CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: MOTION SENSORS
Trent asked me to meet him in the library basement. I've only been down here a handful of other times. Once when Stephanie wanted to use the whiteboard to practice her presentation to me. Another time with Megan when there was some major private family drama between Stephanie and Savannah, a.k.a Rodriguez verses Rivera. And a few times I came down by myself when I needed some other blank cement walls to stare at outside my dorm room.
The basement is composed of a bunch of rooms. Each staircase takes you to a different entryway. Some rooms are mini conference rooms with long dark wooden tables with rolling chairs and windows on all sides for classes or clubs. Some have long tables and chairs people can do homework on, and white dry erase boards people can have study sessions with. There are even couches sprawled around that some people take the opportunity to throw their hoods up and take naps on in between classes. All the rooms overlap and look into each other like a continuous maze. Similar to a completely comical chase sequence in movies that's all sped up as people dash and dart from room to room with doors opening and shutting, silly cartoon music, and people always getting close to catching each other, even taking a beat to make eye contact, but never actually getting close.
"Hey," Trent whispers, making me jump a little, halfway through a text asking where he is. "Here." He holds out a cardboard hot cup.
I gladly wrap my fingers around it, embracing the warmth of it against the slight chill down here. I bring it up to my nose a little and get the slightest whiff of chocolate. "Thank you." I smile.
"You're welcome. Come on." He flicks his head towards the main hallway that connects all the rooms, lined with peach linoleum flooring and two bathrooms on either end.
"Where are we going?"
"I just wanted to talk to you about something . . . about an idea I had."
"Okay . . ."
"Here." He pokes his head into one of the rooms, but seeing a few people sitting inside he keeps on walking, but really more like swaying his feet from side to side as if his head's weighing on him a little extra today. He pokes his head into another room, checking for people before waving me inside after him.
My eyes dart between the few rows of long white tables on the left half of the room and the long plum couches. I look over my shoulder, but Trent waves his hand again.
"Wherever."
"Okay . . ." I repeat because I don't really know what else to say.
"Sorry, it's just"âhe pauses as two girls move around us, chatting and taking seats on the end of one of the tablesâ "Dang." He whispers again. "Come on." He nods back out the door, and I reluctantly follow suit.
He goes directly across the hall and pokes his head into a similar room only with a mirrored set up and some of the ceiling lights are flicked off, leaving one half of the room slightly shadowed while the other is still haloed in yellow-white lights.
"Here." Trent places his cup on the end of one of the tables and pulls out one of the grey plastic chairs. He yanks it back all the way behind him before pulling back the adjacent chair and gestures for me to sit in it.
I comply, crossing my ankles and keeping my hands tucked around my cup. I wonder if it's warm enough to drink yet and go to take a tentative sip while Trent flips his chair around and sits on it backwards, facing me.
"So, I just had something I wanted to tell you, something I've been considering . . ."
I take another delicious sip of hot chocolate since I did discover it has reached the perfect temperature where your tempted to chug the whole thing right then and there, but you don't because you also want to savor every moment of it. It's only a matter of time before it's too cold though. "Okay." I finally nod.
"And I want you to be honest . . ."
My cup hesitates halfway to my lips, making Trent throw his hands out.
"It's nothing crazy though, I promise. It's actually not even that big of a deal, really."
My head turns towards the doorway at the sound of people walking by. I see a few pairs of people trickle by before one pair makes its way into the room. The guy's silver chain on his jeans clinks around as he walks in with, who I assume is his girlfriend, who's wearing a cream colored baseball cap and sipping on some coffee.
"Dammit." Trent whispers before standing back up and scratching the legs of his chair against the floor.
"Hey," I say. "What's going on?"
Trent scrubs a hand down his face. "Nothing."
I purposely scrape my chair against the floor, making it screech loud enough for the couple to send me wary looks. "Look, I actually have a lot of reading I need to do."
"I know, I know. I justâ"
Warmth wraps around my hand again but this time it's not from my hot chocolate rather Trent's hand around mine. It defrosts whatever ice that just built up around my frustrated resolve.
"I just want to be alone that's all . . ." He sends me a small smile with just a slight curve of those baby pink lips, and I can't help but smile back.
