Page 116 of Limbo

“Quite,” Trey says, developing a strange accent. “Most of the buildings in Easton University’s ‘Old Campus’ were built thousands of years ago.”

“Wow, is that so?”

“I read it in the catalog.” He walks over and slaps a wall. “Jesus attended religion one-oh-one right here.”

I laugh. “That’s some impressive history.”

He grins before charging a random passerby. “Hey, man, can you take a picture of us in front of this historical landmark?”

The guy has little choice but to take the phone being shoved at him. Trey jogs back over and proceeds to smash the side of his face to mine. I smile with as much teeth as I can manage, and judging by the confused look we receive from our unsuspecting photographer, Trey’s face rivals mine. Sure enough, when I check, he’s holding his eyes as wide open as possible.

Not one but ten pictures later, he dashes over for his phone. He never makes it back to me, distracted by a group of girls who were watching our impromptu photo shoot.

He saunters over to them. “Hell-o, ladies.”

They giggle and take in what he refers to as his “carved from marble physique.” More like skinny country boy who needs to hit the gym. I join him, interested to see what angle he uses on them because he always has one.

“My name’s Bradford King,” he says with the same unidentifiable accent. “Maybe you’ve heard of my father, Alfred? He’s an oil tycoon. No big deal.”

One of them points to his chest. “Then why does your name tag say Trey?”

He grabs at his shirt, pulling it out to examine the white sticker. “Ah, shit.”

Once again, he latches on to my arm, and we haul ass for absolutely no reason. We put plenty of distance between us and his failed pick-up attempt before slowing down.

“Why didn’t you warn me, Cal?”

“An oil tycoon?” I ask, out of breath again.

“What? It sounded cool.” Trey heads over to a guy studying on a bench. “You have a pen?”

The student hands him a red Sharpie, which he then launches at me. I catch it and meet him halfway to change his name. “You could just take it off.”

“Less fun that way.” He snags the marker when I finish and crosses out Callista from my tag. “Your turn.”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Pshh. Try again.”

“Callista’s fine.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You’re killing me. You can beanyoneyou want here. No one knows you. And you choose her?”

Meant as a joke or not, the truth in his words strikes me. Other than him, no one knows anything about my horrible parents or my bad reputation or how much I hate nearly every single aspect of my life. They have no idea who Callista Henders is and never need to. It’s like a clean slate.

“What about Callie?” I expect an argument because it’s just a shortened version of my name, but Trey scribbles it in without question.

He tosses the pen to the kid on the bench. “Thank you, sir.”

Bradford then takes Callie’s arm in his, and they wander down the sidewalk with no particular destination in mind.

The longer we walk, the more I want to never leave. The campus is beautiful and far away from home and the fighting. It’s peaceful, and I love the quiet, not something I get much of in my life.

Trey lights a cigarette before he offers me one, but I shake my head.

“Callie doesn’t smoke.”

“How boring.” He sticks the extra cigarette behind his ear. “Tell me more about this Callie chick.”

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