The Orangeside cafeteria was buzzing with the usual low-grade chaos of a Monday morning. Dean Starmer stood at the front, clutching a microphone with both hands, his eyes wide with a manic brand of environmental fervor.
“Good morning!” the Dean chirped. “I’m here to kick off the first day of a new tradition at our school called Green Week. All this week, Orangeside College is becoming so Earth-smart that we’re naming ourselves after a tree and changing our name to Appleside.”
“Argh, but we already be name orange, like the tree, yah land lover.” Pirate-Guy shouted from the back.
“Yeah. Well… there’s also going to be a free rock ‘n’ roll concert by a certain band called Green Day!” The Dean beamed.
The room stirred with a sudden, genuine spark of interest. Actual Green Day? At Orangeside? It seemed impossible, but in the weird vacuum of community college life, sometimes the impossible happened.
“That shiver yer timbers?” The Dean asked sharply.
“No, my timbers be not shivered” Pirate-Guy muttered.
Once the crowd cooled, Dean Starmer turned to his assistant, “We need to re-do these,” he whispered, holding up a stack of “Appleside” flyers.
The assistant looked at him with concern. “We printed five thousand of these.”
“Print five thousand more, but with Orangeside instead of Appleside! I’m trying to save a planet here!” Dean Starmer bit back.
At the long tables, the reception was lukewarm at best. Wilson leaned over to Chase, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “What? First, we give a month to Black History, now seven days on the Irish?”
Chase didn’t even look up from his phone. “It’s environmental, Wilson.”
The peace of the cafeteria didn’t follow them into Computer Science class. The air in Pablo S. Cabar’s room was thick with the scent of dry-erase markers and palpable anxiety. They were mid-exam, the scratch of pencils the only sound until Cabar’s voice sliced through the silence like a dull blade.
“Pencils down!”
The sound of lead hitting desks followed instantly—except for one. At the front, Amelia Winters’s hand moved in a blur. Her eyes were wide, focused on the last three bubbles of her Scantron. She just needed five more seconds.
“Amelia,” Cabar warned.
“I wasn’t—I just—”
Before she could finish the sentence, Cabar was moving. He didn’t just take her paper; he grabbed the edges of her entire desk. With a manic grunt, he dragged the heavy plastic-and-metal unit across the floor—with Amelia still in it—shoving her and the furniture right out into the hallway. The door slammed shut in her face with a final, echoing thud.
The rest of the class sat frozen. Chase felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck.
“I want you all to write a one page paper, about signs of failing hardware,” Cabar announced, pacing the front of the room like a caged tiger, “entitled, ‘Amelia’s Failure.’”
Wilson raised a hand, his face reddening. “Why doesn’t Amelia have to write it?”
Cabar stopped. He leaned in, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Okay, two pages. Entitled: ‘The Consequences of Asking Stupid Questions.’”
“This is Computer Science 101!” Sharon interjected, her voice rising in a pitch of polite desperation. “I know how to navigate a BIOS, and that computer parts are male or female. That’s the only computer stuff you’ve taught us!”
“Oh!” Cabar barked. “Seven pages on ignorance!”
“Guys, put your hands down,” Christina hissed, sensing the spiraling doom. She turned to Cabar, her expression a mask of forced, agonizingly fake respect. “Pablo S. Cabar, please continue. We respect your authority.”
Cabar stared at her for a long beat. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face. “Thank you, Christina. Twenty pages on ass-kissing. Due on Monday.”
“This Monday?” Amelia blurted out from the hallway.
Cabar didn’t answer.
The study room felt less like a sanctuary and more like a bunker after a hit.
“If Pablo S. Cabar gets any crazier, he’s gonna win a Grammy,” Wilson muttered, leaning back in his chair, expecting the room to laugh along with him. Nobody did.
“I’ve already reported him to the Dean,” Amelia said, her voice still trembling from the hallway exile. “He said they’ve been trying to fire him for years, but nobody wants his job.”
“I can’t write a twenty-page paper,” Sharon moaned, dropping her head onto the table. “I have a presentation in Marketing, and public speaking gives me the nervous sweats.”
Wilson straightened his vest. “I can help you with that.”
Sharon looked at him, then back at her notes. The desperation won out. “I accept. That’s how messed up things are.”
