Pretty Pretty Boys by Gregory Ashe

Author:Gregory Ashe [Ashe, Gregory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gregory Ashe
Published: 2017-11-11T06:00:00+00:00

WHEN HAZARD AND SOMERS stepped through the doors of the Social Science building, Hazard was surprised by the smell. He had expected the cool rush of air conditioning. He had, to a lesser extent, expected the dim lighting. He had even expected the mixture of memories; Wroxall College had not been a safe space for him as a boy, but it had been a good place, and it still held the same attractions. But the smell, the smell of old wood and floor polish and invisible mountains of dust, he had forgotten that. It washed over him, filling his nose, and awakening a pile of memories—endless summer afternoons in the student lounges, a book propped on his knees as he covertly, or so he hoped, studied the college boys—that he had forgotten.

The main hall of the Social Science building held a scattering of people—some on the ground level, some lining the stairs, some looking down from the balcony above. It was a mixture of old and young, male and female, white and brown and black. Everyone had gone quiet when Somers and Hazard entered, and now they waited expectantly. There was, Hazard noticed, a lot less flannel being worn, in contrast to his memories of the days of grunge at Wroxall College. He did spy, though, a lot of hipsters, which he figured was this generation’s iteration of the same idea.

“Everything’s under control,” Somers called, pitching his voice so it carried through the hall and flashing his perfect smile. “You’re all safe, nothing to worry about it. You can go back to whatever you were doing.”

The last words were more a directive than a suggestion, and after a moment the onlookers in the Social Science building seemed to realize that Somers wanted them to leave. They began to drift away. Among them, Hazard spotted a small, dark-haired woman.

“Lynn Fukuma,” he shouted.

The words stopped everything. Even the hand of the clock, it seemed to Hazard, had paused. Faces peered back at him over shoulders. Then, slowly, the small woman separated herself from the crowd and moved to stand in a clearing on the ground floor.

“That’s me. I’m Lynk Fukuma.”

“Folks,” Somers called again, “go ahead and clear out of here. Nothing for you to see.”

This time, the delay was palpable. People wanted to see what was going to happen. And, Hazard realized as he watched their faces, they weren’t curious about the police. They were curious about Lynk Fukuma. Or perhaps that wasn’t putting it correctly. They were curious, he could tell, about what Lynk Fukuma was going to do to the two white police officers who had called her out of a crowd.

“Get moving,” Somers said. The boy-next-door smile had vanished, and now his voice had a trace of the drill sergeant in it. The crowd popped like a bubble as people slid away into lounges and offices and classrooms.

Then it was just the three of them: Somers, Hazard, and Fukuma. Hazard studied the small woman. She was a lesbian, that much was obvious.

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