Odin's Murder

“Why not?” Danielle asks.

“Because birds are foul,” Julian says.

Faye laughs. “Nice pun.”

I stare at all of them, one by one, as if they’re visitors from an exotic country. My roommate grins with his own cleverness, his sister dabs her lips with a napkin. Danielle nibbles at her corn on the cob with her pinkies in the air, and Faye draws designs in some pink gravy stuff with her fork. All around me are happy, well-off kids from nice homes, a plastic cup with a paper umbrella in one hand, a paper plate in the other. They chatter in polite tones with decent language, elbows at their sides, not jutting out in aggression to take up more space. Teachers mingle through the groups, unafraid to turn their backs to the crowd.

I wad up my napkin, spin my empty plate. They aren’t the foreigners, I am.

A big man with a graying beard stares at me from the shadow of tree. He’s wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt with clouds on it, and a straw hat with a tattered brim low over his face. He’s the college president or something; he’s got that bearing of owning the place. I look away, fast.

“Oh!” Memory’s focus tracks across the lawn. “I think I just found the kind of fun I’ve been looking for.” She leaves us, heading toward a group of advisors standing around the drink table.

I have no idea why she would think they were a source of entertainment until I see her in the middle of the group, a hand on the arm of one the male leaders. Jeremy. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the odds of Memory choosing Joe College for her first victim. He’s nice enough, in a toolish kind of way. I’d bet my camera and three rolls of film that he’s never been in a fist fight.

“Great,” Julian mumbles, picking up his plate and walking off.

The two remaining girls and I sit together at the table in an awkward silence until Faye stands and says, “I wonder if there is a campus rule about skinny dipping?”

“Some group you’ve got yourself in,” Danielle says as we watch Faye disappear into the crowd. “Aren’t you guys all roommates, too?”

“Yeah. Is it always like that?”

“Not usually. Sometimes.” She shrugs. “I guess it’s random.”

“They’re a bunch of nut jobs.”

“You’ll be fine. Memory and Julian always fight. Last summer they were on different teams and it was scary, the level of competition between the two. Maybe the teachers thought things would turn out better if they were on the same team this year.”

I look at the girl in front of me. Blonde hair, blue eyes, hot pink bikini top. Pretty. Why am I talking about my study group? I catch her eye and smile. “Want to show me around? I haven’t quite gotten the feel of campus yet.”

Her knees bump mine under the table. “Okay. Let me go tell my roommate?”

I gather our plates and trash. “Sure. Meet me by the gate over there.”

Fifteen minutes later I’ve forgotten about study groups and Memory and anal-retentive roommates. Danielle walks close to me, leading me around, grabbing my hand to show me this landmark or that location on campus. So far we’ve see the gym, the soccer fields, sorority row, and several groupings of academic buildings. Currently she’s telling me the history of some kind of campus chapel, but all I can focus on is how hot her hand feels in mine and how long before she’ll drop the getting-to-know-you act and let me kiss her.

“This is the oldest original building on the college grounds. Supposedly, beneath the chapel is a well, built here long before the Moravians settled here or even the Cherokee Indians that lived in this area.”

“And this is interesting?” I ask, letting my hand fall to her waist, hoping she’ll get the point. “An old well that no one cares about anymore?”

“Archeologists might care. And history professors and theologians. Not to mention practicing witches and those who follow Greek mythology.” She’s a little hurt. I feel her defenses go up and she pulls away from my touch.

“The building is pretty cool,” I tell her cleavage, unhooking my backpack and digging out my camera.

“You should come back during the day when the light is better.”

“No, I like it like this.” I fiddle with a setting, and gesture with a nod. “Stand by the crack there. I’ll show you.”

She gnaws on her bottom lip in uncertainty, but leans against the crumbling stones and pastes a smile on her face.

“Relax,” I tell her. “Look off to your left.” I snap a shot, framing her in antiquity and twilight. I take two more and then show her.

“Oh,” she whispers, forgetting wells and Greeks and other things I don’t care about. “You’re good.”

I say nothing, just smile; I’ve stripped her of her intellectual shields, she’s just herself, no pretenses. I walk around the building, and she follows me, now. I take some shots of the molding near the roof, an odd carved detail that I’ve never seen before, the ancient stonework and heavy doors as backdrop. Danielle preens. I wear the camera like a mask, so she can’t see my face, and she flirts, posing, one hand trailing up over the curve of a breast to tug on the strings of her bikini top. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve seen since my latest sentencing, and I crouch down on my heels, hoping my bathing suit doesn’t betra

y my response. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind, smiling, twisting against the wall. She stills, leaning back, inhaling deep, but it’s an awkward pose, with her hips jutting out and her shoulders in the background. She won’t like it, so I focus on her fingers and the neon pink strings. I wonder if Memory would be good in front of a camera, and lower the Nikon with a frown.