11: Strength of Conviction

DRAKE POV

How could she just…disappear, in an instant, without a trace? Did I imagine her?

“Just sent you a message,” Callum tells Effie, drawing my attention back to the table from fruitlessly scanning the crowd for any sign of Nikki. The rest of them don’t seem bothered at all; Xander is craning for a glimpse of Sleepers Awake as the band that just finished starts to pack up, and Effie and Angel are both on their phones.

“Great! I just got it,” Effie beams at Callum, oozing charm. His posture would indicate he’s still a little leery of them, but that starts to ebb in the face of Effie’s graces. I don’t get why he was skeptical of them at all. I trust his instincts, but there’s no reason girls can’t enjoy using weapons or doing extreme sports.

“Let’s hope getting our professors not to assign a bunch of reading and stats problems over the weekend is just as easy,” Angel remarks, putting her phone away.

“Stats? What degrees are you going for?” Xander inquires. A curtain has been erected between him and the performance area, thwarting his attempts to get a preview of the long-anticipated band, so I guess the conversation at the table is the next best thing for him. Try as I might, I can’t focus on it; my thoughts and my desire to stay for the concert left when Nikki did.

“Health care administration, all three of us,” Angel answers.

“Ew, why? That sounds awful.”

“Go after her,” Callum mutters to me as I glance toward the stairs back to the main level for the umpteenth time since Nikki vanished.

“She said she didn’t need—” I begin, trying to convince myself as much as him, but he’s not having it.

“And she probably don’t. But all the same, she seemed like she been havin’ a rough time, and if you don’t go, you’ll be bad company and harsh Xander’s vibe. I saw the way you was lookin’ at her. Maybe if you show an interest in whatever she got goin’ on, that’ll pique her interest in you. Go.” He pushes my arm off the table and abruptly returns his attention to the conversation between Angel, Xander, and Effie—something about their degree program or their classes—not important to me at the moment.

“I’ll just…go get another round of drinks,” I mumble, getting up and meandering towards the bar long enough to lose sight of our table in the crowd before abruptly heading for the stairs back to the main level. Come on, Drake. Play it cool. Act natural, I coach myself, but my feet aren’t listening; I take the stairs two at a time. A quick glance across the upstairs bar shows that Nikki’s nowhere to be found amongst this crowd, not that I expected her to be; she said she’d be outside, and it would be just as hard to hear a phone call on this level as it would be downstairs.

Click. The door to the stairs back down has locked behind me. Will I be able to get back in? Does it matter?

Right now, I don’t care. I work my way through the crowd to the front door, where the bouncers give me a bit of stink-eye but let me pass without comment. Maybe they think I’m looking for trouble out here. They’ll be disappointed. If she’s not out here, or if she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll either see about going back downstairs or wait in the car until Xander’s had his fill of obscure metal music. No reason to cause problems. Especially not with—

There she is. Back against the bricks of the bar exterior, face tipped up to look at the sky, no phone to her ear. She’s beautiful. I follow her gaze up; clouds and light pollution are obscuring the stars. Not much to look at there. I wonder if she’d like the night sky back home in Maine better?

That’s crazy talk, Drake. You literally just met her. Don’t go saying stupid shit like that out loud—

My foot lands in a pothole in the poorly surfaced parking lot as I make my way towards her, making me stumble and scatter pebbles everywhere. Instantly Nikki’s eyes are on me instead of the sky, narrowed, on edge. Shit.

“Um…hello,” I wave, hoping I seem less awkward than I feel. “I, uh…thought some fresh air sounded—”

“I told you I’d be fine,” she sighs, looking more exasperated than anything. That’s less than ideal. “Did Angel or Effie send you?”

“No. I don’t think they noticed I left. They were all talking about classes and stuff.”

“Then why—”

“I just…. You seemed really stressed out. I have no doubt you can handle yourself, and I know we just met and all, but I thought…if you wanted someone to vent to or anything….” It’s flimsy and I know it. She’ll think I’m a fool.

“That’s…sweet.” Her eyes are still narrow, watching my every move as I slowly step closer to her. I don’t wanna freak her out, but this conversation is awkward enough without shouting it across a city parking lot. “But unless you’re an independently wealthy philanthropist or an expert in masters-level statistics, I don’t think there’s anything you can do to help me. Not that it makes sense for you to want to, since, as you said, we just met.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t…sympathize, with your stress and everything. My family’s pretty uptight, sometimes.”

“It’s not even…. They’re dealing with a lot, and…. I’m sorry. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine. I understand.” I pause, lean up against the wall a short distance from her. Where can we go from here? “Would…talking about something else…help?”

“If you do most of the talking.”

“Oh. Um….”

“Tell me about yourself. You know I’m a grad student. How do you spend most of your time?”

