Gateway to Fourline (The Fourline Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  A squirrel climbed up the metal exterior of a garbage can directly outside the doors of the Student Center. It dived its paws into the overflowing can, retrieving a half-eaten sandwich. Nat watched it scamper away toward the Science Center. A trail of students streamed into the building. She dug through her backpack for her phone, wondering how she was going to squeeze in the extra labs her biology professor had just assigned her class. She loved her biology major, especially her Plant Morphology class, but she needed more work-study hours, not more lab hours.

  A red bar flashed on the screen of her phone. Low battery. Need to make this quick, she thought, feeling slightly relieved she couldn’t talk long. She passed the Science Center and jumped over a pile of leaves onto the concrete path leading to the library. She paused below the safety lights and dialed home.

  She hadn’t spoken to her mom or dad since the rushed visit to the hospital two weeks before. Her father, always trying to do too much, fell from a ladder while pulling a grain bag from the barn loft. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except he’d landed on a scrap heap of barbed wire. A broken leg and sixteen puncture wounds later, he was now laid up with no one to help him with the farm chores or with the orders from his small woodworking business.

  She couldn’t be home to help, and neither of her parents had asked. But that reality did little to relieve her guilt. A cluster of students, hands shoved in their pockets, passed her. She watched them as they disappeared into the library, wondering what it would be like to worry only about her classes. She skipped onto the sidewalk leading to the Speech and Theater Building, adjusted her backpack, and listened to the phone ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mom. You sound tired.”

  “Natalie, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” Now her mom sounded exasperated and tired. Nat’s guilt level deepened.

  “Sorry, Mom, I’ve been in class and then work. Viv told me you called her. What’s going on?”

  “Your dad’s back in the hospital. Nothing serious, I think. He has an infection of some sort. Dr. Bitty had him admitted this morning.” Nat cringed, remembering how she’d ignored the call earlier in the day.

  “I can be home Friday.” She didn’t mention the lab she needed to catch up on or the work shifts that she couldn’t afford to miss. She’d figure that out later.

  “No, don’t, Nat. He’s going to be okay, he just needs to get this infection cleared up. I’ve got Gary, Jim Harris’ boy, coming over every day to help with the farm while I’m at school. Marie Claire is helping so much. She had dinner made when I got home from work last night.” Her mom let out a little laugh. “It was mac and cheese with celery sticks on the good china. Lots of people are pitching in. Even Cal is helping out. She’s been on the phone calling Dad’s customers, letting them know about the delays.” Her voice had a false tone of lightness to it.

  “Cal should be doing more than calling customers. She can help Gary with the sheep at least.” Nat imagined her middle sister holed up in her room, talking on the phone while her mom prepared lesson plans, Marie Claire made dinner, and Gary tried to handle the farm. Cal never did a lick of work unless bribed or coerced.

  “Lay off Cal, Nat, she’s trying,” her mother said testily. Then she sighed. “Honey, given everything that’s happened, it’s going to be difficult to come up with the money we were planning to send to help with tuition. With paying Gary and the doctor bills, and no money coming in from Dad’s business, I’m not sure what you can expect from us.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for you and Dad, so I already looked into it and have it covered.” The lie sounded fairly convincing, and she hoped her mom bought it. “The last thing you need to think about right now is my tuition. Tell Dad I love him.”

  “I never need to worry about you, do I?” Her mom sounded relieved. “Thanks for being older than you should be. I know none of this has been—”

  “Mom, really, you have enough on your plate,” Nat interrupted, not wanting the conversation to continue. “I’ve got to get to class, but I will call Dad.”

  “Thanks, Nat. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Nat hit “End” on her phone and stared at the bright light spilling out of the Speech and Theater Building’s glass doors. The smell of rotten crab apples hung heavily in the air. Her parents didn’t know that she was already trying to cover the tuition increase for her sophomore year on her own. She pushed open the doors leading to the foyer. She turned right and climbed up a worn set of wooden stairs, wondering how long the college would let her attend class if she stopped making tuition payments.

  A little of her stress seeped away when she walked into the dark, circular theater. Something about the room, with its high-arched ceiling and mini–flying buttresses, pleased her. It was the exact opposite of the auditorium and labs in the biology department, where she spent most of her class time. Strips of silken fabric in the deepest hue of blue adorned the honey-colored walls. The octagonal stage looked like an island amidst the surrounding audience chairs. As much as she groused about having to take this Acting for Nonmajors class to meet the fine-arts requirement, she loved the peaceful atmosphere of the small theater, especially when it wasn’t her turn to take to the stage.

  Chairs creaked as students claimed seats around the scuffed-up stage. Nat glanced at her watch; Professor Gate was late as usual. Normally this didn’t bother her, but she felt frustrated as her thoughts slipped back to her tuition problem. She dropped her backpack on the floor next to her seat, accidently bumping the leg of the boy sitting next to her.

  “Thanks. Now the eye patch is all wrong.” Butler, one of Viv’s friends, had a drawing pad cradled in his arm and gestured to the pencil sketch. He erased a crooked line. “I call it Pirate Annin.” He held up the pad, revealing a harsh sketch of a young woman with long, wild hair, a discolored right arm, and a lopsided eye patch. Her other hand held a thin sword.

