"Obviously not, man," Paul said. "She left with somebody else, dude."

"Why would you bring us here, get pissy drunk and then cause all this chaos?" Derrick was angry and started pushing Chris around. "I can't believe I followed you here!"

"Cut him some slack, man," I told Derrick.

"Don't tell me what to do," he spat back.

"I'm not telling you what to do," I said. "It's already bad...let's not make it worse."

"Let's just go home," Paul said.

"You all right, man?" I asked Chris. "You're holding your ribs like you're hurt. And you can barely walk."

"I'm fine," Chris insisted as he stumbled and fell to the ground. He rested his back against an ATM machine for support. He held on to his side and moaned. He was in pain.

"I think we should find a hospital or something," I suggested.

Paul sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"I'm out of here. I don't have time for Chris and his craziness," Derrick said and then turned toward Daria. "I'm on my way back to campus. I can see that you get there safely."

"That's very sweet," she said. "Thanks. But I'm gonna stay with Marcus."

"Fine. Suit yourself. I'm out of here." Derrick headed for the train station, never looked back.

"Marcus, get us a cab," Paul suggested as he tried to help Chris to his feet.

Daria shivered from the cool night air and I handed her my blazer. She wrapped it around her arms and gave me a warm smile. I was grateful that she hadn't accepted Derrick's offer and decided to stay with me. I flagged down a cab driver who just happened to be creeping along the street. He pulled next to the curb and we all piled in. Daria hopped into the front seat and the three of us in the back. The cabbie rushed through yellow lights as he drove us to the nearest emergency room.

thirteen.

Marcus The emergency waiting room was filled with injured and sick people. A man sat in a chair across the room, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands covering his face. He was in pain, and waiting for his name to be called seemed to take an eternity. There were people who had worse problems than his, like the woman with a bloody gash in her leg and the young boy whose jaw was swollen. He held an ice pack on it, but it didn't seem to help much.

Daria flipped through a magazine while I sipped on a cup of hot chocolate and pretended to watch the television mounted on the wall. Paul was busy sending someone a text message from his phone as the three of us waited for Chris to appear through the double doors that he'd disappeared through earlier. He'd been back there for almost two hours and the waiting was starting to wear on me.

"If you two want to go back, I'll wait here for Chris," Paul finally said.

"Nah, he shouldn't be much longer," I said. "We've been here almost two hours already. It can't be that much longer."

As soon as I said it, Chris walked through the doors. A bandage was on his wrist and he seemed to be holding on to his midsection. He searched the room for familiar faces and Paul and I stood.

"What's up, man?" I asked.

"Fractured ribs." He lifted his shirt and showed us the bandages around his stomach. Then held his arm in the air. "And a broken wrist."

"But you're going to live?" Paul asked.

"Yep," he said. "Let's get out of this stinkin' place. Lots of germs floating around in here, man!"

People gave him cross-eyed looks when he made the germs comment. Nobody ever taught Chris how to be diplomatic or sensitive. He just said whatever came to mind, without regard for the person on the receiving end of his comments. The first day I met him, I wanted to fight him. But the more time I spent with him, the more I felt sorry for him.

We strolled through the automatic doors of the hospital. It was dark outside and it had started to rain. The thunder was loud and lightning flashed across the sky. The rain was relentless.

"We're going to need a cab," Paul said. "I'll go inside and call for one."

He disappeared through the automatic doors and we took a seat on a bench outside.

Chris moaned from the pain. "This is worse than the time my old man threw me out of the house. I mean, literally...threw me out of the house."

He laughed but I knew he didn't really find it funny. He laughed to keep from crying. I looked in his eyes and I saw the history of hurt and pain. I didn't know what had taken place in his life between birth and now, but something wasn't right. And I had a feeling it wasn't his fault.

"Why'd he throw you out?" I asked.

"Because he's a jackass. That's why," is all he said. "And he'll get what he deserves one of these days."

Get what he deserves? What did he deserve? Everything in me wanted to ask that question aloud, but I kept it to myself. Didn't want to get all into his business but I was definitely curious.

He stood, started pacing the sidewalk. Maybe he thought that by pacing he could relieve the pain. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with his good hand, flipped it open, pressed a few buttons and then slammed it shut. Agitated, he took a seat on the bench again.

Paul strolled through the automatic doors, headed our way. "Cabbie should be here in a moment."

Fifteen minutes later, the yellow cab pulled into the circular drive in front of the hospital. Chris climbed into the front passenger's seat as the rest of us piled into the back. The driver was Jamaican, with a red, green and black knitted cap covering his dreadlocks. Reggae music played on his radio and he bounced his head to it.

"You can turn that crap off," Chris said before we were even a block away. "How about some music that we can all listen to and enjoy? Like pop, rock or rhythm and blues?"

Was he serious? I wish I could see his face just to see if he was cracking a smile. It was hard to believe that someone could be that tacky. The driver simply ignored him but that didn't stop his inappropriate comments. "I'm sure you don't understand one word I'm saying." He laughed. "Communication barrier, of course. Would it be too much to ask for you people to stay in your place...in your country? You're just as bad as the Hispanics...coming over here illegally...stealing our jobs...bringing that...that...what is it? That swine flu virus crap..."

