SomeWhere On... (BXB)

...Canon Street - May

"No, no. I'm just getting ready to head out now."

"You have your stuff?" asks Murph from the computer. He's getting ready for work.

"Mhm," I say, nodding.

"Well, I hope you have a good time at the...orientation thing," he says, grinning. Dimples. "And I hope you find whatever camp you've been put with."

I'm hoping for something in Connecticut, so he can drive up and visit me. "I think I'm more excited about horseback riding again. Haven't done it since I was 6."

"You took horseback riding lessons?"

"Fuck no. My mum made me take horseback riding lessons." I can't tell you how many times I cried in front of Mum to stop her. "I didn't like it."

Murph snorts. "Well, I hope you find whatever camp they've put you in."

"You already said that." I grin. "Still...thanks, luv." I inhale, trying to settle the butterflies in my stomach. "Okay. I'm off."

"Love you, Tommy."

"Love you too, Pup." And the line goes dead.

I look in the mirror. I have a goddamn sweater on. I look like one of those stupid preppy university kids in all those American movies. The ones that're so fucking excited for it that they have the college symbol on their sweater. They smell school spirit.

Maybe I should change.

Nah. Murph said I looked cute. And it's too late.

I grab my shit and head for the bedroom door.

"Oh, Tommy," Steve says from the kitchen. "I'm about off."

I'm about to say the same but spot an older guy sitting on the couch. "Mr. Dimarco?"

He turns and stands. He's still wearing his winter coat and holds a big folder to his chest. "Hello, Thomas. How are you?"

Steve leaves. The door closes.

"It's just Tom, sir." Wow, that feels real weird. Calling someone 'sir'.

He chuckles. "Yes, of course."

There's an awkward pause before I say, "I'm...just off to the orientation. Were you, heading that way?"

"I'm, here for something else."

My stomach drops. "What?"

His fingers tap against the folder. "This is...kind of out of the ordinary, but..." Mr. Dimarco opens the folder and hands me an envelope. "That's...your refund."

I know why, but I also don't know. "Refund...?" I don't take the envelope.

Mr. Dimarco puts it down on the counter. "Before you think it was your fault, it wasn't. It's ours. You had a strong interview and, while your CV was a little...scattered, you showed us what you had, and what you could bring to the table."

This is bullshit to me. "R...refund?" I ask again.

He inhales. "We didn't...anticipate such a large return of former..." He sighs. "...and with your application coming so late, we..." His weight shifts to his other foot. "We didn't have enough space for a lot of people. We're sorry, Tom."

I blink. "No. I understand. Thank you for coming to...tell me."

Mr. Dimarco smiles. "I'll see myself out," he whispers, turning. "We hope you apply next year." His steps are light, and the door clicks open and shut before I even realise it.

There's this...weird burning under my eyes.

It feels so hard to breathe.

The folder falls out of my hands. I don't hear it hit the floor.

My fingers feel tingly.

There's a pain in my chest.

"T-Tommy?" I hear Murph ask.

When did I call him?

"Tommy?" he asks, more demanding. "Tommy, are you okay?"

I'm in my room.

"Steve, this isn't funny if you did this."

When did I get here?

"Steve, I swear to God..." His breath is heavy.

"Murph."

He gasps. "T-Tommy."

I'm on my knees. Staring at the floor. When did I get here? I don't know. "Murph." It comes out desperate.

"Tommy, what's going on?"

The words choke me. "I..."

"Are you okay?"

I grab something on my desk and throw it hard. I don't know what it was, but it shatters.

"Tommy!"

"I'm not okay."

"What happened?"

"I'm not okay."

"Tommy, please – "

"I'm not okay."

"What happened?"

"I'm not okay."

What about any of this is okay anymore?