“Well, we’re screwed too,” Tyrone added, looking uncharacteristically somber. “We’re three days behind on a Biology lab.”
“Tyrone’s afraid of—” Elvis started.
“I’m not afraid, Elvis!” Tyrone cut him off, his voice jumping an octave. “I choose not to be around rats because they are uncool. Same goes for centipedes and lakes.”
Christina looked around the table, her eyes landing on Chase Wright, who was currently busy ignoring the panic. “Someone has to go to Cabar and talk to him.”
Amelia perked up, “I vote we all look at Chase at the same time.”
As if choreographed, six pairs of eyes swung slowly toward the end of the table.
Chase sighed, closing his eyes. “In a way, all of you are right. What was I tuning out?”
“You have to get Cabar to call off this homework,” Amelia said. “You’re the one with the silver tongue.”
“Yeah,” Wilson added. “Go tongue Cabar.”
“What makes you think I could convince Cabar if I can’t even convince you not to make me do it?”
“Chase does raise a good point,” Elvis noted.
“Wait,” Tyrone countered, pointing a finger at Chase. “You are convincing. You could do it.”
“You want me to risk the C that I’m pulling in that psycho’s class by putting myself on his radar?” Chase asked. “I mean, that guy goes any more nuts, he’s gonna win a Grammy.”
“You are hilarious,” Christina said, joining the rest of the group in a forced laugh. “That’s very funny.”
Hearing the group laugh, Wilson asked, “What is it, the chair?”
Ignoring the question, Christina asked, “How are you going to keep pulling a C if he keeps assigning this much work?”
“Because I have you guys,” Chase said simply.
Amelia stood up, grabbing her bag. “Well, guess what, handsome hobo? Your gravy train’s leaving the station.” She started moving her arms like a locomotive and making ‘choo-choo’ sounds.
Rolling his eyes at Amelia “Ignore her, we are very serious.” Tyrone said..
Chase looked at the others. They weren’t blinking. The collective resolve of the group was a wall he couldn’t charm his way over.
“Fine,” Chase groaned, pushing off the table. “I’ll do it. But when you find my body, don’t believe the suicide note.”
In Dean Starmers office, while scrolling through Youtube he came across a video of a Furry Streamer in a german shepherd costume. Whispering to himself, “I hope this doesn’t awaken anything in me.”
His contemplation was disturbed when his assistant burst in, “Green Day is here,”
Dean Starmer excitedly rubbed his hands together, “Oh Boy, just like real college, we got a real band.”
The “Green Day” band was less “American Idiot,” more “local garage band with a gimmick.”
“Wow,” Dean Starmer muttered. “Okay, what’s this about now?”
A band member waved a hand flashing a card in front of Dean Starmer. “We’re Greene Daeye!”
Dean Starmer took the card, “Thank you!”
Adjusting his glasses Dean Starmer looked at the card with the bands name: GREENE DAEYE. “Oh…”
Chase shook his head and kept walking toward the faculty offices. He found Cabar sitting in a darkened room, the only light coming from a small desk lamp. The teacher looked smaller than he did in class, more jagged.
“What do you want, Wright?” Cabar spat. “You complaining about the homework on behalf of the class?”
Chase took a seat, leaning in with his practiced ‘lawyer’ empathy. “Can I ask you a personal question, Pablo S. Cabar?”
“Okay, Freud. Sure. You try to penetrate my psychological armor and you—”
“Did your wife leave you?”
Cabar froze. The manic energy vanished, replaced by a hauntingly blank stare. “Holy—how’d you know?”
“Well, when you pick juries, you learn to read the little stuff,” Chase said, gesturing vaguely. “Same shirt twice in one week. Teaching us that motherboards are the least reliable computer part. A picture of you with a woman with a Post-it note dialogue balloon above her head that says, ‘Enjoy it while it lasts.’”
Cabar looked down at the photo on his desk. His shoulders slumped. “We met at a salsa club. And, um, she loved the way I danced. But, I mean, you know how it goes. You get a job… “
“You stop salsa dancing. Of course I know,” Chase said, his voice dropping an octave.
“You make no mistake about this, Wright,” Cabar said, a flash of the old fire returning. “I pleasured that woman greatly.”
Chase didn’t blink. “You look like you’d have too. I’m not surprised you said that.”
Cabar looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. A weird, lonely connection sparked in the teacher’s eyes. “I like you, Wright.”
