I called Bobby’s home, but no one answered. I tried his cell.

“Bobby—”

“No to whatever you are about to ask me. No. The answer’s no.”

“Bobby, I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t urgent.”

“Like yesterday was urgent?”

“It’s Mark,” I blurted.

“What happened?”

I ran through the same story I’d spilled to Lasha, a tad more dramatically—Bobby’s tougher to sell.

After I finished, Bobby asked, “Is Olivia okay?”

“I . . . I don’t know. Last I heard, she was unconscious.”

I heard hushed conversation on Bobby’s side of the line. “Who are you talking to?”

More muffled voices, one of which sounded suspiciously female. “Bree,” he finally answered.

“Olivia’s Bree?”

“I’m showing her around Stripling.”

“Uh-huh. You work fast, mi hermano, I’ll give you that.”

“Listen, Bree just called the Blockens on her cell. She’s heading to the hospital to meet them.” Dramatic pause. “I’ll come in.”

“Thanks, Bobby, you’re the best. I swear to God, you’re an angel. If I had any musical talent, I’d write a ballad about your greatness.”

“Charming. There’s a but.”

“A but?” Suspicion arose.

“Oh, yeah. Library orientation. All freshman English classes.”

In the third week of August, the freshmen would arrive on campus. The new students have a few carefree days before the upperclassmen arrive lurking for prey, and the administration slams them into classrooms with overburdened faculty. By the second week, early post-adolescent synapses zap and the freshmen realize that college wasn’t ultimate recess, but school. During this time of painful discovery, the English professors farm out their freshman classes to the reference staff (i.e., Bobby and me) to teach the students how to use the library.

“Bobby, no.”