Love, Loss, and Honor

By Herbert Wiens

    For the first time in her life, Karen Williams is out from under her parents' watchful eyes. Now a goal-driven pre-med freshman who tends to put her own desires ahead of the feelings of those who love her, she is pursued by two men. Well-bred and wealthy, Martin aligns with her upward ambitions. Peter, her vir

• Language: English
• Publisher: H.P. Waterhouse Publishing
• Release date: Apr 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798985408331

Herbert Wiens

Herbert Wiens is the grandson of the two volume "They Have Conquered" lead character, Gerhardt. Having been raised around these heroic people, he knows intimately the stoicism and macabre gallows sense of humor this generation needed to survive. Born into a large blue collar family, Herbert Wiens was raised to value the rewards gained from hard work. Starting the summer after first grade, he tagged along with his older sisters as they boarded the "Bean Bus" at dawn to pick berries and string beans in Oregon's Willamette Valley. From then on, he never failed to have an after (or before) school job to help with family expenses. In high school, he started working on North Idaho ranches. In college, he fought forest fires in the summer and started working nights in a sawmill to pay tuition. His college experience was interrupted by a non-negotiable invitation from Uncle Sam, requesting his presence for the next few years in an all expenses paid, Vietnam era, tour of the world. Upon discharge, not having anything else better to do until he decided upon a future, he returned to the sawmill. Life got in the way for the next twenty years. Then, he became a small businessman for the next twenty. Now, he is spending his time using a keyboard to torture editors.

Book preview

Prologue

1573

Heretics! the monk shouted.

Matrons along the avenue spat at them. Insults hurled from every direction.

Harlots!

Jezebels!

Laughing street urchins, dressed in rags, ran alongside the cart, poking at the religious fanatics with sticks.

Stay strong sisters! a man yelled from the back of the throng. Your suffering will soon end! God will protect your souls!

As the cart wound its way toward the city’s main square, mounted soldiers wearing shiny cuirasses pushed into the crowd, intent on apprehending the passengers’ supporters. Four scared women huddled together, shielding each other from stones and horse dung raining down on them. Most of the projectiles found their target, the prisoners’ eyes unaccustomed to open sunlight. It had been a half year since they viewed anything brighter than occasional dim candlelight in their dank dungeon cell.

Four wooden stakes stood sentinel in the square, marking the terminus of the women’s life journey. One by one, each woman, gaunt and frail from months of unspeakable abuse, was unchained and led to the center of her personal pyre.

A nearby cathedral bell started to mournfully knell, announcing the women were about to ride flames into eternity, their dreams and bodies soon to become ash.

Chapter 1

Exploring New Worlds

1997

Karen Mary Williams walked from the dorm to her first class as a college freshman. The Pacific Northwest fall morning started a day of firsts in a week of firsts, her first apartment, first school not in her hometown, first time without a kiss goodbye from her mother or embarrassing tease from her father. College was intended to be exactly that—a world of firsts.

Spending her early years training to be a competitive figure skater, Karen had developed a fiery need to be the best at every task she took on. A teenage growth spurt threatened to make her too tall to successfully compete in the top tier anymore. Being mediocre, her biggest fear, she fell into depression and borderline anorexia. Her body grew to five foot nine inches anyway. Finally accepting skating glory was not in her future, she repurposed her natural drive into becoming a doctor. Her new fixation brought her back mentally, her body now filled out and stunning.

This chemistry class was her first salvo toward becoming a physician. She wove her way through the science building’s expansive two-story atrium, past a group of snickering freshman boys looking up the skirts of girls standing along the second-floor railing. Also wearing a dress for the first day of classes, Karen decided to wait halfway up on the open stair’s landing for the tardy professor to unlock the lecture room door.

A bearded man carrying a leather briefcase entered, absentmindedly fiddling with a key ring. Clearing a path, the students fell in behind the professor. Waiting until the oglers passed, Karen started up the remaining stairs.

Wearing old jeans and well-worn lace-up work boots, a tall, muscular boy with a questionable haircut and cheap black plastic horn-rimmed glasses burst through the entrance. He had a fatigued face—like he’d partied too late the night before. Burdened by her overstuffed backpack, Karen hadn’t made it to the second floor when he passed her, two steps at a time. Holding only a spiral notebook with a class schedule paperclipped to the cover, he paused as if he’d forgotten something when the classroom’s automatic door started to close. Holding the door open, he stood back politely for Karen to enter.

Taking copious notes during the lecture, Karen’s pencil broke. Digging in her backpack, she noticed the tall boy sitting off by himself, leaning back in his chair, staring at the professor. Distracted from the lecture, she studied him, thinking he’d fallen asleep, but his head moved to read the professor’s display on the overhead screen. Not taking notes, he listened intently, only writing when the professor posted the needed supplies list.

He’s not going to last, Karen thought. Not enough drive.

