Bound To The Alpha Brothers

“Number 46, Merritt. . .uh, Maibie?” That’s me. I scare away my pathetic thoughts about college and I stand up dutifully, noticing that the receptionist kept staring at the list oddly. “I’m here,” I add, in case she did not see me. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. I am five feet nothing, according to my irritated high school P.E teacher. Actually, I am five feet four inches and look too childish to be taken seriously as a new adult. “I see you,” she drops her eyebrows, “but Maibie?” I walk closer to her desk and examine the list in her hand. Scrolling to number 46, I find my name and sure enough, it is spelt correctly. I didn’t see the issue. “Yes. M-A-I-B-I-E. Is something wrong with it?” She shakes her head at my naivety and slips the paper under the counter. “No, there isn’t. You can go in now. Good luck.” I want to ask her what her problem with my last name was but there is a long line of students waiting to be interviewed. My question would have to wait. I touch my lucky brooch on my breast pocket, breathing evenly. It’s just an interview; what was the worst that could happen? *** “Merritt Maibie, I must say that I am impressed with your academic performance. You have a big brain, that’s for sure,” the interviewer who also substitutes as the college registrar comments on my resume and SATs results. I subconsciously touch my head at his reference to my brain. I don’t know how to take a compliment or could not understand jokes, especially when they were about me. Understanding jokes is not a necessity for success so I did not let the knowledge of my lack of humour affect me. “Thank you, sir,” I finally reply, twisting my fingers together on my lap, away from view. My good grades and perfect attention to classes were paying off in the end. I deleted my social media accounts to enable me prepare properly for my final exams. I even skipped Senior Ditch Day to enjoy the privacy of the library. “I see you got 1540 in your SATs. That’s. . .huge. Remind me what you want to study at Blue Ash again?” “I’m. . . undecided,” I drop the news, unable to look Mr Wesley in the face. Yep, you can laugh now. The student with the highest SATs score in Holbeck High and the entire state of West Virginia does not know what they want to major in. The thing is, I am passionate about learning almost everything. I love nature, literature, pop quizzes, algebraic equations and, in secret, writing. I am not a physical person, so, sports were not my thing. But besides physical fitness, I am interested in learning in general. “You are joking, right?” “No, sir,” I admit, playing with the pleats in my tan skirt. My ID card is pinned in place on my chalk-white shirt which my Mom had ironed till it was paper-thin. “Why are you here then? Tell me, why did you choose Blue Ash?” Now, the interview begins. The real answer: my parents’ fights are getting more, and I am tired of being an only child caught up in the middle. Cincinnati is a long five-hour bus drive from Charleston, West Virginia, but it is better than choosing sides in a fight between parents who are supposed to love you. The memorized answer I give him: “The first time I came to Blue Ash, earlier in the summer, I felt at home. I loved the cozy environment, and it is somewhere I see myself studying in for the next three to four years. Going home, I did my research and enrolled for the virtual tour. After that, I was convinced that there was no better college suitable for me.” I hear a sniff and my attention is pulled from the window to where Mr Wesley is wiping down his face with a handkerchief. Is he crying? Am I that sappy? “That was beautiful to hear. You have a way with words, Miss. . . Maibie.” Again with the dramatic pause over my name. I know it is unusual, but could everyone not make me feel weird about my own last name? “Perhaps, you should consider the Arts,” he chips in, gathering my papers together and giving them a soft thud to arrange them. “I have one last question for you, Miss Maibie. What are your hobbies?” “Tackling difficult calculus questions and predicting the weather forecast,” I automatically reply and it isn’t even a rehearsed answer. Those are my hobbies. I wait around till the end of the news at eight to know if my weather predictions were right or not and Calculus is fun. Mr Wesley keeps blinking at me, as if he did not hear my answers. He probably thinks I am telling a joke and is waiting to hear something else. Jeez, is this a talent hunt or a college interview? When he realizes that I am not going to say anything else, he sits up in his giant leather chair, adjusting his black tie. “While that’s great to hear, I would prefer to know how you spend your leisure time, what you do with friends for fun. Merritt, what do you like about your life that does not have anything to do with academic performance?” First thought? Friends? What friends? Second thought? Nothing. I literally have no leisure time and when I do, I don’t know what to do with it. “I. . .” That’s how far I get, and I close my mouth, my head blank with ideas. Lying is not an option, especially when there is a risk of follow-up questions. I would be compiling lie upon lie until it topples over me eventually. Mr Wesley clears his throat and slips my papers into a big green file. He places it on his left and clears his throat again. “Miss Maibie, you are a straight A-Student. You are exceptional at your studies and that alone should be enough to grant you admission to Blue Ash. However, to be honest with you, you lack a drive towards life. “You need to get out there and grab life with both hands. Experience new things and don’t worry about making mistakes. You also need time to decide what course you would like to major in, of course, but think about what I said. Life is too short to waste time. I hope to see you in January.” His words echo in my head, reminding me of things people usually say to me. “Lighten up, Merritt,” or “Learn to take a joke, Merritt,” or “Merritt, you need to go out more often.” “Thank you, sir.” I get up and accept a handshake from him. Walking out of the building, I clutch my purse too tightly, worrying about my performance. I am so preoccupied with my thoughts that I bump into a wall. My corrective glasses bounce off my nose and I hear them fall to the ground. The whole world around me suddenly goes blurry and I land hard on my ass. The wall is moving, a figure bending over to pick up something. Warm fingers brush my cheek as the wall replaces my glasses on my slim nose. I blink twice before staring up at. . .not a wall as I earlier thought, but a man with muscles in the right places. His dark mane is parted in the middle, exposing me to dangerous blue eyes. “Here, let me help you up,” he offers, taking my arm without waiting for my response. My head is still buzzing from the unexpected fall, but I am fine in general. “Sorry about that. I’ll get going now. Bye,” he waves at me and continues on his way. Two minutes later, I am standing in the hallway, feeling the fleeting heat of his fingers. Who is that, and why is my heart beating so fast?