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Unexpected SituationsThe slight, dark-haired boy jumped up from Fermat's chair as if bitten, and the chair rolled backwards into the cleared floor of the dorm room. He swept Fermat up and down with his dark brown eyes, noticing the thick glasses, the tanned complexion and the angry look on Fermat's face. For his part, Fermat noticed the slim build and equally thin, pale face, now flushed with embarrassment and possibly anger. The two stood still for a moment as they sized each other up, then the Fermat spoke. "W-Well? You haven't answered my qu-qu-question." The stranger moistened his lips with his tongue and glanced quickly around the room and came back to meet Fermat's glare. "I was just admiring your computer set up, that's all." Fermat picked up his bags and took them with him to his desk. He snagged the chair from the middle of the floor with a foot and drew it back. He scowled to see the computer powered up and the asterisks that indicated a password typed into the sign on screen. "More that j-just admiring it, I see." The stranger folded his arms. "Well, I wanted to see what it could do." Yeah, right. "And you d-didn't realize it w-would be password p-p-protected?" Fermat retorted. He shut the computer down, and made a mental note to find a way to lock it up. Turning around, his eyes widened as he saw his blankets and sheets all piled in a heap on the top bunk. "Hey! Why'd you do that?" he asked angrily. "I had f-first dibs on the b-b-b... lower bunk! Just who the h-h-h... just who d-do you think you are?" The dark haired boy pulled himself to his full, slight height, and said haughtily, "I am Andrew John Trumbull. Who are you?" "My name is F-F-Fermat Hackenbacker." "Hackenbacker? I've never heard of any Hackenbackers in the elite. And what kind of name is Fermat?" "It's the name of a f-f-f... eminent French m-m-mathematician." "Oh. Who wants to be named after some moldy old mathematician?" The smaller boy raised an eyebrow and declared with pride. "I'm a descendent of the famous John Trumbull." Fermat glared at him through his glasses. Then he asked, a challenge in his voice, "The artist?" Andrew John Trumbull huffed and said, trying to sneer, "No. The poet." The bespectacled boy knew he had scored a hit. "Oh, him. We spent a d-day or so st-st-studying him in American Literature last y-year. He was one of the C-C-Connecticut Wits." "Last year? What kind of elementary school teaches American Literature?" Fermat's eyes narrowed. He had endured a lot of teasing about his age (among other things) when he first came to Wharton, teasing that tapered off once the other boys knew that he was under the protection of the scrappy Alan Tracy. Alan's not here, now. Not like he was last year. I guess now's the time for me to learn to fight my own battles. He picked up his grocery bags and opened the small refrigerator, then stopped. Almost every shelf was already filled with cans of soda and packages of treats. Fermat began shoving them aside to make room for his own things. As he worked, he said, "To answer your question, I didn't st-st-st... learn about him in elementary school. American L-L-Literature is a required course for fr-freshmen here." "And just what is that supposed to mean?" Fermat looked up at Andrew John Trumbull and replied coolly, "It m-m-means that I'm a sophomore." He paused, then before the other boy could make the obvious comment, he added, "And I don't m-m-mean a 'wise f-f-fool', either." He finished shoving his food into the refrigerator. "Now, about the sl-sl-sleeping arrangements..." He turned to find Andrew James Trumbull sitting on the lower bunk, buttoning up his pajama top. The other boy looked up at him with a smug smile. "I'm sorry, but I don't 'do' bunk beds. I'm afraid you'll have to sl-sl-sleep up there," he remarked, indicating the upper berth with a jerk of his head and mimicking Fermat's stutter. "You'll r-r-regret it." Fermat pointed to his glasses. "I don't w-wear my glasses to b-b-bed. So, if I wake up, m-my depth perception is b-b-b... not good, and I tend to fall out of upper b-b-b... levels." "Just don't wake me up when you do." The other boy lay down and curled up, pulling his covers over his head. Not wake you up? Yeah, right. If I fall out of bed, you're going to know about it, buster! Fermat promised himself. He huffed out a breath, then brought over the extra desk chair so he could reach his mattress. He made the bed clumsily, not caring about being quiet or considerate, realizing that lights out was soon approaching. At last the bed was put together, though not to the military preciseness that Jeff had originally achieved, and the young man got down quickly, moving to his wardrobe to get some clothes to sleep in. "Lights out in five minutes," a masculine voice proclaimed over the dormitory public address system. Fermat grabbed a pair of sweatpants and headed into the en suite bathroom. There was no way he was going to dress or undress in front of this stranger. He quickly changed clothes and put his dirty