“It’s not like that. My calendar is empty.”
“So he’s just a new friend.”
“Yeah, a friend.”
“But when I asked you you said you went out by yourself.”
“I did. It told you. I just met him last night.”
“But then we asked you if anyone stuck out and you described the deceased, not the guy who stuck out so much you’re going on a date with him tonight.”
“You’re trying to entrap me.” I stomp my feet and my hands turn to fists at my side. “I’m a good person. I study hard and mind my own business. I went out for my birthday last night. I met a nice guy. Then today I learn some guy got killed. I’m not used to this kind of stuff. I spend three hundred and sixty-four days a year with my nose in a book, my textbooks or my Kindle, and the one day I try and go out and have a good time something super weird happens. Of course, I’m rattled and I don’t know how to talk to you. Two cops show up at your door and see how you react,” I challenge them, anger ripping through me as my backbone stiffens.
The one cop looks at the other cop and then says, “You have any trips planned?”
“Trips? To where? You taking me because I sure can’t afford to go anywhere. I can’t even afford to go to Tijuana for the weekend.”
“I see. Well, just in case, it’s best if you stick around campus…in case we have any more questions.”
“Trust me. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Except out for tacos with your new friend,” the other officer says, as if it’s some sort of ‘got ya’. I shake my head and breathe out through my nose.
“Exactly, so please leave so I can go.”
“Everything okay here, officers?” a voice I recognize instantly says from out in the hallway.
I roll my eyes and breathe out so hard my body deflates.
Why? Why did this have to happen?
“You tell us, sir?”
Sam cocks his head and lifts his palms, shrugging his shoulders.
“I need to see your ID,” one of the officers says. Without missing a beat Sam whips it out and hands it to them, keeping his hands at his sides, calm as a cucumber.
“I’m sorry about this,” I say softly.
“You didn’t tell me you were a criminal,” he jokes, lightening the mood between us but clearly not with the officers.
One of the policemen takes a picture and hands the ID back to Sam. “That’s it?”
“We’ll be in touch if we need anything, Mr. Sparks.”
“I can give you my number if you need it.”
The officer pulls out his phone and stares at Sam, who rattles off the seven digits. The man in blue saves it, stows his phone away, and wishes us both a good evening, before they both leave.
“Wanna tell me what that was all about?” Sam asks.
“Yeah…over tacos.”
“Deal,” he says, offering me his arm. I smile and wrap my arm in his…just like last night.
Just like how I can see it happening a lot more in the future.
7