Excitedly Cabar reached behind his desk and pulled out a jar, “Pickled bull testicle?” He held out a jar.
Chase hesitated. “Are you offering or collecting?”
While Chase was navigating the minefield of Pablo S. Cabar’s psyche, Tyrone and Elvis were facing a different kind of terror in the Biology lab.
The lab smelled of sawdust and ozone. On the table sat a small, clear cage containing a white rat. Elvis held a pitch pipe, his expression as serious as if he were conducting the Philharmonic.
“Tyrone, sing,” Elvis commanded. “The assignment is to train a rat to a song.”
Tyrone stood three feet back, his body coiled as if ready to spring toward the nearest exit. “Did you have to pick a k-pop group song?”
Elvis blew a note on the pipe. “One, two, three…”
They began to sing—a high-pitched, earnest rendition of “Golden.”
Elvis started; I was a ghost, I was alone, given the throne I didn’t know how to believe. I was the queen that I’m meant to be”
Tyrone, begrudgingly joined in, “I lived two lives, tried to play both sides
But I couldn’t find my own place”
Elvis’ voice peeked back up, “I’m done hidin’, now I’m shinin’
Like I’m born to be
We dreaming hard, we came so far,
Now I believe”
Then both in unison continued; We’re going up, up, up, it’s our moment
You know together we’re glowing
Gonna be, gonna be golden
Oh, up, up, up with our voices
It was soft, sweet, and entirely surreal. Inside the cage, the rat—affectionately named Jinu—stood on its hind legs, twitching its pink nose in rhythm.
“He did it,” Elvis whispered, his eyes shining. “Good boy, Jinu. Commencing reward.”
“I have to open the cage,” Elvis added, reaching for the latch.
“Yeah, you don’t have to warn me,” Tyrone said, his voice trembling as he took another step back. “I’m not afraid.”
As Elvis reached for the door another student startled Tyrone backwards into Jinu’s cage.
The cage hit the floor and the rat vanished into the shadows of the lab equipment. Tyrone let out a sound that was half-scream, half-whimper, scrambling onto the project table.
The entire class started laughing at him.
“Everybody shut up!” Tyrone barked at class. “I’ll kick all your asses.” Then he stammered out,”But you all have to come up here first.”
Elvis was more concerned about the rat running off into the school hallway. “Jinu!” Elvis cried.
Back in the dim light of Cabar’s office, the atmosphere had shifted from hostile to uncomfortably intimate. Cabar was standing now, his movements jerky as he gestured with a half-eaten bull testicle.
“Dude,” Chase said, using his most soothing ‘closing argument’ tone. “You are gonna be fine. You just have to move on. And if you hang out with me sometime, you will see how great single life can be.”
Cabar’s eyes widened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What about tonight?”
Chase’s internal alarm bells went off. He had a date. He had a life. He had a group of people expecting him to fix their lives. “Absolutely,” he lied. “Oh, shoot. My Computer Science study group has to get together every night now. You have been really letting us have it with this homework.”
Cabar paused, a sinister satisfaction growing on his face. “I really have, haven’t I?”
“Yeah,” Chase encouraged.
“Tell you what,” Cabar said, leaning in and pointing a finger at Chase’s chest. “For my new buddy, Chase… essay cancelled.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue.
Chase grinned, the relief washing over him. “Fantastic. That is fantastic. Everybody will be so happy.”
“Oh-oh-oh,” Cabar wagged a finger. “I didn’t say everybody. It’s for my new friend Chase. I mean, you’re the one coming out with me, right?”
Chase’s smile faltered. “Right. Yeah.”
“I suppose that will put you in an unenviable, uncomfortable position,” Cabar noted with a sudden, sharp clarity that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Awesome,” Chase muttered, his mind already racing to find a way to spin this. Chase tossed Cabar his jacket. “Let’s do this.”
Unannounced, Elvis poked his head into the Cabar’s office, and asked, “Is there a rat in here?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chase said, after looking around with guilty innocence.
Cabar noted, “Elvis.”
Elvis replied, “Wolverine.” and quickly ducked out of the office, closing the door.
The next morning, the cafeteria felt like a hospital waiting room. Chase walked in, his hair slightly disheveled and his eyes hidden behind dark aviators.
“Well? Did you talk to Cabar?” Christina asked, her eyes wide with hope.
