Page 51 of The Chase

Lucille is my dad’s new girlfriend, though I don’t imagine they’ll date for more than a few months. The old man goes through women with a speed that is both impressive and disgusting.

On the flip side of that, Mom claims to have not dated anyone since the divorce, and that was twelve years ago. And while Dad has no qualms bragging about his conquests to me, Mom equally has no issue bemoaning her life of celibacy. It’s Dad’s fault, of course. He shattered her trust in all of mankind, emphasis on theman. And according to him, Mom is to blame for his revolving door of girlfriends, because he too can never trust again.

My folks are exhausting.

“Nice. Looking forward to seeing her.” Still lying.

For a moment, I consider telling him about my interview with Kamal Jain, but I swiftly decide that needs to be done in a joint email to both my parents. If I tell one before the other, the world will end.

“Will your mother be at the game?” He says the wordmotheras if it’s poisonous. “If so, you should warn her that I’m bringing Lucille.”

Translation: you should make a point of telling her so I can rub it in her face that I’m seeing someone.

“She’s not coming,” I answer, happy to defuse that bomb.

“I see. You must be very disappointed.”

Translation: she doesn’t even care enough to watch your games, Colin. I love you more!

I suppress an annoyed sigh. “It’s fine. Neither of you need to come to my games. Anyway, I have to go. I’ll see you this weekend.”

The moment we hang up, the pressure weighing on my chest eases slightly. Dealing with the folks takes an actual physical toll.

“Colin, hey!”

I turn to find Nora Ridgeway approaching. Nora was in two of my art classes last year, and this semester we have Advanced Figure Drawing together. She’s a cool chick. Double major like me, in Visual Arts and Fashion Design.

“Hey,” I greet her, eager for the distraction. It always takes a few minutes for the tension to completely drain from my body after a parental encounter. “Class isn’t until two. You know that, right?”

She smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m aware.” She nods toward the building across the lane. “I’ve got History of Fashion in ten minutes. I saw you over here and just wanted to come and say hi.” As she talks, her breath comes out in a visible white cloud.

“You need a hat,” I tell her, noting that the tips of her ears are red.

“Eh, I’ll live.”

I can see why she doesn’t want to cover her hair. Cut in a pixie cut, it’s jet black except for the ends, which are bright pink. She’s got a cool indie vibe to her that I’ve always appreciated. Plus, she has tats, a definite checkmark in the pros column for me.

“How was animation?” she asks. “My friend Lara is taking that course, and she was so pumped about it.”

“It was awesome.” I grin at her. “I guarantee it’s more fun than History of Fashion.”

Nora lightly punches my arm. “No way. Clothes are way more interesting than computers.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“And this course is taught by alegend.” Her light gray eyes sparkle in the winter sun as they fill with excitement. “Erik Laurie.”

My blank look makes her laugh.

“Former fashion editor forVogue,GO,Harper’s. And he’s the co-founder and former editor-in-chief ofItalia, probablythemost innovative fashion magazine for men. He’s like the male version of Anna Wintour.”

I draw another blank.

“Editor-in-chief ofVogue, and total goddess. She’s my idol. And so is Erik Laurie. He’s teaching two classes at Briar this year,andhe’s the director of the year-end fashion show. I’m beyond excited. We’re going to learnsomuch from him.”

I wonder if Summer is in Laurie’s class today. I can’t remember if she’s majoring in Fashion Design or Merchandising. I suppose History of Fashion lends itself to either one, though.

And speak of the devil.

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