It’s practically 2030 and dorms still suck like they always
have. I know this because the carvings on the bunk bed are from 2015. My
roommate’s cool at least. For all intents she should be a brat, her mom
practically runs Braemore College, but I’m supposed to be a brat too so it’s
fine. After all, I’m nothing but a trust fund kid just waiting to hit 18 and
roll it in. That’s the problem with having smart parents: you skip grades and
get to college before you have the cash to spend on booze and drugs. Smart of
them to set up a trust fund too. Lots of problems with smart parents. I’ll try
to marry someone dumb and give my kids a chance.
Dean Taylor’s kid Gracie Bell ain’t half bad though. She
asked me about my folks and I told her to tread lightly. She knew I was just
being defensive and gave me choice of beds as a peace offering. She’s a good
kid. Campus rumors say her sis was the real wild one in the family. Maybe
she’ll be good for Flynn but who knows what forsaken island he’s on. Spending
his hard earned trustbacks with Louis and those girls he manages to pick up
with his charming Flynn powers. Anyway, my guess is that Gracie Bell’s sister
took all the fun out of being rebellious and left all the “being responsible”
genes to her. For all counts she could’ve went Ivy League but I’m sure getting
a free ride from Dean Mom factors into things. Her dad’s kinda hot though. Shut
up, I know. But he is. I’m gonna order some stuff from Super IKEA and see if
that doesn’t line up with one of his unannounced “are you girls being safe”
checks. I can’t wait to see him try to put one of those things together.
Other than that there’s not much to do around campus but I’m
sure we’ll think of something. And the good news is now that I’m in
Pennsylvania I can visit Uncle Jesse anytime I want.
He hates when I call him “Uncle Jesse” and every time I do
he tells me the three reasons why.
“One: I’m not your uncle. Two: I hate that show.” I always
forget what show it’s from. He says it’s before my time and he’s right. But
apparently there’s some goofy show with an Uncle Jesse in it who thinks he's
Elvis or Neil Diamond or something. But then there’s the third reason and
that’s the one we always say out loud together.
“And Three: I’m in witness protection, Bitch!”
Gracie Bell borrows her mom’s car and drives us up to his
spot. Dean Mom’s pretty cool and insists that I call her Tami. I’ll try not to
litter in her Prius. Gracie Bell wonders if this is the right place and I break
it to her that Uncle Jesse’s seen better times. It’s hard finding his headstone
because I always forget the dumb assumed name he gave himself. There it is.
“George O’Margolis.” What a goofball. If you’re gonna hide from the scariest
man around don’t name yourself after some girl you dated.
I put some flowers down, some that remind me of the other
half of his namesake, and sincerely wish that he’s safe now. Safe from my dad.
Who knows if he is? They’re in the same place and I don’t think this semester of Intro to Religion is gonna cover jurisdiction of vengeful ghosts. But I hope
he’s okay. I hope they both are.
I don’t care if she hears me, I shout “And Three: I’m in
witness protection, Bitch!” and low-five his stone before I leave.
We get back to campus before dark cause Gracie Bell insists
we go to the first game of the season. I hate football.
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