  Nat immediately recognized the subject of his inspiration. Annin sat in a high row of seats on the opposite side of the stage. Nat tended to forget she was in this class, because she rarely attended and never spoke except during required performances.

  “Aside from being cruel, it’s not bad.” Nat held the pad in front of her, glancing quickly at Butler’s subject. “The sword suits her, I think, but you have the other arm wrong. She’s got a line . . .” She looked up. The young man Annin always sat next to, Estos, was staring at her. His blue-gray eyes unnerved her, and she glanced away. He whispered something in Annin’s ear. Annin lifted her chin and shot a cold look at Nat. Thick coils of black hair hung over her uncovered eye. A creepy shiver ran down Nat’s spine, and she dropped the pad into Butler’s lap.

  “Next time you draw her, make sure she’s on the other side of campus, not the other side of the room. She gives me the creeps,” she said. Butler shrugged and slid the pad into his bag as Professor Gate came hurtling down the theater stairs. He pushed a wavy lock of black hair away from his thick glasses and spread a sheaf of papers across the edge of the stage.

  “Pull up your syllabus, and note the two assignment changes,” he said as he hopped onto the stage. His lanky frame cast a long shadow over the wooden floor as he listed the new due dates for monologues.

  “Do you know of any jobs on campus that pay more than the caf?” Nat asked Butler as she powered up her old laptop. Professor Gate looked in her direction.

  “Ask Bloomers. Regan found a job through it a few weeks ago.” Butler peered at Nat’s computer screen. “Maybe you need to ask Bloomers for a winning lottery ticket, too.” He pointed at the thin blue stripes marring her screen. “That thing isn’t going to last through the semester.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t have a choice,” she said, thinking Bloomers, the campus-wide search site wasn’t a bad place to start a job search.

  “Ms. Barns, you seem chatty
tonight.” Professor Gate eyed her from the center of the stage. “Why don’t you and”—he spun around and pointed—“Annin start us off with an improv exercise. I’ll set the scene. Come, come.” He gestured to her, and she groaned inwardly. She hated improvisation.

  She handed her laptop to Butler. He smirked at her. “Don’t let her break your leg,” he whispered.

  Nat shot him a nasty look over her shoulder and climbed the stairs to the stage. Annin stood across from her with her arms folded defensively. She brushed her hair away from the patch that covered her eye, and Nat glanced at the floor, trying hard not to stare. Of all the people, why her? Nat looked briefly at Butler, whose amused expression only increased her irritation.

  “Ms. Barns, you are traveling on a packed train in a foreign country when Annin attempts to lift your wallet from your bag. Let’s begin.” Professor Gate clapped his hands and strode toward the edge of the stage. She took a deep breath and stepped hesitantly toward Annin.

  The college’s logo moved slowly across the computer monitor’s screen. Nat stared blankly at it and yawned. Like her laptop battery, she was drained. She glanced at the clock hanging above the library shelves. It was only eight thirty p.m., but she felt exhausted as she thought about her day, which had started with an early morning run and ended with that stupid improv exercise. She still had a study group and at least an hour’s worth of work to finish up the extra biology lab her professor had asked her to complete. And I need to find another job, she thought and sighed.

  Nat scooted her chair closer to the library’s computer monitor and typed in “Bloomers.” She clicked on the link, and the sunshine-yellow Bloomers home page popped up. She glanced around the empty table, thankful she was the only one using the public computers. Most evenings, this corner of the second floor of the library was packed. There must be a game tonight, she thought and tried to remember the last time she’d managed to catch one of the college’s sport events.

  Nat scanned the site, clicked the “Sellers” tab, and scrolled through the responses linking campus buyers to sellers and providing advice from the unknown entity “Bloomers.” One response read: “Xeon: Contact Carrie in Kierk Hall. She needs a bike. Milo’s 8 downtown is best for consignment.”

  Nat thought a moment if she had anything to sell. She needed her laptop, as close to death as it was, and her bike was home collecting dust in the barn—not that anyone would want to buy either. She clicked the “Help Wanted” tab. She typed her name at the prompt, pressed “Enter,” and then typed her query: “Looking for a job on or off campus that pays more than $8/hr.”

  “Excuse me.”

  Startled by the low voice, Nat jerked away from the keyboard and knocked her textbooks off the table. A hand reached out and caught the books.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Estos dropped the books next to the monitor. Up close, his eyes were more gray than blue. He scratched his head, leaving a clump of dark-brown hair sticking up at an odd angle. A frayed power cord dangled from his hand. “You left this in the theater.” His voice had an odd inflection.

  “Thanks . . .” Nat wrapped her fingers around the cord.

  He sat on the table and flipped through the pages of her morphology textbook. “Thank Annin, she found it,” he said without looking at her. “Impressive improv, by the way. Very convincing.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Nat shifted in her seat and wondered how Estos had found her in the library.

