Every Last Fear(15)
Matt turned around. It was the guy in the ball cap. It was pulled down low, shadowing his features. All that was visible was the bottom half of the man’s face. He had a scar that ran from his nostril to his lip, like from cleft lip surgery. He held a cigarette between his fingers.
“Sorry, I don’t.” Matt said it firmly in the polite don’t fuck with me tone you needed to take with the more aggressive creatures of the park. Matt turned back to the street, waiting for the light as cars flew by.
That’s when he felt the shove from behind, and plunged into traffic.
CHAPTER 10
Matt hit the asphalt hard, hot pain shooting up his hip. But the sensation was dulled by the fear seizing him as he watched the blinding headlights race toward him. Matt’s body went stiff as he braced for impact. The lights went dark, the vehicle swerving and then screeching to a stop. Matt could see only starbursts now, but felt someone clawing at his clothes, roughly patting him down, jabbing a hand in the pocket of his shorts. He started swatting at the blurry figure, and by the time his vision was clear, the man was gone. The door of the cab that had barely missed him flew open and the driver ran over.
“Are you stupid, boy?” the cabbie said. “I could’ve killed you.”
Matt apologized, though he wasn’t sure why, since he’d been shoved into traffic. Mugged right in front of the guy, though the assailant had picked the worst victim possible, a college student in borrowed clothes with no wallet, money, or phone. Matt’s eyes darted around, looking for the man in the ball cap. An obese guy scuttled over and offered him a hand up.
Matt yanked himself to his feet, and the two made their way to the sidewalk. Matt’s side ached from the fall. He watched as the cabbie stormed back to his car amid the cacophony of honking horns.
Matt turned to thank the man who’d helped him up, when he was assaulted with camera flashes.
“You mind?” Matt said, realizing the guy was one of the paparazzi.
“You said you were okay.” He said it like it gave him permission to invade Matt’s space.
“Did you see who pushed me?” Matt asked.
“Pushed you?” The paparazzo said it almost with glee. Like the value of the photos had just increased. “I was just gettin’ here. I didn’t see nothing until I heard the commotion. I thought you tripped.” The guy looked up and down the street. “You’re Matt Pine, right?”
Matt didn’t answer. He started walking toward the lobby of the dorm tower.
“Someone pushed you?” the guy said, keeping pace. “Who’d wanna do that?”
Matt kept walking, the pain in his hip and leg from hitting the asphalt intensifying.
“How are you feeling? Did the Mexicans tell you what happened to your family? Have you spoken with your brother? Do you think this will help with getting Danny a pardon?” the man asked while simultaneously taking shots with his camera.
Matt wanted to tell the guy off. Punch him in the face. But he just limped to the dorm entrance. Turning his head from the camera, Matt pushed the red intercom button. At last, a guard appeared and buzzed him inside.
Normally, the guards were unfriendly and sent you to the student center to get a new security card before letting you in. But today the guard just put a hand on Matt’s shoulder.
“Let’s get you to your room, Matt.”
The guard must have heard the news. The man quietly escorted Matt to the tenth floor and unlocked the door to his room. Jane was in the entryway. She was bleary-eyed and uncharacteristically disheveled. She flung her arms around him. Matt noticed that the communal area, the small prison cell that passed as the living room, was crowded with friends. The gang from freshman year was on the IKEA couch and beanbag chairs and spots on the floor. Empty beer and wine bottles from the vigil were piled in the recycling bin in the corner.
Matt had read somewhere that there were no friends like the ones from freshman year, and it was true. They’d all resided in Rubin Hall, known unofficially as the “poor kids’ dorm.” It was a converted hotel from the 1960s. Famous for its squalor and lack of air-conditioning. You only put Rubin on your dorm-selection list if you had to. It was the lowest-cost option for housing, and the university concentrated its scholarship kids there. During the first week of freshman year there was a heat wave, so Matt and the other tenants on his floor had a slumber party in the common area, the only space with air-conditioning. It was there he’d met what became his college family. He cast his eyes around the room.
Kala stood, looking gorgeous and fashionable even after staying up all night. She was in the Tisch drama school and had come a long way since that first year at Rubin. Back then her hair had been several shades too blond and her trailer park drawl too thick. They’d been fast friends—a point of contention with Jane—partly because of their love of old television shows and movies, partly because Matt never judged Kala’s rural Oklahoma roots. After all, his family had been run out of small-town Nebraska.
Kala had been the first to approach Matt after the documentary broke and everyone learned about his secret—his incarcerated brother and disgraced family. Kala confided that her father was in prison. At the time, she hadn’t said for what. But as they became closer, Matt learned it was for abusing Kala’s mother. And Matt sensed the abuse hadn’t stopped with mom.