Read Online In Their Blood by Sharon Potts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sharon Potts
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look out of place among the students.
Miami Intercontinental University. His father’s turf.
Jeremy’s parents had wanted Jeremy to attend MIU, but he had always known it wasn’t an option for him. The professors and students would all have recognized him as D.C.’s son and made comparisons, which Jeremy feared would have found him lacking. It was ironic that circumstances had brought him back here after all.
Imposing oak trees shaded the broad grassy areas and winding paths. Quite different from the urban campus of NYU where classes and dorms were housed in gray and red brick buildings that were indistinguishable from the rest of the city. Here at MIU, the administrative offices were in the original Spanish-style buildings. As though part of a master plan, the subsequent buildings had been constructed with the same red barrel-tiled roofs and beige stucco walls, which made the campus look a lot like a Spanish monastery.
Planning. Jeremy was surprised by how well his own plan was working out. He had a job at PCM and was now enrolled at MIU— giving him opportunities to get on the inside of both his parents’ worlds. Plant a mole, he’d suggested to Lieber the day before. He hadn’t imagined it would be himself.
Students were walking to class, some in groups, many hurrying along by themselves. Jeremy wondered as they passed him if any had known his father. Professor Stroeb had been very popular amongst his students.
“D.C.,” his mother had once said, “you need to turn some of your charm on the administration.”
“Why bother?” his father had said. “Their minds have rusted shut. But the youth, Rachel, the youth are hungry and eager to learn. I have an opportunity to shape them, to mold them, to teach them how to think.”
“But the students aren’t the ones you should be trying to impress. Just because you’re tenured, D.C., doesn’t mean you’re untouchable.”
Unpopular with the administration. Could anyone at MIU have had a motive to kill his father? Had his father’s outspokenness been a bigger deal than Jeremy had realized? And once again Jeremy was angry with himself— like the time in second grade when he had refused to pay attention to a story his teacher was reading. Only toward the end of her recitation did Jeremy become engaged in the protagonist’s plight. And then, he was curious to know what had happened at the beginning. But the story was over, and Jeremy would never know what he had missed.
Jeremy headed across the campus to his father’s office. Air-conditioning units stuck out of windows in the three-story building and dripped water onto the hibiscus bushes and croton beneath them. The entrance door stuck as Jeremy pushed it open, layers of chipped paint creating the friction. Terrazzo floors, cracked and in need of polishing, lined the narrow hallways. Bulletin boards covered all available wall space, each buried under layers of announcements.
The air was mildewed, but it was a familiar smell and comforting to Jeremy as he ran up the steps to his father’s third-floor office. The door was closed, and it didn’t occur to Jeremy to knock. Infact, it hadn’t occurred to Jeremy that the office might be in any condition other than the way his father had left it. So when he pushed open the door, he was taken aback by the cartons, piles of papers, and general state of disarray. Then he saw a pair of worn army boots sticking out from behind his father’s desk. They were attached to legs in tight, rolled-up jeans. A head popped out next, like a jack-in-the-box, and the expression on the young woman’s face was pure horror. What had she been doing that he’d disturbed with his sudden appearance?
The woman’s face settled as though in relief. “ Merde. Do you know how much you resemble him?” She had an accent— probably French— and pale eyes flecked with hazel, like a cat’s. Her hair was a mass of copper curls gathered up on top of her head, but dripping over her
Miami Intercontinental University. His father’s turf.
Jeremy’s parents had wanted Jeremy to attend MIU, but he had always known it wasn’t an option for him. The professors and students would all have recognized him as D.C.’s son and made comparisons, which Jeremy feared would have found him lacking. It was ironic that circumstances had brought him back here after all.
Imposing oak trees shaded the broad grassy areas and winding paths. Quite different from the urban campus of NYU where classes and dorms were housed in gray and red brick buildings that were indistinguishable from the rest of the city. Here at MIU, the administrative offices were in the original Spanish-style buildings. As though part of a master plan, the subsequent buildings had been constructed with the same red barrel-tiled roofs and beige stucco walls, which made the campus look a lot like a Spanish monastery.
Planning. Jeremy was surprised by how well his own plan was working out. He had a job at PCM and was now enrolled at MIU— giving him opportunities to get on the inside of both his parents’ worlds. Plant a mole, he’d suggested to Lieber the day before. He hadn’t imagined it would be himself.
Students were walking to class, some in groups, many hurrying along by themselves. Jeremy wondered as they passed him if any had known his father. Professor Stroeb had been very popular amongst his students.
“D.C.,” his mother had once said, “you need to turn some of your charm on the administration.”
“Why bother?” his father had said. “Their minds have rusted shut. But the youth, Rachel, the youth are hungry and eager to learn. I have an opportunity to shape them, to mold them, to teach them how to think.”
“But the students aren’t the ones you should be trying to impress. Just because you’re tenured, D.C., doesn’t mean you’re untouchable.”
Unpopular with the administration. Could anyone at MIU have had a motive to kill his father? Had his father’s outspokenness been a bigger deal than Jeremy had realized? And once again Jeremy was angry with himself— like the time in second grade when he had refused to pay attention to a story his teacher was reading. Only toward the end of her recitation did Jeremy become engaged in the protagonist’s plight. And then, he was curious to know what had happened at the beginning. But the story was over, and Jeremy would never know what he had missed.
Jeremy headed across the campus to his father’s office. Air-conditioning units stuck out of windows in the three-story building and dripped water onto the hibiscus bushes and croton beneath them. The entrance door stuck as Jeremy pushed it open, layers of chipped paint creating the friction. Terrazzo floors, cracked and in need of polishing, lined the narrow hallways. Bulletin boards covered all available wall space, each buried under layers of announcements.
The air was mildewed, but it was a familiar smell and comforting to Jeremy as he ran up the steps to his father’s third-floor office. The door was closed, and it didn’t occur to Jeremy to knock. Infact, it hadn’t occurred to Jeremy that the office might be in any condition other than the way his father had left it. So when he pushed open the door, he was taken aback by the cartons, piles of papers, and general state of disarray. Then he saw a pair of worn army boots sticking out from behind his father’s desk. They were attached to legs in tight, rolled-up jeans. A head popped out next, like a jack-in-the-box, and the expression on the young woman’s face was pure horror. What had she been doing that he’d disturbed with his sudden appearance?
The woman’s face settled as though in relief. “ Merde. Do you know how much you resemble him?” She had an accent— probably French— and pale eyes flecked with hazel, like a cat’s. Her hair was a mass of copper curls gathered up on top of her head, but dripping over her
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