Off Campus by Amy Jo Cousins Page B

with his roommate’s property in his hands, trying to explain why he hadn’t left it alone.
    Ring.
    Ring.
    Technically, this is my phone line too.
    He hovered over the phone for a moment, thinking maybe it would magically stop ringing as he reached for it. The call couldn’t be for him. He didn’t even know their extension. Certainly hadn’t given it out to anyone. He held his hand an inch over the black plastic handset standing upright in its base.
    Ring.
    No such luck.
    He picked up the phone and hit Talk.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œHello? Who’s this?”
    â€œTom.”
    â€œTom.” A man’s voice, repeating his name as if testing to see if he liked the taste of it but didn’t expect to. “You’d be Reese’s last-minute roommate, then?”
    Obviously someone who knew Reese well, since the kid didn’t seem any more likely to share details of his private life than Tom was.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œThis is Mr. Anders, Tom. Reese’s dad.”
    Tom had grown up talking to adults, friends’ parents, his father’s business contacts. It took some effort, but he could dredge up a memory of how to charm strangers into liking him. This was a good time to dig deep.
    â€œHello, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
    Reese’s dad harrumphed. “We’ll see. Reese is at class now, isn’t he?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    If his dad knew Reese’s schedule down to the hour, then why was he calling when his son was sure to be out?
    â€œI wanted to talk to you, son. Introduce myself.”
    Ah ha.
    â€œI’ll be coming up to campus one of these weekends. I’m looking forward to meeting you. Happy to take you boys out to dinner when I’m there, get to know you. I check in on Reese pretty regularly.”
    If you get my meaning, punk.
    The purpose of the call wasn’t hard to figure out. Reese’s dad kept his voice light and friendly, but he was warning Tom in words about as subtle as a javelin to the skull that he’d be keeping an eye on Tom and his boy and any irregularities would be dealt with immediately.
    Tom sighed and rubbed his free hand over his scratchy, dry eyes.
    This was nothing new. Another person who’d made his mind up about Tom without ever speaking to him. He was months and miles past giving a rat’s ass about being disliked.
    â€œSounds great, sir. I’m not here most weekends, though.”
    Mr. Anders was ever cheerful. And vaguely threatening.
    â€œThen I’ll have to come up on a Thursday. Know that’s like a Friday night for you party kids.”
    â€œSure.” He couldn’t remember the last time he went to a party, never mind what day of the week it had been. The idea of standing in a room full of people whose barely there verbal filters had been washed away by a river of cheap beer made him want to vomit. “I hope I get a chance to meet you. Did you want me to leave a message for Reese?”
    Since you and I both know there’s apparently no voicemail on this phone. And if you actually wanted to reach him, you’d have called his cell.
    â€œNope. I’ll call him later tonight.” When I’ll tell him that if his new roommate so much as farts in his general direction, he should call me and I’ll come up to campus and kick your ass. Subtext, not a mystery. “Nice talking to you, Tom.”
    â€œYou too, sir. Bye.”
    He hung up and stood at Reese’s desk with the phone dangling in his hand. Angled tightly into the edge of Reese’s monitor was a framed photo, wedged in behind a stack of library books in their indestructible cellophane covers. He snagged the edge of the frame with two fingers and lifted it up into sight.
    Good guess.
    Reese and what could only be his dad, leaning shoulder to shoulder, sitting cross-legged on a scatter of dead leaves in dark woods, the glare of a campfire whiting out the lower right