“Did you ever try to find your parents?” I ask. I need the subject change, but I also want to know.
“Not really,” Rocco says. He drops his hand to my shoulder, fingers twitching a little. “I mean, other people did. They told me the people who were living in the tunnels didn’t know any last names or anything. They ended up with some sketches of what they might have looked like and passed those around, but nothing ever came of it.”
“Do you think they’re still alive?”
“No.” Rocco presses his lips together, and his fingers twitch again. He stares down at my boobs.
I take his hand and move it down until he’s palming my tit, and he smiles a bit.
“I think they probably died, and that’s why they didn’t come back. I know they were both addicts, but I always knew my mom cared about me in her own way. I don’t think she would have...just abandoned me.”
“Maybe if she knew she couldn’t take care of you, she would have. She might have thought it would give you a better life. I assume she didn’t always live down there.”
“Probably not. I have no idea why she was there.”
“You might have family out there somewhere.”
“Without a name, it’s hard to go by.”
“What about doing one of those DNA test things?” I ask. “People are always finding long-lost relatives and such from those.”
“Cree suggested that last year, actually. My budget is pretty fixed, though, and it costs money just to ask for the test. Maybe someday, if I ever get my degree and a job that pays more money, I’ll be able to have it done.”
“Would you want to?”
“Maybe.” Rocco runs his thumb over my nipple, and my skin tingles. “They’d ask a lot of questions though.”
“I thought it was all online now?”
“Oh...sorry. I meant for job interviews.”
“Those are kinda intimidating for anyone.” Rocco doesn’t respond. “What’s your major, anyway? I’m studying criminal justice.”
“I’ve never declared one.”
“What? How can you not declare a major? I thought you were a senior, like me.”
“Um...I’ve been here for five years now.” Rocco’s hand stills, and he tilts his head away.
“Without a major?”
He shrugs.
“Rocco, how can you not have a major declared?”
“They...they send me letters about it. I have to go see my advisor.”
“So?”
“So...I’ve gone to her during office hours about thirty times, but the door is always closed.”
“And you can’t bring yourself to knock.”
He nods.
“Did you ever tell anyone that?” I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer, but it tells me everything anyway. “Rocco, how do you even know what courses to take?”
“I just sign up for classes that sound interesting,” he says. “Most of the time, I can’t get myself to class anyway. I drop some, but I have to keep a certain amount to maintain financial aid. I usually pass everything but only barely.”