things into one of the mesh laundry bags that hung from the hook on the back of the door. Then he brushed his teeth and hair, used the toilet, and hurried out into the bedroom. Slipping off his glasses, he laid them gently on the desk. The clarity of his world turned into the familiar, disturbing fuzziness that was his unaugmented vision and he tread carefully across the floor to the foot of the bunk bed, where the ladder was. Alan had perfected a running jump that could get him to the top bunk, one that enabled him to slip between bed and ceiling without banging his head or body on either. Fermat desperately wished he could do the same, but between his bad vision and his shorter legs, he knew it was a lost cause. Besides, he hadn't needed such a cool technique until now. He carefully scaled the ladder, ducking down to keep from banging his head on the ceiling. He had just crawled up onto the mattress when the room suddenly went dark. The loss of light startled him, and he straightened in surprise. "Ow!" he hissed, as his head came in firm contact with the ceiling. Below him, he could hear a snicker. Muttering a cuss word under his breath, he rubbed his head and got about the business of climbing between the sheets. As he closed his eyes, he thought, Just wait until the morning, Andrew John Trumbull. You'll see that Fermat Hackenbacker is not a man to be trifled with. The tall Oriental teen stopped dead still in the doorway as it slid open. One of his friends peered over his shoulder, then groaned. "You are so screwed, Sugi. You've got Tracy for a roomie!" Alan looked up from his computer game and blinked in surprise. He slowly removed his earphones and asked, "You're my roommate?" The tall boy pulled back to look at the room number, then shook his head. "How'd I end up with you, Tracy? Why aren't you rooming with your little friend, Hackenbacker?" "Ms. Belvedere split us up," Alan offered in response. He was still surprised. Lee Sugimoto was one of the school's top athletes. He was a senior, and was on the basketball, track, and golf teams and was captain of this year's soccer lineup. On top of that he was a good student, one who put as much effort into his studies as he did his athletics. Plus, he was popular. Very popular. "Maybe she wants you to reform him," Lee's friend said with a mocking grin and a playful elbow. "Shut it, Mackenzie," Lee growled. He stepped into the room and looked around, then studied Alan for a moment. "Glad to see you took the upper bunk." Alan shrugged. "You were here first. And I'm used to it." "C'mon, Lee. We've got a few more minutes before lights out. Let's play some poker," Mackenzie suggested. Lee turned to Mackenzie. "Not tonight. I'm tired and I've got to report to the coach at six. I'll see you later, okay?" "You sure?" "Yeah. Besides, I need to lay down a few ground rules to my new roomie here." "Okay, man. Talk to you in the a.m." The two older teens touched closed fists and Mackenzie left. Lee stood there for a moment, looking Alan up and down. Alan sat still, returning the gaze, then put his earphones back in and prepared to go back to his game. That's when Lee spoke. "Hey, Tracy!" Alan pulled the earphones off again. "Yeah?" "Rule number one. Don't hog the bathroom or the fridge." Alan shrugged non-committally. "Okay." "Rule number two. Stay out of my stuff. Or if you need something, ask first. And keep your friends out of my stuff, too." "That's cool." Lee frowned. From the reputation that Alan had the year before, he figured that the boy would put up a stink. "Rule number three. Knock before you come in." "I'll do that for you if you'll do the same for me," Alan responded. He was getting the idea that Lee was expecting some reaction from him, and he was determined to show this big man on campus that he was cool. Lee frowned again. "I suppose that's fair enough. Who do you have programmed in?" "Fermat and my dad. Not that I'll be seeing much of my dad, but Fermat's okay. He won't touch your stuff. You?" "Mackenzie and Lewis." "Just do me a favor? Keep them out of my computer, will you?" Alan asked simply. "Okay. I can do that. Rule number four. Anything you see going on in here is private. You don't tell a soul." Now Alan sat back and folded his arms. "Why? Do you do illegal stuff?" "No," Lee shot back. "But sometimes... let's just say that sometimes there are things going on that the administration would frown on. From what I've heard, you understand all about that." He finally stepped over to his wardrobe, and began pulling out what he planned on wearing to bed. As he did, he asked, "Why did they split you and Hackenbacker up, anyway?" "Not that it's any of your business or anything, but Belvedere told my dad that she thinks I'm a 'dubious influence' on him. And that I lean on him academically," Alan answered, putting his earphones back in. He shot a glance at the taller boy, realizing as he did how much his new roommate sounded like Scott. "Hey, I was just curious." Lee took his clothes to the bathroom, but he stopped before entering. "You can keep