Page 43 of Devil in Disguise
“No. He was working. I told him when I talked to him the next day.”
“Not that day?”
“No. He was, uh, tired, and kind of excited about his day, and I didn’t want to wreck it, or have him worry about me. But I told him the next day. Monday.”
He put a hand on his phone. “Do you have a number to reach him now?”
“No.” She saw his face change again and said, “Yes, I have a number, but I’m not sure you’ll be able to reach him now. Not if he’s still at work.”
“Surely he has a phone at work.”
She sighed. Oh, boy. This was going to be interesting. “No. Look, he’s at football practice, and they’re full-on on Thursdays.”
“Oh. He’s on the team here? Or somewhere else?”
No help for it. She needed to say it. “He plays for the NFL. They’re in Tampa Bay this week, playing the Buccaneers. I guess it’s, uh, close to five there now, so maybe …”
Oh, boy. If they didn’t hurry up with this, she was going to be late for Statics. This was turning into agreatday.
And she knew this look, too. This was “skeptical.” Or more than that. This was “mentally ill. Alternate reality.” Or possibly, “pathological liar.”
She said, “Look, I tell you what. Call Blake Orbison.”
“Your boyfriend is Blake Orbison.” His tone was flatter than ever.
“No. Blake doesn’t play for the NFL anymore. He blew out his knee. He’s retired. Also married and way too old for me. Look up his corporate headquarters in Portland, call them up, tell them my name, and say I’m in serious trouble and you need to talk to him.”
“Exactly what will this achieve?” he asked.
“Well, it’ll show you that I’m not a liar, for one thing. And maybe make you call my boyfriend and ask what I told him before you … what? Kick me out of the dorms?”
“I won’t be making a decision about that until all the facts are in,” he said. Prissily.
“Thengetthe facts. Call Blake. I’ll wait.” She pulled her Engineering Statics textbook out of her backpack. Thirty minutes until class. Maybe she could read through some of the remaining problems, at least, before Blake got on the phone.
* * *
Statics wasn’t much betterthan Thermodynamics, except that at least she had her book. She also had the satisfaction of remembering the look on Mr. Greene’s face when Blake’s world-famous voice came over the speaker, vibrating with all his I’m-the-quarterback-and-I-mean-it, Southern-fried command. “Dyma? What’s goin’ on? You in trouble?”
Yeah. That had been amoment.She was smiling, thinking about Blake saying, “What, Dyma’s lying? I’m not saying she wouldn’t hit somebody, not if she had a good enough reason, but she sure wouldn’t lie about it. More likely to tell you before you even asked. I’ve known her since she started high school, and some people would say that I’m a pretty fair judge of character. And you bet you should call Johnson. Now, him—he’s not going to be lying, either. I don’t think Owen Johnson knowshowto tell a lie. But, sure, you go right on ahead and kick Dyma out of the dorms. Course, you might be kissing some serious future giving goodbye, because Harlan Kristiansen tends to be generous with his checkbook, and he sure does love her mama. You’ll have lost yourself one firecracker of a student, too. Better make sure whoever’s on the other side of this trouble of yours is worth it.”
But then there’d been Owen. When Mr. Greene had hung up with Blake, she’d said, “If you call Owen, he won’t pick up. NFL players don’t pick up numbers they don’t know. I’ll call him on my phone and hand it over. Of course, you’re going to have to trust it’s him. You could ask him his stats, I guess, except that Owen probably doesn’t know his stats.”
“I think I can take Blake Orbison’s word for it,” Mr. Greene said. Still stiffly.
She’d dialed Owen’s number silently, then put the phone on speaker and handed it over.
“Dyma?” he asked, first thing. “I’m on the bus, baby. You’ll have to speak up.”
Mr. Greene spoke up.
When he finished, there was a long silence.
“Mr. Johnson?” Mr. Greene finally asked.
“Yeah, I’m here. Kinda surprised, that’s all. What do I know about what happened that time, with her roommates? Uh … they were giving her a hard time, calling her trashy, and she told them to back off. She was a little upset about it, even though she didn’t want me to know that. That’s about what she said. Or what I got out of what she said.”
“Did she tell you about any male students in the room? About them doing or saying anything?”
