Read Hell Transporter (Between) Online
Authors: Cyndi Tefft
I resolved not to worry about Aiden since there was nothing I could do to help him, but having him gone was like missing a limb. During the last school year, I talked to him constantly in my mind, thinking he couldn’t hear me anyway. Now I knew he could hear me, but I didn’t want to reach out to him and possibly distract him at the wrong moment.
He checked in with me every night, but refused to tell me where he was or what was happening. Still, just hearing his voice and knowing he was alive made it easier to sleep without him. The hardest part was that I had no idea how long he’d be gone. A few days? A week? A month? I’d given him my car and my cash card, so I knew he’d be okay that way, but I was getting antsy for him to hurry up and come back.
Almost worse than having Aiden gone, though, was trying to avoid Ravi and Mona. When Ravi and I were dating, it was so easy to hang out as a couple with Jen and Paul, and Steph and Micah. But now I was the odd one out and Mona was more than happy to take my place, which bothered me to no end, though I tried to pretend it didn’t matter.
The second night that Aiden had been gone, my ex and his Italian beauty queen showed up at my dorm room while I was studying.
“Hey,” Ravi said from the doorway. “Jen around?” Mona was suctioned onto his side, decked out in a painted on red dress and heels like she was going to the Oscars.
“Got a hot double date planned?”
Ravi inspected the carpet between his feet. “No, just gonna grab some coffee or something. Never mind,” he said and turned to go, but Mona stopped him.
“Where’s your Scottish lover boy? Dumped you, huh?” Her eyes took a lazy stroll over my frayed t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. I hugged my arms across my chest. “Can’t imagine why.”
“No, he didn’t
dump me
. He’s—“ I began, but she just turned around and walked away while I was still talking. Ravi followed her like a freaking puppy. I grabbed my calculus book off the desk and hurled it at the closet door. I imagined the resulting thud was Mona’s head hitting the floor. That helped a little.
At dinner the next night, I noticed Mona wasn’t at the table with the rest of the pack. I went through the buffet line and made my way over to what I’d always considered
our
table.
“Um, mind if I join?” I asked, blue plastic tray in hand, feeling like I was in junior high again. Jen and Steph smiled and waved to the empty chair directly across from Ravi. He’d seen me, I knew, but was apparently really enjoying that soup and didn’t look up.
I sat down and asked, “Where’s Mona?” afraid she would arrive at any minute and kick me out of my seat.
“Her grandfather died,” Ravi said irritably, like it was somehow my fault. “She had to fly home for the funeral. I’m not sure how long she’ll be gone.” I mumbled my condolences and buried my face in my food.
Paul picked up the lull in the conversation by detailing the innards of the fetal pig they’d dissected in Biology lab that day. Micah asked whether or not pigs really had “corkscrew dicks like their tails.” Jen and Steph shot him identical glares of disgust.
“What? The lady pigs probably like it.” Micah waggled his eyebrows.
“Ewww!” we girls said in unison, though a fit of giggles made its way around the table.
“If it helps, I’ve heard a pig orgasm lasts for like thirty minutes,” Ravi chimed in and the giggles exploded into a chorus of “Holy crap!” “No, it doesn’t!” “That would be awesome!” “And how would you know?” punctuated by whoops of laughter. I grinned at Ravi over my soda cup and for the first time since I’d returned, he smiled back.
On the last day of the week, my French teacher, Madame Guillaume, asked if she could have a word with me after class. While the rest of the students filed out, I took my time putting away my book and materials, wondering what she could possibly want.
“Miss Waters, it’s nice to have you back in class,” she said in French. A petite black woman who was always impeccably dressed, Madame Guillaume had a professional air about her that I envied. I could see her as a state senator or something, giving speeches to the media instead of stuck in a classroom with a bunch of kids butchering a language she very obviously loved.
“Last year was tough for you,” she said, taking off her glasses. I nodded, not really wanting to rehash the accident or the agonizing months that followed. She went on, saving me from having to respond. “But I noticed your French has continued to improve. Did you take a class over the summer?”
I shook my head and shifted my backpack to the other shoulder. “No, I just spent some time practicing with a friend.” The memory of spending an entire day with Aiden speaking nothing but French brought a little, secret smile to my face.
“That’s wonderful. Most students backslide in their skills over the summer, but yours have reached the point where I wondered if you’d be interested in tutoring a couple students from my introductory course.”
I was floored. I hadn’t ever thought of myself as fluent enough to tutor someone.
“Wow, sure, I guess. Do you really think I… I mean…” My French was escaping me just thinking about it.
“You’re more than competent to tutor a first year, and maybe even some of the students in this class as well.” She waved her hand toward the empty desks. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to do that.” She walked back over to the table at the front of the room and collected her things, the matter apparently settled. “I will provide you with their names and you can put together a schedule. Just report your hours to the office and they will pay you once a month. Twenty dollars per hour is the going rate this year for tutors. Will that do?” Her confident smile communicated that she knew $20 an hour would more than “do” and she flicked the lights off as we left the room.
~
The weekend came and went with Aiden still gone, and I started to panic that he’d been unsuccessful, but Monday night he called to me earlier than usual, excitement pulsing in his voice.
Bon soir, mon amour. I’ve the papers now and I’m coming back.
I bolted upright in bed and Stephanie glanced over at me in surprise, the thin beam of her book light swinging in my direction. Murmuring that I had to go to the bathroom, I shot out of the room and locked myself in the stall so no one could see my expressions.
You do? Oh my God, Aiden, that’s awesome! Are you coming back tonight? Where are you? I’ll wait up for you.
I knew I’d be facing a hairy eyeball from Steph for sneaking him into the room, but I didn’t care. All I could think of was being in his arms again.