“I work in finance, remotely. The company is based in Maine, where we’re from, but they’re letting me do everything online while the guys and I are here.”

“That’s nice of them. I take it you’re not here on business, then?”

“No. We just…needed a change of scenery. Things got stifling at home.”

“Maine never struck me as a stifling sort of place.”

Has she ever been there? “Family, mostly. Like I said…they can be pretty…restrictive.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s been nice to get away. But sometimes I miss it. The sky’s definitely prettier at night, out there.”

“Naturally. None of this city business to muck it up.”

“Exactly. Um…. Can I ask…where you’re from, originally?”

She hesitates, watching me warily. She doesn’t trust me. I can’t really blame her. Guys in bars do some really shady things on the regular.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—” I start.

“Russia,” she interrupts softly, “but I haven’t lived there for ages.”

“Russia? Really? You speak English so well…. And you don’t…look—”

“My father is from Somalia originally. He emigrated, to get away from all the unrest there. And I’ve been in international schools, mostly, all over the place. I speak English better than anything else.”

“I see.”

“Your turn.”

“Um. What?” I have no idea what she means.

“I’ve shared something…personal. It’s your turn.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Are you happy, working in finance?”

What a question. I mean, I know the answer, but is it an answer she’ll want to hear? She surprised you downstairs. Maybe she will again. And maybe, if I’m completely honest with her, she’ll keep opening up to me, she’ll see that I just want to get to know her better…. “…Not really.”

“What do you want to do instead, then?”

“I’d really like to go to law school, I think, but my parents…don’t approve.”

“You think? That’s a pretty big undertaking if you’re not sure.”

“Well, I mean, you never know for sure until you try it, right?”

She snorts a little with repressed laughter. “Trust me, you don’t want to launch yourself into that if you’re not sure and your parents aren’t on board. Grad school’s not a joke, and I’ve heard law school is harder than other programs.”

“I hear you, but…. I feel like what I’m doing right now, this job, it doesn’t mean anything, y’know?”

“And you think practicing law will?”

“Defending the innocent, really. Making sure justice is served. That’s what appeals to me.”

“Justice,” she repeats. Her expression has turned dark, guarded in a different way than it was before. “Fascinating.”

“What do you mean?”

“Justice as an ideal, or as defined by the law? Which one is meaningful to you?”

“As an ideal. Not all laws are just. At least, from what I’ve seen.” I don’t want to offend her. It’s way too early in getting to know each other to discuss politics.

“Stronger without that qualifier at the end. If you’re going to make it through law school, you’ll have to have more faith in your own convictions than that.”

I don’t know what to make of her. How do I even respond to that?!

While I’m fumbling for a reply, the door of the bar opens. Angel and Effie come out, clearly on a mission.

“Nikki? You all right, doll face?” Effie asks as she spots us and the two of them approach, eyes warning me that if I’ve done anything to upset their friend, there will be hell to pay.

“Perfectly fine,” Nikki answers, smooth as silk, but something in her eyes indicates, to me at least, that that’s not entirely true. “Decided you don’t want to see the legendary Sleepers Awake tonight after all?”

“Made the mistake of checking my student email,” Angel responds, rolling her eyes. “Study groups for stats at 8am. So much for a fun night out.”

“Unless we’re interrupting something?” Effie inquires, glancing curiously between Nikki and me.

“Nothing that can’t be continued later,” Nikki replies, shooting me a look. “Just give us a moment. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Angel and Effie exchange bemused glances. “As you wish,” Angel purrs, and the two of them slink away across the parking lot, giving me a lot of side eye as they go. Something weird is going on here.

“Don’t mind them,” Nikki mutters with an eye roll directed at her friends. “They’re always trying to set me up with someone. Doesn’t matter if it’s some rando from a bar or a guy from my stats study group or even the T.A.”

“Oh,” I say, unable to come up with anything more profound as jealousy towards anyone else she’s been set up with bubbles up within me. Stop being ridiculous.

“I know Effie and Callum were going to text about the axe throwing or whatever this weekend,” she continues, pulling a pen and a tiny notepad out of the bag at her hip. “But if you have an urge to continue this debate about the philosophy of justice and the strength of your convictions…here.” One of the little pieces of paper comes out of the notepad under her fingertips, a set of numbers printed neatly across it. She presses it into my palm. There’s fire where her skin touches mine, lingering though the touch lasted only a moment.

“Um….” Come on, that’s the best you can come up with?! My mouth isn’t working.

“No pressure. If you don’t want it, I’m sure you can find a trash can. Just don’t litter. Can’t have some other rando getting that.” She flashes me a devastatingly perfect smile and walks away before I can fight past the butterflies and the weakness in my knees to figure out how to say words again.

I’m in trouble. She’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny.

But she gave me her phone number.