“Can we take our blindfolds off now?” Muffy wants to know.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Dr. Flynn says.
Muffy, Reverend Mark, Gillian, and Tom all remove their blindfolds and look around at the newspaper house they’re sitting in.
“Isn’t it amazing, you guys?” Dr. Flynn asks. “Can you believe you worked together to build something with your own bare hands—while blindfolded? Sit back and relax while everybody else finishes theirs. And give yourselves a well-deserved pat on the back… ”
Gillian is staring in astonishment at the four flimsy newspaper poles that are holding up an equally flimsy newspaper canopy… like the cheapest wedding chuppah in the world over two extremely confused couples.
“But… where are the walls we wove?” Muffy wants to know.
“Oh,” I say. “That was going to take forever. So I made an executive decision not to use them and go with Tom’s idea.”
“Well,” Gillian says, looking down at her ink-blackened fingers—and the consequent stains all over her cream-colored linen suit. “You could have said something.”
“You guys were so enthusiastic,” I say. “I didn’t want to break your pioneering spirit.”
“Well,” Reverend Mark says, as he crawls out from beneath the paper structure. “That was fun. Wasn’t it? Oh, here, let me help you up… ”
“Oh, thank you so much.” Muffy does appear to be having some trouble climbing to her feet, especially considering how tight her pencil skirt is, and how high her heels are. She slips both her ink-stained hands into Reverend Mark’s and, looking up into his eyes, allows him to pull her to her feet.
“‘My love,’” Tom sings softly into my ear. “‘There’s only you, in my life… the only thing that’s right… ’”
“Do we have to continue with this pointless charade?” Simon, from Wasser Hall, rips off his blindfold to inquire. He pronounces charade the British way. “They won. So why do we have to keep on—”
“It’s not about who wins or loses, Simon,” Dr. Flynn intones smoothly. Even though, of course, when it comes to me and Wasser Hall, it most definitely is about me winning and them losing. “Please put your blindfold back on, and continue to help your team.”
“But that’s not fair. Heather and Tom have worked together before,” Simon whines. “They’re obviously compatible. I hardly know the people I’m teamed up with—no offense, guys—”
“Simon!” says Dr. Jessup, who is wearing a multicolored scarf around his eyes and sitting in the middle of what appears to be a semicompleted teepee made of newsprint. “Put your blindfold back on!”
It’s at this moment that the library door opens and a student walks in.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Flynn says to the student. “The library is closed for the afternoon for an important administrative staff meeting.”
The student looks around at all the grown men and women—presumably college officials, in professional attire—wearing scarves over their eyes and sitting in houses built out of old newspapers. His expression is, understandably, confused.
It’s only then that I realize that the student is Gavin McGoren.
“Um,” he says. “They told me downstairs I could find Heather Wells here?”
I quickly separate myself from my group and hurry toward him.
“It’s okay,” I assure Dr. Kilgore. “This will just be a minute.”
“Well, hurry back,” Gillian says, her brows knit with disapproval. “We still need to process what we’ve learned about ourselves here today.”
Yeah. Like how much I hate you? No need to process that, I already know.
I tilt my head toward the door, indicating to Gavin that he should join me outside, in the hallway. He does so, barely able to hide his amusement.
“What the hell is going on in there, woman?” he wants to know, as soon as we’re safely outside. “Some dude gets a bullet in his head and you all go completely cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs?”
“Gavin.” I quickly close the library doors. “We are trying to help each other process through our grief. What do you want?”
“By playing cowboys and Indians? And who’s the hot babe with the boobs?”
“Her name is Muffy. Seriously, you’re gonna get me in trouble. What do you want?”
“Muffy?” Gavin shakes his head in disbelief, as if now he’s finally heard it all. “Okay. Well, here’s the deal. I thought you’d want to know. There’s this chick on my floor, Jamie?”
I shake my head. “Yeah?”
“Well, I guess she had some meeting with Veatch or something this morning?”
Comprehension dawns. “Oh, right. Price. Jamie Price. Gavin, seriously, I don’t have time—”
“Whatevs!” Gavin holds up both hands in an I-surrender motion. “You know, she told me nobody would care. But I told her, I was, like, listen, Heather is different. Heather cares. But if you’d rather go back in there and play cowboys and Indians—”
I glare at him. “Gavin, what is it? Just tell me.”
Gavin shrugs. “Nothing. Just… well, I heard this Jamie girl… she was in her room, crying, right? And her roommate comes out and says she won’t stop, right? And I go, Let the Gavinator have a try at her, you know what I mean?”
“Gavin.” I seriously can’t believe my day. I really can’t. And it started so early. Six in the morning! Only to be followed by pain—my pain—and okay, then sex. But then bloodshed. And now this. “Do you want to die right now? Because I will—”
He drops the gangbanger routine.
“Okay, seriously. So I go in there, and I ask her what’s the matter, and she says to go away, and I say, No, really, I can help, on account of—” Here Gavin has the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, that part doesn’t matter. But anyway, she goes—”
“No, Gavin,” I say. “That part does matter. What did you say?”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s not an integral part of this narration. Okay? So she goes—”
“Gavin. I am turning around and walking right back in there if you don’t tell me—”