quiet, can't you, Tracy?" "As long as it's not illegal, I can keep my mouth shut," Alan told him. I know what keeping secrets is all about. "Good. This might not be so bad after all," the older boy remarked as he entered the bathroom and shut the door. Alan took the time to change into sweatpants and t-shirt, slinging his sneakers into the floor of his wardrobe. He wadded his dirty clothes up and put the tight pile on his desk until Lee came out. "It's all yours," Lee said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "We can talk tomorrow about who cleans what and when." "Sure," Alan said as he got up and passed Lee on the way into the bathroom. He dropped his dirty things into the empty bag on the back of the door, and performed his usual bedtime routine. The five minute warning sounded just he left the lavatory. Lee was already in bed, thumbing through a sports magazine. Time to dazzle him, Alan thought. He moved over to the far corner of the room, near the door, got a running start, then leaped into the air. Startled, Lee poked his head out as Alan's body left the ground and landed with a thump in the bed above him. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, trying to figure out exactly how the younger boy had made that leap. Then, as the lights went out, he called up to his new roommate. "Hey, Tracy!" "Yeah?" "You ever think of trying out for track and field?" "Damn!" "Wha?" came the sleepy voice from the bottom bunk. Fermat cradled his left arm in his right, biting his lower lip and fighting back the tears of pain that threatened to fall. It was as he'd feared. He'd fallen from the top bunk, half asleep. He probably would have landed on his head or his back except somehow, somewhere, the rudiments of the martial arts training he had been given by Scott Tracy came to the fore and he twisted, slamming his arms down to take the brunt of the fall. The jarring shock burned up and down his arms like electricity, leaving the nerves buzzing as they coped with the sudden, violent jolt. He had rolled over and sat up, closing his eyes against the disorientation, then had loudly uttered the swear word as it became evident, very evident, that something was wrong with his left arm. "G-G-Get up!" he hissed through gritted teeth. "Why?" came a whine from the bed beside him. Fermat could tell that his new roommate had turned over and away from him. "Because, d-d-dumbass, I think I've b-b-b... fractured my arm! You're going to g-g-g... fetch the hall monitor." He could hear the rustling of covers and then a foot stuck out and nearly hit him in the face. "Oh, all right. Where's this stupid hall monitor anyway?" Fermat tried to remember where the hall monitor's single room was located on that floor. "Turn right when you go out our d-d-door and four doors down. There'll be a s-s-sign..." He didn't say anymore because Andrew John Trumbull was out of bed and already gone. Fermat shifted so that the lower bunk was at his back and supporting him, hissing with pain at every move. It seemed an eternity before the door slid open again, and a tall youth of obvious Indian extraction walked in. He put a key into a slot under the light switch and turned on the overhead lights. Fermat squinted up at him. "Hello there, Mr. Hackenbacker," the young man said cheerfully. "I see we have a problem here." "Yeah, D-D-Dev. I seem to have fr-fr-fr-fr... injured my arm." Fermat recognized the older boy as Devdan Israni, a fellow classmate from his advanced computer class of last year. Dev knelt down beside him, a medikit over one shoulder. "And how did this injury happen?" Dev took a look at Fermat's arm, which was swelling alarmingly. He took out a cold pack, snapped it taut with both hands to start the chemical reaction within and applied it gently to the swollen spot. Fermat shot a poisonous look at his new roommate, who was sitting at his own desk, trying to stay out of the way. "I f-f-fell out of the t-t-t... bed," he explained, pointing upward with his right hand. Dev raised an eyebrow. "You must be careful in such beds, my friend. They say that the first step is a doozy..." The younger boy snorted a laugh, and Dev smiled. "Where are your glasses?" he asked. "On my d-d-d... over there," Fermat indicated which desk was his. "Ah." Dev got up and fetched the specs and handed them over. The younger boy slipped them on awkwardly. "I fear we shall have to call in some more experienced personnel, my friend," Dev said regretfully. "This may mean a trip to the emergency room." Fermat groaned. "My dad is g-g-g... will be so... so..." "Angry?" Dev suggested. The younger boy shook his head. "Concerned. He r-r-rarely gets angry at me." He let his head droop. "But he's so f-far away." Dev looked around with a puzzled expression, and spied the slim boy on sitting at the desk. "But where is Alan? Why are you not rooming with him?" "It's a long s-story." Dev nodded, then pulled out a satellite phone. "I will call for whoever is on duty at the infirmary first. Then they can decide if you go to the hospital or not." He pressed a couple of