"I'm talking about someone sending inappropriate photos of me and another girl to my girlfriend. Who would be so lowdown?"

"Wasn't me, dude. I got better things to do with my time."

"Aren't you Hollywood? Isn't that your screen name?"

"I am Hollywood...on e-mail, MySpace and Facebook. But I didn't do it."

"Isn't it ironic that she received the pictures from someone who calls himself Hollywood and there's a guy who also calls himself Hollywood living in my dorm?"

"That is pretty ironic, man." Chris laughed. "And it sounds like something I would do...just for kicks...but it wasn't me."

Part of me believed him. I got the feeling that he would brag about doing something like that rather than deny it. It would make his day if someone was miserable as a result of his little sick, twisted mind and he would take pleasure in knowing that he hurt someone. But the fact that he wasn't gloating caused me to believe that he wasn't the culprit.

"Then who has access to your computer?"

"No one has access to my computer but me. My computer is locked when I'm not using it."

"I'm sorry about that entire situation, Marcus. I heard what happened," Paul said. "However, you have to decide what you want. Either you're going be with the girl here or you're going to be with your girl back home. It's dangerous to play games with either of their hearts."

"Well, I think that decision has already been made for me. My girl back home won't even talk to me, thanks to Hollywood."

"Aww, she'll come around," Chris said. "She's just pissed off right now. Give her time. You're a good dude and she'll be crazy not to talk to you."

It was actually the nicest thing Chris had ever said to me and I had to look at him just to see if there was a punch line coming...that laugh or silly grin that belonged only to him. All eyes were on him, waiting for him to say, "I'm just kidding." But he never did. He just continued to laugh at the TV.

"Chris, what's your story, man? Why are you so..." I took a moment, tried to think of the right word to describe him. There were so many choice words out there that I could've used to describe him, but only one came to mind. "Why are you so anal?"

Chris burst into laughter while the rest of us simply watched. We didn't get the joke.

"You'd be anal, too, if you had to grow up in an environment like I did. With a father who pounded your mom's head into the wall on a daily basis, and while she's screaming for him to stop, he pounds even harder. And if that's not enough, he sexually abuses..." He swallowed hard, turned the television off. He became angry; he started pacing the floor like he wanted to punch something-the wall or one of us. He started shadowboxing. "And he sexually abuses his kids."

"Your father sexually abused you?" Paul asked.

His silence was answer enough for us. He spoke volumes without even saying a word. Instead he dropped his head, and I felt sorry for him.

"It's okay, Chris," I said. "Everybody has their family issues. But you're here now...at Harvard...away from him. And after you get your degree, you don't ever have to go back there again...not if you don't want to."

"It's not that simple, Marcus. My mom is still there. And so are my two sisters. Gina is fourteen and Marlene is sixteen."

"Can't you have him arrested?" Paul asked.

"My father is very prominent and well respected in our community. He would be out of jail in less than twenty-four hours and would hire the very best attorney team in the country," Chris said. "No one would go up against him."

"If you, your mother and your sisters testified against him, he wouldn't stand a chance in court. No judge would allow him to walk," I said.

"My father is the judge."

"Your father's a judge and does these things to his family?" I asked.

Chris simply shook his head yes. I sighed and placed my hand over my head. Suddenly my problems didn't seem so big, not compared to Chris's problems. His were much more serious than mine and I wanted desperately to help him. But I didn't have any solutions.

"My father wanted me home for the summer. Wanted me to work as an intern for his friend's law firm. When I told him that I was going to summer school instead, he threatened to stop paying my tuition. I'm not sure if he paid it, but I'm assuming that he did because they haven't kicked me out yet."

"Have you applied for scholarships?" asked Jae.

"Most scholarships require essays, and I'm not the best writer. I can get by for a class but not competing against people who are undoubtedly much better writers than me."

"We can help you," Paul said. "Writing is my asset. I could write you an essay in my sleep."

"And I can find you some scholarships. There's lots of college money out there," I explained. "I've already received two for next fall when I attend Harvard full-time. My father won't have to come out of pocket for anything during my first two years."

"Why would you do that for me?" Chris asked. "Why would you help me when I've been rude and obnoxious toward you, got you put out of a cab one night?"

"Yeah, you did do all of those things, didn't you?" I laughed.

"It's not your fault that you're so...so anal," Paul suggested.

"Yeah, I would probably be anal, too, if I had a father like yours. My father is so different. He's not rich or prominent, although he is respected. He has a property management business that he struggles with. He runs around town making repairs to these beat-up old houses and he allows his tenants to pay rent at their leisure." I laughed. "But they love him and he always manages to make ends meet. I wouldn't trade my old man for any other dad in the world."