Chase let out a long, theatrical groan. “Yeah, but it didn’t do any good. My head still hurts from the yelling. My pupils are more sensitive to light because he yelled at me so much.”
“Oh, well, now I feel bad that we made you do that,” Amelia said, her heart instantly going out to him. “Maybe we can help with your essay.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Chase said quickly, grabbing his bag. “I’m working on mine by myself. You could do my homework next time. See you in class.”
He beat a hasty retreat. Christina watched him go, her eyes narrowing.
“He’s hiding something,” she said.
“Christina, Chase suffered for us,” Amelia scolded. “Give him a little credit.”
“Yeah,” Tyrone added. “You can be pretty cold.”
Across the room, Tyrone was staring at the doorway with a thousand-yard stare. “Damn, here comes Elvis, he needs my help. I gotta go, if he asks, I was one of the other black kids in this school.” He bolted.
“Tyrone?” Elvis called out, looking puzzled. He turned to the girls. “You guys seen a rat? Tyrone knocked over Jinu’s cage and he escaped.”
“Oh, Elvis, I’m sorry,” Christina said, her voice softening into her ‘sympathetic therapist’ tone. “He probably found someone down on their luck and is now working at a five star restaurant, serving ratatouille.”
Elvis stared at her, unblinking. “Try to join the rest of us in reality, Christina.”
The Marketing classroom was empty except for Sharon and Wilson. Sharon stood behind a podium, her hands shaking so hard her note cards looked like white birds trying to fly away.
“I believe that, uh, fusing cooking recipes with the, uh, social media is going to create the next Etsy for food,” she stammered.
Wilson let out a theatrical yawn. “Can’t I just write it on these cards?” Sharon pleaded. “I can’t do anything with these blank cards you handed me.”
“No,” Wilson snapped. “The cards are just for effect, don’t you think you should memorize your speech? No, you don’t, and that’s why.” Noticing the nervous sweat-stains on Sharon’s top, “Also, you might consider a darker top.”
Sharon sighed, realizing he was right. “Note taken.”
“And don’t lock your knees,” Wilson warned, pointing a cane at her legs. “Never lock your knees. You know what happens when you lock your knees? You die.”
“Wilson—”
“Second, when you wanna drive home a point, hand them a sandwich.” He mimed the motion. “Try it. Hand them a sandwich. See? Hand them a sandwich.”
Sharon tried to imitate the gesture, but her hand just flopped limply.
“Yeah,” Wilson critiqued. “Except that you just dropped the sandwich as opposed to handing it to them. Handing the palm. Yeah. Try attention-grabbing words to wake up the audience, such as… Penis Implosion.”
Sharon’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Oh, no, no. I don’t think that would fit into my message. Maybe we should focus more on—”
“Whatever,” Wilson waved her off. “And about these filler words of yours. Nobody wants to buy brownies from somebody that says ‘um’ and ‘like.’ I have a method for fixing that. From the top.”
Sharon took a breath. “Okay. These brownies are, uh—”
“UH!” Wilson barked, slamming his hand on the desk.
“They, um—”
“UM!“
Sharon jumped. “These brownies are delicious! They taste like—”
“LIKE!“
“That’s not a filler word!” Sharon cried.
“Whatever, valley girl,” Wilson grumbled.
Computer Science class was a battlefield of technical jargon. Cabar was pacing again, his energy even more erratic than the day before.
“The difference between IA-64 and x86-64 is a matter of usefulness,” Cabar explained, pointing at Wilson. “You are old and useless, just like IA-64”.
Continuing to Elvis he said, “You are like Intel’s 64-bit plans, Ugly”.
“No, you’re not.” Sharon reached over with a motherly concern to Elvis.
Pointing at Sharon, Cabar continued, “Shakira. Shakira.” with his arms doing mildly rhythmic dance motions. “And Tyrone over there, you guys are like Intel’s reputation… You are dirty.”
Insulted, Tyrone burst out “DUDE!?”
Cabar looked back at the class. “Still hardware but dirty, ugly and useless. But like the Itanium, while you may all exist, none of you are my friends. Okay?”
He stopped at Chase’s desk, giving him a conspiratorial wink that made Chase’s skin crawl.
“And on another subject, hope you guys are working hard on your essays,” Cabar said to the room. “That’s gonna be thirty percent of your grade.”