  “No.” Estos placed the book next to her hand, crossed his arms, and gave her a curious look. He was tall enough to make Nat feel dwarfed sitting in the computer chair. She shoved the cord into her bag and pushed away from the monitor. She realized the “Help Wanted” tab was still open and closed it with a click.

  “Looking for something on Bloomers?” he asked and nodded toward the garish yellow home page.

  “No, I like reading the advice,” she lied, not interested in talking about her job search with someone she barely knew.

  He drew his dark eyebrows together and looked at the battered watch wrapped around his wrist. “You have a Plant Morphology study group in ten minutes, and you’re wasting your time reading those responses?”

  “How do you know I have a study group?” Nat pressed her back against the chair, feeling uneasy. She tapped the side of the keyboard.

  “I know one of your study partners.” Estos grabbed another one of her textbooks and opened it to a page filled with her notes scribbled along the margins. He traced her writing with his finger as he read the notes. She was just about to grab the book back when she noticed a long, thin scar running from the base of his ear down his neck.

  Estos set the book on the table, leaned over her shoulder, and examined the screen. She smelled the faintest hint of fresh pine. His arm brushed her neck when he clicked open the “General” tab. Nat tensed.

  “She gives odd advice,” he said after reading a few responses.

  “How do you know Bloomers is a ‘she’?”

  He shrugged. “Where I come from, most of the people who give advice are women. They seem to have all the answers. This woman, I’m not so sure about.” He scrolled through more responses, and she caught herself staring again at his scar. The line ran right near the location of a jugular vein. He’s lucky to be alive, she thought. She glanced at the clock.

  “I need to go. Like you said, I have a study group.” She cleared her throat and pointed to his arm blocking her way. He dropped it immediately. “Thanks again for the cord.”

  “I’ll make sure Annin knows how grateful you are,” he called as she jogged toward the stairs. Estos leaned against the table, watching her go. She took the stairs two at a time, wondering about the odd encounter.

  It wasn’t until Nat was out the library doors that she realized she hadn’t pressed “Enter” to post her job query.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The fabric on the chair in the financial-aid office irritated the back of Nat’s legs. The day was weirdly warm for the beginning of October, and she wore a pair of frayed shorts. She picked at the pilled upholstery, waiting for her turn to speak with an adviser. Numbers, interest calculations, and payment dates ran through her head.

  The student in front of her was taking forever. Nat puffed out her cheeks and let out a long breath. She rummaged in her backpack for her phone and dialed home, knowing a follow-up call to check on her dad was long overdue.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Cal,” she said to her seventeen-year-old sister. Nat heard the clacking sound of typing in the background.

  “What do you want?” Cal said tersely. Nat bit her lip. Her sister was possibly the rudest, most self-centered person she knew. The clacking sound grew louder.

  “What are you working on?”

  “I’m writing a paper.” Cal used the same tone when she spoke with an ex-boyfriend.

  “Really? You’re writing a paper?”

  “Is this an emergency? Are you dying or something? Because otherwise, I’ve got better things to do than listen to you crab out on me.”

  “Are Mom and Dad there?” Nat said in a clipped tone.

  “They’re out at some school thing for Marie Claire.”

  “How’s Dad?”

  “Sick, stressed.”

  “Mom?”

  “The same.”

  “MC?” she asked, using her nickname for Marie Claire.

  “A twerp.”

  Nat’s frustration grew. “You’re helping Mom and Dad out?”

  “No, I’m just enjoying myself while my parents face financial ruin because their eldest daughter turned down a full ride to the U so she could go to some snooty private school.” Cal slammed the phone down.

  A short white-haired woman beckoned Nat to her desk. Nat shoved her phone into her backpack in anger and took a deep breath. The woman smiled as Nat settled into another itchy chair a
nd slid a small piece of paper across the desk.

  “I need to check my account status, please,” Nat said.

  The woman turned toward her computer, her white hair swinging back and forth. Her fingers flew over a worn keyboard. She glanced at Nat.

  “Something wrong, dear? Your face looks a little, well, beet red.”

  “No, I’m fine, just the heat, I guess.” Nat took another deep breath. It didn’t help. She still felt like throttling her sister.

  “Your account shows $6,524.39 due for this semester. We have a scheduled payment in two weeks. Is there a problem with that payment date?” She turned the computer monitor so Nat could see the screen and pointed to the amount.

  “No, no problem.” Big problem, Nat thought. “While I’m here, can you give me the amount for next semester, too?”

  The woman typed something, and Nat heard a printer come to life.

  “Here.” She took a highlighter and circled a figure at the bottom of the printout. “The top figure is this semester, and the second figure is next semester. Assuming your financial-aid and scholarship information remains the same, this is the total for the rest of the year.” She tapped the figure with the tip of the marker: $13,759.02.

  “Couldn’t you just round down to make it easier for everyone?” Nat muttered.

  “Are you all right, dear? Now you look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine.” She felt like throwing up all over the desk. Her palms were slick with sweat as she clutched the printout. Where was she going to come up with six thousand dollars, let alone thirteen thousand? Her parents had planned on covering four of the six thousand for this semester, but that wasn’t going to happen with her dad out of work.