Chapter Fifteen, Page Six, Bren, College

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Bren was just leaving her last class of the day when her phone began to ring. Some students looked over at her as she pulled it out to answer it, looking offended at the sound of her ringtone. “Hey,” she said, “I used to really like raging a bit, ok?”

          “It’s a good song,” said a boy, stepping out from the crowd that was passing by, “I was going to say it was a nice ringtone to have.”

          “Oh,” Bren said, “Thanks. Uh.”

          “Do you like it here?” He asked.

          “Here?” She asked, looking down at her ringing phone.

          “Yeah, at this college?” He said. He smiled.

          “It’s alright,” Bren said, “You?”

          “I like it. Hey, can I have your number?” He asked.

          “Hold on I gotta take this,” Bren said, flipping the phone open, and turning around to face a corner. “Ya-ello?”

          “Brenda,” Seymour said, “I hope I did not call at an inconvenient hour.”

          “It’s three in the afternoon,” Bren said, “How could that possibly be inconvenient?”

          “I have lost track of time,” Seymour said.

          “Sure ya did.” Bren had no time for these silly games. Seymour was just trying to sound like a scatterbrained old guy again.

          “I have a… request,” Seymour said.

          Oh no. “What’s up?”

          “On Saturday there was a theft,” Seymour said, “I witnessed a boy being chased by two pyreweavers in the Uptown. He held a briefcase. Later, Edward Blackwell told me that the Strifepalms had missed a delivery. This means, the Strifepalms were trying to get that briefcase. I did not understand what it was about at the time. I did not connect the chase I saw to the stolen briefcase.”

          “But you did now?” Bren asked, “Nice timing.”

          “Hahum,” Seymour said, finally sounding irritated, “I saw the boy again today. He is at the mall in Uptown. Go find him and find out what it is he has to do with the stolen briefcase. It could be he has nothing to do with it. But he could also, possibly, have everything to do with it.”

          “I’ll get right on that,” Bren said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

          “I thought you said this was not an inconvenient hour?” Seymour asked.

          “I’m at college right now,” Bren said, “Or did you forget that I’m still working on my education.”

          “I was not aware,” Seymour said, “What is it you plan to study?”

          “I don’t know,” Bren said, “I’m still trying to figure it out. Religion, maybe.”

          “A fitting field of study,” Seymour said, “But an impractical one.”

          “Thanks,” Bren said, “I’ll see you later.” She closed the phone and turned back around.

          “Hey,” the boy said.

          “Oh,” Bren said. You’re still here? “I suppose you’ll still be wanting my number?”

          “If it isn’t too much trouble,” the boy said.

          “It might be,” Bren said, “I don’t know you. Sorry. I don’t like giving my number out to everyone who asks.”

          “Do a lot of boys ask?” The boy asked.

          “Uhm,” Bren said, coming to a quick realization, “Do you have a scrap of paper for me to write my number down on?”

          The boy handed one forward, “I didn’t have this the whole time,” he said, “I got it out while you were talking. On the phone.

          Bren wondered if he’d been listening in. She realized that nothing she’d said was even remotely suspicious. She wrote down her number on the scrap with the pen she had in her pocket, “Uh, text me please. I have a very limited number of minutes.”

          “Sure,” the boy said, “My name’s Kyle, by the way.”

          “I’m Bren,” she said, “Nice to meet you.”

          “Yeah,” he said, “I’ll text you with my number.”

          “Alright, seeya then,” she said.

          He walked off, and Bren wondered if Seymour had an idea that whomever was at the mall might not be there in twenty minutes. She decided to check her room first, to let her roommate know she’d be going back out.