The group groaned in unison. “Oh, no,”
Cabar said, his voice dripping with fake surprise. “Chase already turned in his essay. Great job.”
Chase froze. He could feel the heat of six glares boring into the side of his head.
“Thanks,” Chase managed to squeeze out.
“As soon as you turn in your essays on Monday, there’s gonna be a big-ass quiz, so study hard,” Cabar announced. “Class dismissed.”
As the room cleared, Chase tried to bolt, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Dude,” Cabar said, pulling Chase over him.
“Dude,” Chase echoed.
“Crazy night last night, man,” Cabar said, leaning over Chase’s other shoulder. “That was crazy. When you go out with me, it gets crazy. That’s the Wright way of living life.”
“Dude, let’s do it again,” Cabar urged.
“Yeah, I want to,” Chase stammered, feeling the study group closing in behind him. “It’s just the quiz, you know? Study, study.”
“Well, how about this,” Cabar said, pulling a red marker from his pocket and scribbling on a piece of paper. “Bling. A-plus. Nice work, Wright. I knew I could do it if I applied myself.”
He patted Chase on the back as they left the class talking about the drinks they had the night before.
As they sauntered out, they slowly came face to face with the group. Christina and the others looked like they were ready to lead a revolution.
“You devious clump of overpriced fabric and hair product,” Amelia hissed.
“Speaking as one of the meek,” Sharon added, her voice trembling with genuine hurt, “soon as I inherit the Earth, you dead.”
“You got a weird forehead,” Tyrone added, which somehow hurt the most.
“We’re all very disappointed,” Amelia said softly.
Wilson felt the familiar surge of defensive adrenaline. “All right, dial it back a little, Christina.”
“If anyone should be disappointed, it’s me. What kind of a group threatens to kick someone out unless he helps them?” Chase defended himself.
“What kind of a person is asked to help other people and then helps himself?” WIlson shot back.
“Helps himself?” Chase stood up, his voice rising. “I don’t like being talked to that way!”
“He’s using fake outrage to justify leaving,” Christina observed calmly.
“Fake outrage? Justify my—? Yeah, that’s it, I’m out of here!” Chase grabbed his bag and marched away.
“Are you breaking up with the group?” Amelia called after him.
“That’s what you guys want!” Chase shouted back over his shoulder.
Wilson watched him go, then turned to the group. “I’ve been divorced seven times. Don’t answer your phones and bury all your money in the backyard.”
Chase found himself back in Cabar’s office. Cabar was sharing the classes assignments, both mocking the poor answers to simple questions.
Chase flipped through an assignment that Cabar handed him. “Look at Wilson’s paragraph from unit two,” he muttered, pointing to a page. “The male end of the graphics card goes into the female end on the motherboard… “proceed to insert male end into the female end repeatedly.” He kept reading, her expression souring. “For maximum motherboard pleasure”
“Ruined it,” Chase sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Imagine being married to him?” Cabar asked.
“Seven times,” Chase noted, his voice full of awe and a touch of pity. “Seven different women agreed to marry that guy. It’s crazy.”
Chase soon discovered that the price of an A-plus was far higher than he’d anticipated. He was back in Cabar’s office, but the “cool guy” vibe vanished. Cabar was slumped over his desk, a crumpled mess of a man.
“I’m so alone,” Cabar wailed. “I’m so lonely I wanna die.”
Chase stood awkwardly by the door, his hand on the frame. “Come on, man. It—come on. Don’t do that.”
“I just miss her so much!” Cabar emphasized.
“I’m sorry,” Chase said, his lawyer instincts telling him to flee. “This is so…I’m sorry. No, no, it’s fine, it’s just… buddy, you know I’m dumb. I can see that you’re hurting, but I really have to get to Accounting.” In a reassuring tone, “It’s not like I’m hitting strip clubs with Professor Williamson,”
Cabar snapped, his head whipping up with a sudden, jealous fire. “You better not be!” Cabar pointed a trembling finger at him.
“I… what?” Chase stammered out.
“All I ask is for you to keep filling the void in my soul.” Cabar said tearfully.
Chase looked at the door, then back at the weeping man-child. “I’ll have to think of something.”
Before Chase could react, Cabar lurched forward, leaning his forehead against Chase’s chest. “Let me rest gently on your pecs.”
