Biker's Virgin

“No, sir, it won't.”

He smiled a toothless grin. “Well then, go well, young Emerson! I hope you've learned a lesson from all of this!”

“That I have. Take care, Jenkins. I’ll see ya around.”

I waved goodbye and walked toward the parking lot to my mom's SUV, which I had borrowed to move all of my stuff in case it rained. After I had packed my boxes into the car, I stopped for a while to look at the clear, starry sky above.

Just as I was about to get into the car, a familiar figure walked around the corner, heading for the apartment building. She was messaging someone on her cellphone, but when she finished she peered up and looked straight at me. She hesitated and almost stumbled, as though she wasn’t quite sure what to do—she seemed kind of shocked.

Or maybe she seemed guilty.

“Uh, hi, Emerson.”

“Hey, Leslie.”

“What are you up to? Is that your car?”

“No, I'm just borrowing it.”

“Oh.” She came across as distinctly uncomfortable talking to me. “So, what happened to your bike?”

“I had to sell it.”

Leslie cocked her head to the side in surprise. I retained an emotionless, distant coolness in my expression. “Why’d ya have to do that? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Well, after Chris and I got arrested, I had a few bills to pay and needed cash pretty quick. So, I did the only thing I could do—I sold my favorite possession.”

She looked away, the heat from her blush radiating over her face. “I'm… I'm sorry to hear that,” she said.

“Oh well,” I continued, “sometimes shit happens, huh? I mean, you wouldn't think a couple of twenty-year-olds having a few beers at their place would be such a big deal, but some people do, apparently.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“It also seems I might have to drop a couple of classes because Chris and I have to do community service, and it looks like it might interfere with my schedule.”

Suddenly anger flared up in Leslie's face. “Stop trying to guilt trip me about that!” she snapped. “If you guys cared so much about your damn grades, you wouldn't have been doing all that partying in the first place!”

“Um…” I tried to say something, but she kept going.

“We did warn you before about the noise, yet you two didn't give a damn. Ya’ll just carried on! Do you know on the night the cops came, the bass was so loud that everything in my room was vibrating? I mean vibrating to a point that things were falling off the damn table! I had three tests that next day, three! If you two hadn't been such inconsiderate, selfish jerks, you wouldn't be in this mess!”

“Hang on a minute there,” I interrupted her, my own anger starting to surface. “I wasn't even there when the cops were called. I'd been away for two days visiting my dad, who had major surgery. A proc

edure that could have killed him. And then I rode my bike all day, only to get back here and get arrested as soon as I stepped into my apartment. I told Chris, dammit, I told him to stop making so much noise. It was him, not me.”

“Well, well… I had to call the cops,” she spluttered. “There was nothing else I could do! I went and knocked on your door, but it was so loud nobody even heard me!”

The revelation hit me like a ton of bricks. “Hold up—you called the cops? You?”

She folded her arms defiantly across her chest. “Yeah. I called 'em, and I'd do it again. Your roommate, well… ex-roommate now I suppose, is a total asshole! I will not hesitate to call them again if he tries that DJing crap late at night again.”

“So, it wasn’t Brooke who called the cops?” I didn't care about anything else she was rambling on about. The only thing running through my mind was the fact that Brooke hadn't called the cops.

“Umm, that’s what I said,” Leslie retorted.

“Just… just wait,” I stammered, “was Brooke even there that night?”

“No. She was studying at the library. And while she's okay with doing that, I want to study in the comfort of my own home, alright? Don't think you can justify that noise by saying, ‘Well if Brooke can study in the library, why can't you?'”