My steps feel light as I follow him out the door. Each of us with hot chocolate in one hand and holding hands with the other. I want to be mad at myself for getting swept back up so easily, but I picture myself more like a pile of confetti rather than a pile of dust, already shiny and sparkly on my own, while Trent is the broom that just sweeps me up every once and a while just to watch me float around and back to the ground.
Trent checks into the last room at the end of the hall on the left. It's one of the conference rooms with big black chairs, only the lights are off. Trent leans back and allows me to step inside first, making the lights flick on from the motion sensors.
"Hey, Trent!"
Trent flinches and drops my hand as if it's on fire.
"Wanna go grab some grub with us?"
I go to lean back and see who it is, but Trent leans further into the door frame, preventing me from peeking out.
"Maybe later." Trent waves his hand.
I duck my head to prevent myself from getting a mouthful of his thin maroon sweater.
"Ah." The guy seems to drag out the word. "I see. Have fun!"
I take another full step back and catch the end of Trent's grin. He quickly drops it as soon as we lock eyes.
I don't drop my glare. "Really?"
"No, just ignore him. That's what I do." Trent walks around me and tugs at a chair.
I feel myself getting cold again, but Trent flicks his eyes up, and my legs move on their own accord. Trent seems to mess around with the chair a little bit, adjusting the height and swaying back and forth of the wheels. I just perch myself on the edge and tap my nails against my hot chocolate cup.
I almost want to say that I'm done for today. I suddenly feel like I just went through my own funny movie room chase, and it weighs on my shoulders.
"Okay, so." Trent rubs his hands together before inching his chair closer to mine. He nudges my legs with his, spinning me to face him. "I've been thinking . . ." He inches forward again, keeping our legs and knees resting between each other's. "What do you think about . . ."
I start to warm up again as my mind whirls with everything he could possibly say, everything he's been trying to say, everything he maybe wants to say, and suddenly confetti is fluttering around in my stomach, while my mind is automatically conjuring up a yes. I don't know why. Why, why, why is my brain doing that? I don't know. But why, why, why else would he want to talk alone unless it was something about us, maybe, possibly, suddenly I'm just realizing how hopefully I've been maybe, possibly wanting something more, a simple yes or no question, hopefully. It just dawns on me. Will you be myâ
Trent reaches up and grabs his neck. "I was thinking about . . ."
I inhale as his knee brushes against mine once more.
"Changing my major."
"What?"
"To a full education major or something." Trent leans back a little sheepish.
"Oh." It's not even about us, or we, or me.
"I shouldn't, right? It's stupid?"
"What? No." I desperately try to reign my disappointment back in. I take a sip of my hot chocolate but it's no longer satisfying. It's cold. "I think . . . I think it's a great idea."
Trent perks back up. "Really? You mean it?"
"Yeah, I mean . . . if it's what you truly want."
"Yeah, I think I do." He smiles to himself. "I mean, my mom's a teacher, and I've always admired her for that, but you know, as I've mentioned my dad, he may not be around much, but when he is, he certainly has a lot to say." He scratches at his jaw. "I don't know. I guess I did the stupid thing and listened to him in the first place."
"You're not stupid."
"I know. It's just hard to get his voice out of my head sometimes. Hell, it's hard to get a lot of people's voices out of my head . . ."
My head already has enough voices. Stupid, little, hopeless voices that like to romanticize things like hot chocolate and being alone in library basements and how vanilla and red velvet don't traditionally go together, but we do. I thought we did. I thought we've been.
"It's just the thing, you know, the whole "teaching isn't truly manly" and all that prehistoric sh*t. Even Zack being a theater major pushed his buttons but only a little less becauseâ"
I echo the end of Trent's sentence word for word. "He can make a lot of money."
"Yes." He breathes. "Exactly. I knew you'd get it." He passes me a glance as he picks up his hot chocolate and finally takes a sip. He flinches. "Oof, it's a little cold." He takes another sip anyway before shaking his head. "Well, thank you for listening. I feel like you're the only one I can really talk to about this stuff." He stands back up, taking all the warm air in the room with him. "I'll leave you alone now so you can do some homework." He takes another sip of his hot chocolate as he takes another step towards the doorway. He already feels miles away. "Dang, we seriously waited too long."
"Yeah . . ."
I did.