Chase stared at the ceiling, wondering if twenty pages if a twenty page paper would’ve been easier.
In the study room, the rehearsal was underway. Sharon was sweating, but Wilson was in his element, pacing the small room like a drill sergeant.
“Best closer to a presentation? A Nicholson quote,” Wilson declared. “You take a phrase from one of his films and you tailor it to your product. ‘Here’s COOKIES!!’ Something like that. But you can’t use that one. That’s mine.”
“Thanks, Wilson,” Sharon said, her voice small. “I’m gonna write it on some cards.”
“Okay,” Wilson said, suddenly becoming secretive. “Just don’t let anybody know I was involved.”
Wilson saw Chase’s chair, empty. Now’s his opportunity to test out the ‘magic’ chair. Picking up his phone, he attempted to do an impersonation of Chase.
Tyron and Elvis walked into the room. Annoyed with Elvis, he yells out. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t,” Wilson snapped, in a tone similar to Chase.
Ignoring WIlson, Elvis answered. “Because Jinu is going to die.”
Wilson picked up his phone, mockingly, and said, “I’d rather die than listen.”
Concerned Amelia piped in, “Who’s going to die?”.
“The exterminator is coming because of our rat,” Elvis explained.
“I’d like to exterminate this conversation,” WIlson chuckled to himself.
Everyone noticed Wilson sitting in a chair nearby—the one Chase usually occupied. He sat in it, his posture shifting into a relaxed, arrogant slouch.
“What are you doing?” Christina asked.
“He’s sitting in Chase’s chair,” Elvis said. “He’s trying to act like Chase.”
The room ‘oh’d’ in understanding, the ‘oh’d’ again at how sad it was for Wilson to do that.
Wilson leaned back, eyes fixed on his phone. “Oh. Email.”
Elvis looked at Tyrone. “I thought you might wanna help me. We are friends.”
Tyrone looked at ‘Elvis’ with a mix of confusion and anger.
“Elvis, take it from a former prom king,” Tyrone continued, his voice dropping into a cold as a matter of fact tone. “Real friends help me with things, not vice versa.”
“I would face my fears to help you,” Elvis said as a matter of factly.
“Exactly,” Tyrone replied. “Because you’re my friend.”
Elvis hesitated. “Am I?”
Hurt Elvis ran out of the study room, singing the first few verses from Golden.
“If he gets any nuttier, they’re gonna put him on The View,” Wilson muttered, as Elvis ran out of the room.
The room gave a light chuckle, with even Tyrone adding. “That works.”
Wilson leaned back, convinced that the chair he was sitting in is what provides Chase with all his charm and humor.
In the hallways of Orangeside, Elvis continued his search for Jinu. Spotting him in scurrying down the hall into a vent, Elvis decided on one last hail mary attempt to save Jinu.
Taking a deep breath in, Elvis let out;
I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah)
Eoduwojin (Hah) apgil soke (Oh)
Given the throne I didn’t know how to believe
I was the queen that I’m meant to be.
The night of the Green Week dance arrived. The cafeteria had been transformed with green streamers and recycling bins that looked more like decorations than utilities. On stage, Greene Daeye was tunelessly grinding through a set.
“Green Week was a rousing success here at Orangeside,” Dean Starmer announced into the microphone, looking tired but triumphant. “And now for our band, Greene Daeye. They’re not the real Green Day. Thought we should just rip that Band-Aid off quickly.”
The curtains pulled back revealing the local cover band with an Irish Folk flavor to their music.
Cabar found Chase standing near the punch bowl, looking at the odd band the Dean hired.
“Just got your text, man,” Cabar said, his voice flat. “Wanna hang out? Because if you don’t, I will fail you.”
Chase took a breath. This was the moment. “Actually, I had an idea for an extra-credit project.” He gestured toward the stage.
The lead singer of Greene Daeye leaned into the mic. “We’ve been asked to dedicate our first song to… Maria and Pablo S. Cabar.”
Cabar’s jaw dropped as a woman stepped out from the crowd. She looked hesitant, her eyes searching the room until they landed on him.
“She said she didn’t wanna talk to me,” Cabar whispered.
“I didn’t tell her you wanted to talk,” Chase said.
