen, I decided to prod her for more information, thinking that not being able to look me in the eye might prompt her to give up more information than she normally would be willing to. “You really miss Wayne, huh, Amanda?” I asked gently.
    “I do,” she whispered.
    “Was he your boyfriend?” I asked.
    She didn’t answer right away. “Not really.”
    I tried to remember the term. “Friends with advantages?” I asked.
    “What?”
    That wasn’t right. What was the damn phrase? Was I running out of air? Was that why I couldn’t come up with it? I ran through some phrases in my head. Friends who are advantageous? Friends who are beneficial? I thought about adjectives to “advantages.” “Friends with benefits?” I asked, thinking that I had hit on the appropriate terminology.
    “Something like that.”
    Well, it was either that or not that, so I took her answer as a “yes.” “Was that all it was?”
    She sniffled loudly into the box, making Trixie’s ears prick up. “I really, really liked Wayne!” she cried. “He was so cool.”
    So I’ve heard. “Like loved him?”
    She didn’t answer but made a muffled noise that sounded like an affirmative. “It’s kind of complicated. I’m engaged.”
    I couldn’t help myself. “Engaged?” I exclaimed.
    She sniffled some more. “To Brandon. He goes to Princeton. I love him and I love Wayne. I’m so confused,” she said, sounding very dejected and extremely lovelorn.
    “That is complicated,” I agreed. “Does Brandon know about Wayne?”
    “I think he has an idea that I might be—”
    “Conflicted?”
    “Yes. That’s a good word. Conflicted.”
    “Does Wayne know about Brandon?”
    “Yes. He doesn’t care. He thinks that we’re meant to be together.”
    Oh, one of those. I had an ex-husband who had played the same tune on his love guitar. Until he had lost complete interest in me, that is.
    “When are you supposed to get married?”
    The sound of crying came through loud and clear via the ancient elevator’s squawk box. “This August. After I graduate.”
    I’d be crying, too, if I knew I had to marry a guy when I was also in love with somebody else. The whole situation was starting to depress me. I decided to change the subject.
    “Amanda, do you have any idea where Wayne may have gone?” I asked. “Please. He might be in trouble and we need to find him.”
    “He might be in trouble?” She sounded truly frightened.
    I had let on too much; that was clear. I looked down at Trixie. “Damn,” I whispered. “Well, I don’t know, Amanda, but don’t you think it’s weird how quickly he left?”
    “He said he was going to Mexico for spring break but that he would be back Friday. When I saw you in his room, I knew that he hadn’t come back.” She paused. “Maybe he got delayed?” she asked hopefully. “Maybe his flight got canceled?”
    I didn’t answer because I was thinking about Mexico. And drugs. That was a start. I readjusted my position on the floor and Trixie took the opportunity to lay her head on my lap. As long as you’re comfortable, Trix, I thought to myself.
    “Are you still here?” she asked.
    “I’m still here.” Where would I have gone? “Did the 911 operator say how long it would take for the fire