Free Burning September by Melissa Simonson

you feel about being a possible character witness?”
     
    ***
     
    Hi Jeff,
    It’s Kat, Caroline’s sister.  I asked Professor Rasmussen for your email address.  I hope you don’t mind. I know I’m not technically in the advanced classes, but I was wondering if you’d be able to sit down with me, help me understand some of the material.  I have some of Caroline’s old notes, but it’s hard to decipher some of her shorthand, and sometimes she does this weird thing where she sketches what she means.  I’ll be on the west side of campus for another hour, if you’re going to be around, or you can just email me back.  If you’re too busy, I understand.
    Thanks.
    Kat.
     
    I stabbed the send button and tipped my head back against the brick wall of the music hall breezeway. Contacting Jeff would make Caroline happy, and I wanted to visit her bearing news she’d appreciate.  I didn’t care if he ignored it or not.  I tried, didn’t I?  We didn’t need to be friends.  I just needed to get through freshman year relatively unscathed.
    Faint music rode the light breeze, wafting through the hallway.  I’d have rather heard that than my own thoughts, but it didn’t last as long as I’d hoped.
    Doors flung open further down the hallway, and students trickled past.  I stared at their shoes as they walked by.  Converse, Vans, the odd ballet flats, flip flops.  California’s flip flop season went year-round.  Caroline even wore them when it rained.
    “The girl who likes Bob Marley.”  A pair of boots clunked into view, and I squinted up to find Professor Lawlis staring down at me, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup.
    “The professor who shot me down.” I closed my laptop and stuffed it into my backpack.  “Have you reconsidered?”  I tried to smile, but couldn’t be sure if I succeeded, since my face hadn’t done it in so long.
    “Sorry, kid.  Nothing’s changed.  No spots.”  He reached out and offered his free hand.  I accepted, and he hauled me to my feet. 
    “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” I said when my backpack swung into his kneecap.  “Did I hurt you?”
    He gave a hollow laugh.  Pulled the thigh of his jeans up and motioned to his feet, where the bloated midday sun shining through the breezeway illuminated a metal rod protruding from his boot. 
    “No harm done.”
    I felt my cheeks flush.  “I’m—I’m still sorry.”  Not least because I had a feeling I’d be too embarrassed now to ever take his music class.  If I were Caroline, I’d make a pirate joke that would be wildly inappropriate yet somehow still charming, but I’d been born without that particular skill.
    He grunted, shaking his jeans down to cover the rod.  “What are you doing over here?  I thought you didn’t get into any music courses.”
    “I didn’t.”  I swung my backpack over my shoulder so there wouldn’t be any more causalities.  “But I like listening to it while I’m waiting around for my other classes. Much more soothing than people screaming into their cell phones.”
    “What did you say your name was, again?”
    “Kat.”
    “You play any instruments?”
    “Not well.  I barely learned how to play guitar.  My sister’s ex was teaching me.”
    He gave me a smile his face didn’t seem capable of executing, but I could see the humor in his gray eyes.  “Breakup ruined the lessons?”
    “Well, that, and he died.” 
    “That’ll do it.”  He held eye contact for a while, and not for any reason I could fathom.  Not the same way men looked at Caroline.  More like the way people looked at her paintings. 
    “Kat?”  Rapid footsteps pounded from behind, and I turned to find Jeff standing there, looking very scholarly in his shiny glasses and I-just-woke-up hair.  “I got your email.  Hi, Professor Lawlis.”
    The professor gave a gruff hello, which I suspected was rather kind, coming from him, and clapped me on the shoulder.  “I’ll see you around, kid.”
    I couldn’t