I couldn't believe my ears. And I wasn't surprised when the cab came to a screeching halt.

"Get out!" the cabbie said.

I peered out the window as the rain pattered against it. I wasn't about to get out of a cab in the middle of a rainstorm.

"Are you serious, dude?" Chris asked.

"As a heart attack," the cabbie said.

"What was it...the music comment?" Chris asked, laughing. "Or was it the swine flu virus comment? I'm sorry, man...."

"All of you...get out of my cab!"

"What did we do, man?" I had to know, because I hadn't said one mumbling word.

The cabdriver refused to respond. He didn't say another word as the four of us piled out of the car one at a time.

"How much do we owe you, sir?" Paul asked, trying to smooth things over.

"Nothing," he responded. "I just want you out of my cab."

As soon as Paul shut the door, the cabdriver peeled away from the curb, leaving us standing there, rain pouring on our heads.

"Thanks a lot, Chris," Daria said; her hair was instantly soaked and she slipped my blazer from her arms and covered her head with it. Tried to stay dry, but it was raining too hard.

"What's with you, man?" I asked.

"Yeah, man. This is certainly not acceptable," Paul said.

Daria, Paul and I started moving toward the nearest train station, and after discovering that the rain wasn't about to ease up, we started jogging at a light pace. It was two blocks to the nearest train station and we left Chris behind. He wasn't able to move as fast, and all of us had silently agreed that we'd had enough of him. He knew his way back to campus. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He was limping slowly down the block, frowning from the pain with every step. Part of me wanted to go back, help him along. I contemplated it for moment, but lost the thought just as quickly. Kept moving at an even pace until we made it to the train station.

Daria was soaked and I felt sorry for her. Even with wet hair she was still beautiful.

Seated next to her on the "T," I brushed wet hair from her face. "You okay?"

"What a night," she said. "Chris is such a loser."

"He's got some issues. They run deeper than any of us knows," I explained.

"Yeah, you're right, Marcus. He does have issues," Paul added. "And I'm done with him at this juncture. I can't believe we spent the entire night..." he looked at his watch "...and morning for that matter, mucking around with him. First we rescue him from a bar brawl, rush him to the emergency room where we spend hours waiting for him to see a doctor, then we get discarded from a cab in the middle of nowhere..."

"In the rain," Daria added.

"You ever been discarded from a cab, Marcus?" Paul asked, and I had to laugh at his choice of words. Discarded from a cab? He made it sound as if we were trash or something.

"Never." I had to laugh just to keep from getting madder.

"I'm embarrassed and humiliated," he said.

For the remainder of the ride back to campus, we were silent. I thought of Chris and hoped he'd find his way back without problems. My body was worn. I needed sleep like yesterday and I didn't even feel like thinking. Leaning my head against the leather seat, I couldn't help thinking about my cozy bed on campus and wanted nothing more than to crawl into it. My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket. A text message from Indigo.

WUP?.

I thought about not answering. What was she doing up at this hour anyway?

I sent a text back. What R U doin up?

Said U wud call after da party...

Things got crazy.

U ok? I'm worried.

I'm ok.

U sure Marcus?

I'm sure...get some z's...Talk 2MORO?

K.

Sleep tite. That was my last text before shutting my phone.

Daria was watching me. When I glanced at her, she gave me a smile. She wanted to know who I was texting. I could tell. I stood as the train approached our stop, and when the doors opened automatically, I let her go first. I was happy to be that much closer to home.

As we walked across Harvard Yard, Paul headed toward our dorm and I headed toward Daria's.

"I'm just gonna walk her...make sure she gets in safely," I told him.

"Okay, Marcus. See you later."

We shook hands and Paul headed in the opposite direction. Daria and I strolled toward her dorm.

"You didn't have to walk me the whole way," she said. "I'll be fine."

"Just wanted to make sure."

In front of the building that she called home, we stood under the moonlight. The rain had stopped and Daria handed my blazer to me. It was wet and wrinkled. I threw it over my shoulder and Daria grabbed my hand in hers. Before I knew it, her arms were around my neck, her body pressed against mine.

"Good night, Marcus." She kissed my cheek and then wiped the lipstick from my face with her fingertip.

"Good night, Daria," I said. "Sorry about what happened tonight."

"Not your fault. I enjoyed just being with you, though."

"Same here."

"You got a girlfriend, Marcus?" She asked the question that I was sure had been burning in her mind all through the night.

"Yeah."

"Are you serious about her?"

"Yeah."

A look of disappointment on her face, she removed her arms from around my neck. "Can't blame a girl for trying, right?" she asked.

I didn't respond. I just watched as Daria walked away and headed toward her dorm. If I had the girl of my dreams in College Park, Georgia, then why on earth was I standing here wishing that Daria had kissed my lips instead of my cheek? I didn't have the answer right then, but as I walked toward my dorm, I knew that I had to figure it out.