"You're lucky," Chris mumbled. "Some of us aren't as fortunate. I hate my father. Sometimes I wish he was dead."

"That's deep, man," I said.

There was a short uncomfortable silence. Paul and I were at a loss of words for Chris. There was nothing more that we could say that would change what he'd gone through with this father.

Paul changed the subject. "Now if you could just get your girlfriend back, your life would be perfect, right, Marcus?"

"I didn't realize how much she meant to me until she was gone," I explained. "I thought that I needed someone who was more mature. Someone who wasn't in high school but who I could have intellectual conversations with...and who understood me. But the truth is Indigo does understand me. She knows what I'm going to say before I even say it. She knows what I'm thinking and what I'm feeling."

"I wonder who sent that e-mail," Paul said.

"I don't know, but if it came from my e-mail address, then it should still be in my sent box, right?" Chris stood, went into his room and came back with his laptop computer. "Let's see if there's an outgoing message."

He sat down, started clicking buttons on his computer until he was logged into his e-mail account. After a few moments of pecking, he looked up at me.

"There's an outgoing message here."

"Let me see." I stood over Chris's shoulder. Paul came over and looked, too.

I read the words that were in the outgoing e-mail message in all lowercase: indigo, i guess your golden boy ain't so golden after all...check out these photos. with deepest sympathy, hollywood "Open the pictures. I want to see them," I told Chris.

Chris double-clicked on the photos that were attached to the outgoing e-mail. The first was an intimate shot of Daria and me in Harvard Yard. My arm was wrapped around her shoulder as she gazed into my eyes, her fingertip wiping something from my face. I remembered the exact moment-I wanted to kiss her but the sound of a passing airplane interrupted the moment and we started talking about something else. The second was a photo of Daria and me in the park. She was pressed against the tree and my body and my lips were pressed against hers.

I could have argued that the photos were taken before Indigo became my girl. That they were photos that were taken before I moved to College Park; before I even knew who Indigo Summer was. But the truth of the matter was I was wearing the jersey she'd bought me for my last birthday. And in the third photo, as Daria wrapped her skinny arms around my waist, I twirled the charm that hung from a chain around my neck-the silver charm that was a half heart inscribed with the words I love you. Indigo wore the other half of the heart around her neck on a silver chain. I'd given it to her before I left; a symbol that she had the other half of my heart and I had hers. And when we were back together, in the same state, the heart would be whole again. She had undoubtedly recognized that charm immediately.

I touched my half of the heart that dangled around my neck and wondered if the heart would be whole again after this. "Who do you think sent this?" I asked Chris.

"I don't know. But it pisses me off that someone was able to tap into my computer like that. I feel violated."

"Hello, good people," Derrick said as he came through the door. He dropped his backpack at the door. "What's going on?"

He became an immediate suspect in my eyes. Derrick was a computer whiz. He told us that the first day we met. "I could tap into Fort Knox if I wanted to." Those were his words. Not to mention he wanted Daria from the moment he first laid eyes on her. His ego was shattered when she didn't want him, too. It was no secret he was jealous of me. After all, I had two beautiful girls and he couldn't even pull one.

"Why did you do it?" I asked Derrick. Everyone in the room gave me strange looks, thought I'd lost my mind.

"Do what?" Derrick asked. I could see right through his act of innocence.

"Marcus, what are you saying?" Paul asked. "Are you suggesting that Derrick sent the e-mail?"

"I know he did," I explained. "It all adds up now. It had to be someone who lives in this dorm. Someone who had access to Chris's computer."

"But I lock my computer when I'm not using it, Marcus. I never forget," Chris said.

"But if you're a computer whiz, you can tap into anyone's computer...even when it's locked," I explained.

"And he wanted Daria for himself," Jae added.

"But she wouldn't give him the time of day." I felt like the older white-haired lady on Murder, She Wrote as I began to crack the case.

Derrick was silent. With his hands stuffed into the pocket of his khaki shorts, he just stood there with a smug look on his face. He didn't deny the accusations.

"Could you really do something like this?" Paul asked Derrick.

"It wasn't fair...the way he was running around here with a beautiful girl chasing after him...all the while keeping another beautiful girl at bay while he had his fun. He's not this wonderful person that everybody thinks he is, and I thought someone should know."