Simultaneously, in a quiet classroom upstairs, Sharon stood before her Marketing professor. She held her note cards like a shield. “The estimation of market reach of online recipies has… I, uh… target group—”
“Ms. Brenner,” the professor interrupted gently. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to put down the cards.”
Meanwhile, Elvis was continuing his singing to Jinu in the hallway;
I’m done hidin’, now I’m shinin’
Like I’m born to be
We dreaming hard, we came so far,
Now I believe
Back in the marketing class, Sharon froze. She looked at the cards, then at the back of the room. Wilson was there, hidden in the shadows, miming the “hand them a sandwich” gesture.
Sharon dropped the cards. She took a breath and stepped away from the podium. “They are wonderful,” she began, her voice gaining strength. “We all love dinner and dessert. Making a meal from scratch is satisfying. If you love cooking, you love life.”
The professor raised an eyebrow.
“You CAN handle Cooking!” Sharon shouted, leaning forward with a wide, Nicholson-esque grin.
Down in the boiler room, the shadows were deep. Elvis was shivering, clutching a flashlight. “Jinu? Jinu?”
“Jinu,” Elvis whispered.
Tyrone finally found Elvis in the boiler room, guilt finally settling in.
A scratch echoed from behind a pipe. A tiny white tail flickered.
Tyrone’s nstinct was to run, but he saw Elvis’s face. He stayed. He took a breath and began to sing, his voice shaky at first but growing steady.
“No more hiding, I’ll be shining
Like I’m born to be.”
Elvis joined him. “‘Cause we are hunters, voices strong
And I know I believe“
The rat paused. It turned. It began to trot toward them, lured by the familiar harmony.
Back at the dance, the music swelled, the the cover band own Irish Folk music tinged version of Golden.
We’re goin’ up, up, up
It’s our moment
You know together we’re glowing
Gonna be, gonna be golden
Cabar and his wife were in the center of the floor, locked in a passionate, frantic embrace. They weren’t just dancing; they were making out with a ferocity that made the surrounding students step back in alarm.
In the boiler room Jinu, driven by Elvis and Tyrone’s rendition of Golden, scurried up to them. Tyrone contained the terror in his heart up until the moment Jinu climbed up his pant leg. Tyrone panicked and ran back up to the classroom, pulled Jinu out of his pants and back into the cage.
Tyrone, still traumatized, was trying to keep his composure. Elvis subtly said, “Thank you.”
At the dance, Chase was admiring his work with casual optimism, as Cabar and his wife passionately embraced.
In shock, Christina walked up to Chase and asked, “What’s Cabar doing?”
Chase responded, “Getting a clean install on his corrupted installation.”
Sharon and WIlson suddenly showed up, beaming with pride she said, “I got an A+ on my presentation, and WIlson’s advice was actually helpful.”
Tyrone and Elvis showed up, Tyrone in a false cheerful tone, “We found the stupid rat, and Elvis is going to shut up about it how.
“It’s true.” Elvis added.
Along with Chase, the rest of the group stood and watched Cabar’s passionate display to the Irish Folk-music tinged version of Golden.
Cabar broke away. He scrambled onto the stage, grabbing the microphone from the startled singer. “I’ve been a horrible husband!” he screamed. “And I’ve been a horrible teacher! And I’d like to thank my student, Chase Wright, for showing me that and helping me fix my marriage!”
The crowd cheered tentatively.
“No more twenty-page essays due on Monday!” Cabar bellowed.
The cheer became a roar. Chase stood off to the side, leaning against a wall as the group approached him.
“Oh, that’s nice,” Sharon said, beaming. “Thank you, Chase.”
“Although, Wright!” Cabar shouted from the stage, pointing a dramatic finger. “You should write a one-page essay called: ‘Taking Advantage of the Emotionally Vulnerable.’ Boo-yah!”
Chase winced.
“You did that for us?” Christina asked, her skepticism finally melting.
“Kind of,” Chase admitted. “I thought hanging out with you guys was the worst way to pass Computer Science. I was wrong.”
“Well, we’re the best,” WIlson said, smugly.
“Chase, I’m sorry I called you a handsome hobo,” Amelia said. “If you need help with that essay, you can rejoin the group.”
Chase smiled, a real one this time. “Thanks. What are you guys talking to me for? Go dance.”
As the group moved toward the floor, Wilson lingered behind, eyeing Chase’s posture. “I know your secret,” he whispered. “I know about the chair.”