buttons to speed-dial a number, then as he waited for someone to pick up, he asked, "Shall I get Alan?" Fermat shook his head. "N-N-No. I'll be o-o-okay." Alan's probably as tired as I am. Better let him sleep. The hall monitor started to say something, but whoever he had called had finally picked up the phone. As Dev talked to the nurse on duty, Fermat put his head back and closed his eyes. The pain had subsided to a dull throb, and stayed that way as long as he didn't move his arm. I hope this will convince Mr. Andrew John Trumbull that I need to have the bottom bunk. And just wait until Scott hears about this. He'll be on my case about not falling properly. A voice came from behind Dev. "Can I go back to bed now?" The older boy put up a forefinger to indicate that the speaker should wait. He finished his call, then said, "I do not think you will be sleeping anytime soon, young Mr. Trumbull. I should make myself comfortable were I you." He turned to glance back at Fermat. "You shall have to tell me, Fermat, how it came to be that you are sleeping on the top bunk." Fermat smiled. It was good to have friends. "C'mon, Fermat, c'mon!" Alan muttered as he waited outside the dining hall. He shivered a little. The September morning air was cool and a touch breezy; living on a tropical island did tend to thin the blood. He made sure his gray and black uniform jacket was zipped up and rubbed his hands together. Standing on his toes a bit, he looked over the heads of the stream of young men passing by him to see if he could find his friend. "Hey, Pinky!" A dark-skinned boy with his black hair in dreadlocks approached. The boy's name was Qaeshon Lewis and he was in the same grade as Alan and Fermat. Alan grinned to see him. "Hey, Kay!" He held out his hand and the two shook, then let their hands slide apart slowly, pressing their middle fingers together so that when their hands finally parted, the result was a crisp snapping sound, just as if they had snapped their fingers individually. It was an African greeting, or so his friend told him. "Where's the Brain?" Qaeshon asked. It was a running joke between the three that if Fermat was the brains of the operation, then Alan must be Pinky. Qaeshon had tried to explain to the boys about this old cartoon that his father still chortled about, but Alan still didn't get it. And God help anyone else who tried to call him Pinky... "I don't know," Alan said. "I've been looking for him..." He got up on his toes to look again. "Why? Didn't you come over here together?" Alan shook his head. "No, we're not rooming together right now. Belvedere split us up." "No Pinky and the Brain?" Qaeshon asked, surprised. "Nah." Alan turned to his friend, his eyes shining. "But do you know who my new roommate is? Lee Sugimoto!" "No way!" "Yeah way! And he thinks I should try out for track." "Cool! And hey, there's the Brain." "Fermat? Hey, man! What happened to you?" Alan and Qaeshon hustled down the stairs to meet a tired and pale-looking Fermat, his left arm in a bright blue cast and a sling. He smiled up at his friends as they gathered around him, pulling off his book bag and his laptop and carrying them for him. "I f-f-fell out of b-b-bed," he said simply. "And f-f-f... broke my arm." "How do you break your arm falling out of the bottom bunk?" Alan wanted to know. "I w-w-wasn't in the b-b-b... lower bunk." Fermat's eyes narrowed behind his glasses as they lighted on the back of the slight, dark-haired boy who climbed the stairs in front of them. Alan's gaze followed that of his friend, and he frowned. "Who is that?" he asked. "My r-r-roommate," Fermat replied. "He, uh, ap-ap-ap... took over the bottom bunk while I was out." Alan's face flushed with anger and he started to go after the boy who had caused so much trouble, but Qaeshon held him back. "No, man. Not now." "Don't w-w-w-worry about him," Fermat said, smiling. "Why not?" Alan asked. "You remember D-D-Dev? From m-my computer class l-l-last year?" "Yeah, I do." "He's my hall m-m-monitor. He made it very cl-cl-clear to Andrew J-J-J.. to Andrew Trumbull that I'm t-to have the b-b-bottom bunk... because I c-c-can't climb a ladder with a br-br-br... cast." "All right!" Alan put up his hand and both Fermat and Qaeshon slapped it. He headed up the stairs, turning back to his friends. "Hey, guys, c'mon. Let's get breakfast. I've got some interesting news about my new roommate." The new roomies are introduced, but what are they really like? And how will the folks back home react to Fermat's little accident? Find out next chapter Now for my reviewers: Claudette: Sorry this was such a shock! And yes, the characters are the movie ones, as in Bill Paxton as Jeff, etc. Hopefully I can get in some descriptive stuff on the characters as well. As for the door locks, they are in case of an "I left my book in my room and can you go get it?" type emergency. Two people per room, and two extras programmed in. I know it could be misused, and perhaps it will be. We'll see. And now you know who was in Fermat's room. No kidnapping in this fic. Promise. |