"So you send an anonymous e-mail to his girlfriend? That's undoubtedly a violation of the men's code. That was a punk move!" Paul said, and I was surprised at his choice of words. Punk move didn't seem like words that would ever be in his vocabulary. I was proud of him, though.

"A punk move?" I smiled at Paul.

"Yes, Marcus, a punk move," Paul said, but he wasn't smiling.

"What's a punk move, Marcus?" Jae asked.

"Not now, Jae. I'll explain later."

"You tapped into my computer without my knowledge? You little..." Chris leapt from his chair, tackled Derrick to the floor.

Before anyone could say another word, Chris had punched Derrick in the face. The two of them tussled on the floor for a few minutes. Chris released the bottled-up anger and gave Derrick the beating that he should've saved for his abusive father. We all stood there for a few minutes, allowing Chris the opportunity to get licks for all of us. Finally, Paul grabbed Chris while I held Derrick down on the floor with the sole of my shoe. I wanted to stomp him-to release some of my own bottled-up anger but decided against it. Violence never solved anything.

When the Harvard Police burst through the door, it was my foot against Derrick's chest that caused them to aggressively pull my arms behind my back and slap handcuffs on to my wrists.

"What are you doing, man? I haven't done anything!" I tried to plead my case.

"Officer, I can affirm he didn't do anything," Paul said.

"Actually, it was me who assaulted him," Chris said. "If you want to arrest someone, arrest me."

We all knew that if Chris was arrested, he would be put out of the summer program and not be able to return to Harvard next fall.

"It's really quite funny, sir...you're going to be largely amused when you hear this," Paul said. "They were playing around, horseplay if you will. You know how carried away boys can get. I've told them time and again to stop all of the roughhousing...that someone might get hurt, but they don't listen. Wrestling is a sport for a coliseum or a field house I told them..."

"Were you assaulted by either of these men, sir?" the officer asked Derrick.

"Um..." Derrick hesitated...looked around the room at each of our faces one by one; he knew he'd better give the right response or he'd pay. "We were horsing around and it got a little carried away. I was not assaulted by either of these men."

"So you're not interested in pressing charges?" the officer asked.

"No. No, of course not. Like I said, it was all in fun." He gave the officer a fake laugh.

"We were close by when one of your neighbors called and said it sounded like someone was fighting," one officer said as the other one released my handcuffs. If we have to come back out here because you can't control your horseplay, then somebody's going to jail."

"Won't happen again, Officer. You have my word." Paul escorted them to the door.

In an instant, they were gone and I exhaled. The situation could've been worse. Chris and I could've spent the night in jail and completely screwed up our futures at Harvard. All Derrick had to do was admit to being assaulted and his testimony would've changed our lives forever. But he had protected us instead. He must've felt some level of guilt for causing the disturbance in the first place.

"I'm sorry about the computer, man," Derrick said to Chris. "And, Marcus, I'm sorry about sending the photos to your girlfriend. I was angry. And jealous. I wanted Daria to like me the way she liked you. It messed with my head because I was used to girls chasing after me. When she didn't, I couldn't take it."

Was he serious? Girls couldn't possibly be chasing after him. He didn't even keep his fro tight, and girls were sticklers for personal hygiene. You had to come correct when you approached them-no funky breath, no corny clothes or shoes and definitely no nappy hair.

"How did you find Indigo's e-mail?"

"She has a MySpace page and a Facebook account," he said matter-of-factly. Grinning, he added, "She's got some hot pictures on MySpace, by the way. Have you seen them?"

"Hey, watch yourself, bro," I warned.

"She's way more beautiful than Daria any day of the week. What were you thinking anyway?" Derrick asked.

"I just got caught up, man. Could happen to anybody."

"Now he's got to figure out how to get her back," Paul said.

Paul was right. I needed a plan of action. Poor judgment had caused the girl of my dreams to slip right through my fingers. I knew that I needed to start praying because it was going to take an act of God to get her back.

twenty-six.

Vance The taxi from the hotel in Ruston back to campus cost me twenty-three bucks and some change. Killed my spending cash but it was better than walking. In one evening, my life had been turned upside down and I didn't know what to expect next. As I sat there on the edge of my bed, my phone in hand, I thought about calling my mother. She always knew what to do in the toughest situations. And she was the only person in the whole world who wasn't so quick to judge me and would have some good advice for me. She would tell me how to move forward, because at the moment I was stuck.

"Hey, Ma, it's me...Vance," I said when she picked up her phone.

"Hello, baby. How are you?" I could hear the smile in her voice. I always made her happy when I called home, which was rare. She usually ended up calling me just to make sure I was all right and didn't need for anything.