Love Puzzle

Chapter One: Welcome to the City:

New York City.

The van pulled up into the apartment complex parking out. A young man of nineteen years old looked out the window. He would be living here for the next four years during college. Ever since freshman year of high school, he wanted to go to the School of Visual Arts. His mother didn’t seem too sure about this.

“Can’t you just go to school locally?” she asked.

“I’m tired of this town,” he said. “I have to get out.” The young man fought to not fall for her tears again.

“But why New York?” she asked. “You don’t like the city. You don’t even know how to make art.”

“I can try,” he said. In the end, she had to let him go to school. In the present time, the Uber driver turned to him.

“We’re here,” he said. The young man turned his head.

“Hm? Oh, thanks, man,” he said. “How much?”

“Thirty bucks,” the driver said. The young man paid the fifty-something driver.

“Thanks,” the older man said. “Good luck out here.”

“Yeah,” the young man said. He opened the door and crawled out of the van. The driver poked his head out the window.

“Need help getting your stuff out?” he asked.

“Sure,” his passenger said. The driver hopped out and joined him to unload his luggage.

“You came from Iowa, huh?” he asked.

“Yes,” the younger man answered for the eighth time. The driver whistled. His passenger looked up.

“What?” he asked as he pulled out a black and brown trunk from the back seat. The older man looked up, shaking his head and smiling.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just wish you luck in Soho.” His passenger raised his eyebrow.

“Why?” he asked.

“No reason,” the driver said. “I wish you luck.” He pulled out the last of the luggage before getting back into the van. The young man stood there confused as the van pulled away. He put up his hand and waved.

“Okay then…” he muttered. The young man turned and walked up to the lobby.

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He pressed his hand up against the glass doors. The first thing he saw was the bright lights. It looked like a standard lobby. He pushed open the doors. The young man couldn’t smell a thing. A welcome change from cows and the city over the past few hours. Four chairs surrounded a table in the middle of the room. Each one was red, blue, yellow, and green. They all sat around a white table. Vintage posters covered the walls. The brown carpet looked like it hadn’t been vacuumed in days. To his surprise, the young man didn’t hear any music in the lobby. He looked around for the front desk. He spotted off to one corner. A woman stood behind it, reading a magazine. The young man dragged his luggage over to the front desk.

“Excuse me,” he said. The woman didn’t look up from her People magazine. The young man cleared his throat.

“Excuse me!” he said again. She still didn’t look up. He sighed and rolled his eyes before grabbing the magazine out of her hand.

“Hey!” she shouted in a whiny voice that made his ears hurt. The wrinkles on her face made her look older than she was supposed to be. The freckles on her cheeks didn’t help either. She glared at him through tiger-shaped framed glasses.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

“My name is Wallace Martin,” the young man said. “I’m the new student that’s moving in for the school year. The School of Arts made the arrangement. You and I spoke on the phone this morning.” The woman’s facial expression didn’t change.

“Uh-huh,” she muttered. Wallace’s eyes shifted back and forth.

“So… which apartment am I in?” he asked. The woman sighed as she turned to her computer.

“Name?” she asked.

“Wallace Martin,” he said again.

“Middle name?” she asked.

“Kenneth,” Wallace answered. More typing filled the air. He tried to look at her screen.

“317,” the woman said.

“Huh?” he asked. She tuned to face him.

“Your apartment is 317,” she said.

“Okay… Can I have my key?” he asked. The woman grabbed the key from the wall and tossed it at him. He caught it with his free hand.

“Thanks… I guess…” Wallace said.

“Can I have my magazine back now?” the woman asked.

“Huh?” he asked. She pointed to his left hand. He looked down at what the receptionist was pointing at. The People magazine was rolled up in his hand.

“Oh, here,” Wallace said. He handed back the magazine. The receptionist snatched it out of his hand and went back to reading it.

“Okay then,” he said to himself. Wallace saluted her before making his way over to the elevator.