Nae, love. You’ve got school tomorrow morn and you need to rest. I’ll meet you after your French class. ‘Tis the last one of the day, aye?
I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow afternoon to see him again, but he was right. If I waited for him to come tonight, I wouldn’t get any sleep at all and would probably skip class altogether. Damn school, anyway!
After I told him how to find my classroom and we said goodnight, I skipped back to the room, unable to hide the dreamy smile on my face. Stephanie gave me a questioning look but didn’t say anything. I crawled into bed and felt my muscles relax, knowing he was safe and coming home to me. Finally.
The next day dragged on at a snail’s pace, if that snail were climbing uphill through superglue while carrying a lead weight on its back. My teachers droned on at length about nothing that interested me, oblivious to the twitching anxiety that made me want to run screaming from the classroom. I kept checking the clock every few minutes and once or twice, I could swear it had stopped moving altogether.
My second to last class of the day was American History, and much to my surprise, Mona came in right after class had started. The teacher had to stop talking mid-sentence as she noisily made her way to her seat and plopped down with her designer book bag. She hadn’t been in the class all week and the whole room stared at her silently. She ignored the eyes on her and shrugged, addressing the teacher in her nasal New York accent.
“I just got my schedule worked out with the registrar. What a freakin’ mess. You’re away for a few days and they act like you missed the whole semester. I figure, it’s history, right? It ain’t going to change just ‘cuz I start the class a little late.” She chuckled at her joke and the boy sitting next to her laughed a little too, in support. She flashed him a picture perfect smile and he looked down at his desk with a shy grin.
Mr. Johnston continued on as if she hadn’t spoken. “As I was saying, the Italian American or Sicilian Mafia rose in power in the 1920s and ‘30s due to the prohibition of alcohol. They were originally called A Manu Neura, or ‘The Black Hand,’ because they marked their letters with a black handprint. They extorted Italians and other immigrants in the New York City area, along with drug-running, prostitution, and other criminal activities. The families warred with one another to establish power, and many times a new leader would assume position only to be murdered a few months later by a rival.”
Mona scooted her chair closer to the boy next to her and stroked his thigh with one red-tipped fingernail. I swear the whole class heard him swallow a shiver of lust.
“Hey, what page are we on?” she whispered so loudly that the teacher answered.
“One fifty-eight,” he said through clenched teeth. Giggles skipped across the back row. He cleared his throat and turned to the board, making notes while he talked. “An organization called Costa Nostra emerged with Salvatore Maranzano as its head. Charles ‘Lucky’ Luciano succeeded him after Maranzano was killed six months later. Between these two, the structure we know as the mob today was developed. The head of the mob is called the ‘Boss’ or the ‘Godfather.’ ‘Don’ is another term for the head of the crime family. How many of you have seen the Godfather movies?”
Most of the class raised their hands and lowered them at his nod of acknowledgment, but Susan Schmidt, a plain girl with a wide, horsey mouth and glasses, kept her hand raised with a question. Susan was an annoying know-it-all and Mr. Johnston politely tried to ignore her, but she was also a
persistent
know-it-all.
“Mr. Johnston, what role did women play in the mob families? I mean, in the movies, it seems like they are totally oblivious. Was that true?”
The teacher nodded thoughtfully. “Well, Susan, it is true that the women in the mob families were not part of the structure of the boss, underboss, consigliere, soldato and so on. They were strong personalities, to be certain, but I am not sure how much they knew about what was really going on. You see, it would be a liability to have the women too informed about the activities of these crime families, since then they could be questioned or let confidential information slip.”
Mona snorted with disgust, her face twisting in a sneer.
“Says you! We ain’t dingy broads. The women in my family have always known exactly what’s going on. We’re just smart enough to act like we don’t. Men think they’re so clever, making up secret code names for a hit. But we always know. We just can’t always stop the fools from killing each other, is all. Not that some of them don’t deserve it.” She pulled out a compact mirror and reapplied her lipstick.
Susan looked down her long nose at Mona in disdain. “Oh, and I can see how you’d be such an authority on the subject having just walked in the door—what?—three minutes ago?”
Mona leaned forward in her chair, the ice in her voice frosting the air. “I come from a long line of Sicilian women and we have always known what goes on in our family, good or bad. It ain’t no different now than it was then, bitch.” The two girls glared at one another and Mr. Johnston struggled to keep things from spiraling out of control.
“Uh, ladies, there’s no need for name-calling. Susan has an interesting point and Miss…” He stared at Mona blankly, since here she was taking over the class and he didn’t even know her name.
“Luciano. Mona Luciano.”
Mona cocked an eyebrow at him smugly and he stammered, “Oh, I see. Well, Miss Luciano, your family has quite a colorful past. Thank you for sharing your… unique perspective with us.” She batted her eyelashes at him invitingly, which made him swallow hard and loosen his tie like it was suddenly too tight. I marveled at her ability to inflame women and ensnare men with just a smile, and worried for Ravi that she would chew him up and spit him out.
Like you did?
My conscience chimed in. Acid guilt flooded my stomach and I dropped my eyes to my notebook, drawing random circles and willing the class to be over.
My French class was the last one of the day and I kept peeking out the window, hoping to see Aiden waiting outside.
“Mademoiselle Waters? Est-ce qu’il ya un feu à l’extérieur?”
A few of the students in the class snickered at the teacher’s asking if there was a fire outside. With a mumbled apology, I glanced at my neighbor’s book to see what page we were on. I flipped a few pages to catch up and resolutely tried to block Aiden out of my mind. The words blurred together as I stared at my textbook. They might as well have been written in Swahili for as much as they registered with my brain. After what must have been three and a half days, Madame Guillaume finally dismissed the class with a friendly
“à bientôt.”