Homer steps aside when I board the elevator, but we still somehow manage to bump elbows and step on each other's feet. "Sorry bout' that," He mumbles into the plaid scarf he wore around his neck, and scoots over to give me some room. "Where's John? He's been stuck to you like glue since last night."
"He's back in the dorm talking to Beatrice. He'll catch up with us," I reply, skipping over the fact that I'd most likely heard the beginning of John's impending breakup with his girlfriend instead of just a talk.
"I don't know about those two. Bea's got him wrapped around her little finger, but that John's a wild one." Homer says, "We get bulls like that on the farm from time to time. They're too dangerous to keep around, so they're the first to head to the slaughterhouse as soon as they hit weight. They make some damn good steaks, though."
A moment of awkward silence stretches between us.
"Have you already talked to Virgil and the others?" I finally ask, wondering if Homer already knew about the crack in the basement and how we planned on getting him to tear down the wall with a sledgehammer. He seemed more chatty than when John first introduced us in the dorm, but I didn't want to tell him anything until Virgil did first just in case he decided to back out.
"Not really," Homer admits and unwraps a candy wrapped in yellow cellophane, "Virgil called me at the asscrack of dawn, rambling like a lunatic about meeting him in the dining hall. You would have thought it was a matter of life or death. The thing is, he wouldn't tell me what the hell it was that was so goddamn important that he had to call me ten times until I answered."
"I'm guessing he also told you about how horrible my initiation went last night?" I ask him hesitantly.
"No, but I figured it didn't go too well considering you showed up in the dorms on your own this morning," Homer replies with a half-grin, "Told you it was going to be tough, didn't I?"
"You gave me a cryptic warning and took a nap," I remind him, "That didn't help at all."
Homer lets out a loud chuckle. Then the elevator dings and the doors slide open with a creaky groan, revealing a bustling hall with male students running to drag the last of their belongings into their rooms. It was such a sharp contrast to the stark empty hallways last night that I wondered if I dreamed up everything that had taken place in Monmouth after midnight.
Together, Homer and I exit the dorms and start across campus, stepping out of the corridor and into the chill that had descended on the college overnight. Fortunately, I was wearing John's alpaca sweater, and Homer was wearing a tan trench coat with some wear around the edges and scuffed boots, so both of us were somewhat ready for the smack of cold that hit us.
Ice had formed on the college's trees and rooftops, and I could see my breath in fluffy white clouds every time I exhaled. But it had yet to snow, even though it was Vermont, and a harsh winter would be guaranteed for the next hundred years Tolkien style.
We're halfway to the dining hall when I hit a patch of ice on the ground and slip, crashing forward into Homer, who walks a little ahead of me thanks to his much longer legs.
"Whoa!" He shouts when he catches me, and I grab onto his arms, gasping in surprise. "Easy there! You almost busted your face wide open on the ground! You okay?"
I nod my head a little, and Homer helps me stand, his big hands locked around my wrists.
"You're going to need snow boots," the older man informs me, looking at my shoes with a hint of disapproval. "These fancy little things aren't going to cut it. You know, there was this one year when my aunt broke her ankle while walking in heels. We found her in a cow field screaming for help about eight hours into the worst snowstorm we'd ever had."
I stare down at his hands while he's lecturing me on the dangers of improper footwear, and something just clicks right then and there.
Homer had massive, rough, and calloused hands from working on a farm his whole life.
Hands that were undeniably similar to the strangers in the basement last night.
____
The dining hall is packed when Homer and I finally stumble in from the cold, but it could have been because of the size of the building itself, which was oddly small.
It looked more like the inside of a church, with arched windows and heavy wooden rafters above us. Students grabbed their trays and were served line-style by old women in hairnets on one side of the kitchen. On the other were heavy square tables where everyone converged with each other and grabbed coffee and juice from a self-serve bar.
"Dante?"
I'm in line with Homer grabbing a stack of fluffy hot pancakes and bacon fresh off the griddle when Virgil's muffled shout emerges from the crowd of students. A second later, he emerges looking as gorgeous as ever in a robin's egg blue turtleneck and waves at me.
"Whatever you do, don't make eye contact until we get our coffee," Homer warns me, accepting a bowl of fresh fruit from a tired old lady behind the counter, "He's damned near impossible to stand before 8 A.M. You know he runs laps around campus in the morning in these little shorts?"
"You were watching him run around in little shorts?" I reply and smirk a little.
Homer blushes bright red in response and quickly busies himself by picking a few pieces of toast off a tray.
"Homer! Dante!" Virgil appears at my side, wind-swept and breathless. "Thank God you're here! Did you happen to see Wayne while you were walking across campus? He must have left sometime after Ovid and I fell asleep last night, and I haven't seen him since."
"Well, for one thing, who the hell is Wayne?" Homer says and turns around, tray stacked full of food. "And where's Ovid gone off to?"
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