After class, she headed for the little snack bar near the science building. Walking along the edge of a parking lot toward her next class, she stopped to take a sip of coffee. While fiddling with the cup’s lid, she saw the tall boy sitting on the lowered tailgate of a beat-up old truck, pensively staring into the distance—either that or he was upright napping.

In English Comp, her second class, Karen chose a desk near a window while the teacher’s assistant wrote on the blackboard. The tall boy walked in and sat in the back near the door.

Professor Olympia Bliss exploded into the classroom. The middle-aged woman sashayed past his desk wearing a vintage dress with shoulder pads, open-toed vintage heels, and seamed stockings. With auburn hair, a double victory roll in the front, and a single curl down one side and up the other, she looked like WWII female singers Karen had seen in pictures. The boy leaned over, his mouth open, watching the outlandishly attired woman sway past. In disbelief, he glanced in Karen’s direction to see if anyone else beheld the strutting time machine. She gave him a blank expression when their eyes met. He smiled shyly.

Professor Bliss is head of the language department. I had her in another class last semester. She thinks it’s her life’s mission to instill European culture in her students, the girl beside Karen whispered.

She couldn’t have been more accurate. The lecture was filled with pretentious statements of European cultural superiority having nothing to do with English composition. Karen couldn’t wait for the hour to be over and was almost trampled in the stampede toward the door. She glanced across the parking lot while heading toward the snack bar. The tall boy sat on his tailgate, eating an apple. An hour later, she went to her third and final class of the day—Calculus. Near a window on the far side of the classroom sat the boy with the black framed glasses.

Apparently, he belonged in the class. The professor wrote a long formula on the blackboard then turned to a classroom full of deer-in-the-headlights expressions. He pointed at the tall boy. You there, with the glasses. You’re leaning back in your chair like you already know the answer. What is the solution?

In a deep, confident voice, he unhesitatingly answered.

Interesting. The professor pressed, And what brought you to that conclusion?

The boy quickly ran through the formula and its solution without hesitation or stammering, maintaining eye contact with the professor, desk barren of notes, calculator, or pencil—only the unopened spiral notebook with class schedule paperclipped to the cover.

You are correct. The professor turned to the rest of the room. Well, at least one of you belongs here. Now, let’s bring the rest of you up to speed.

Impressed, Karen decided to introduce herself after class. He would be a valuable asset as a study partner in her quest. By the time she made it past the blockade of exiting classmates, he had a substantial lead on her. She shrugged, and headed toward the bookstore to buy the list of needed supplies.

In the crowded store, she picked out the prescribed chemistry book and pushed her way toward the aisle of math books. Digging through the used book bin, the boy with cheap glasses elbowed Karen in the breast. When she gasped, he turned to see what he bumped up against, and was staring at her chest.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. Blushing, he averted his eyes and retreated uncomfortably to the other side of the bin.

His retreat was so hasty, she didn’t have a chance to accept his apology. Karen smiled kindly at him but he quickly looked down into the bin. Watching him talk to a clerk, she thought to herself, That’s sweet. He’s so shy he can’t even make eye contact after an innocent collision.

Holding a well-worn calculus book, he asked the clerk about used chemistry books. Ringing up the purchase, the frazzled female clerk shrugged and quoted a price on a new book. He shook his head and pulled an old pocket watch from his shirt to check the time. Leaving the bookstore, he ran toward the parking lot. Karen wondered what his story was.

The next day, before her mid-morning chem lab and afternoon biology class, she sat sunning herself on a bench, daydreaming about her long-planned trip to Europe the next summer, ignoring catcalls from a group of passing jocks. Walking from the parking lot toward the lab entrance carrying only the spiral notebook, the mysterious boy stopped and scowled at the jocks, quickly silencing them. Wearing worn blue jeans, the same lace-up work boots, and a long sleeve plaid shirt with frayed cuffs, he moved on without establishing eye contact with Karen. She checked her wristwatch, time for class.

Lining the students up against the lab wall, the professor instructed them to pair up, and find a station along the long tables to conduct their experiments. The tall boy walked to the back of the lab and stood alone at the last table’s last station. Karen sat her backpack on the table in front of him. Are you looking for a partner?

Shocked and uncomfortably sheepish, he replied, I guess. I don’t have a book yet.

She smiled up kindly, threw her book on the counter and stowed the backpack under the table. I have one. There’s only room for one on the table anyway.

He quickly caught the sliding book. Careful, you almost knocked over the Bunsen burner. You wouldn’t want to torch the place on your first day. It’d ruin your GPA.

He had wit. She laughed and stuck out her hand. My name is Karen.

Peter. He took her hand.

She stared at the massive, rough, calloused, scar-covered hand with a couple of fresh scabs. Karen’s hand with long slender fingers was still small in his. Realizing she held his grip too long, she opened the chemistry book to the day’s experiment. Before she could prop open the new book on the correct page, he had the proper chemicals, test tubes, and flasks lined up on the table. She checked the list in the book.

How’d you do that?

Peter shrugged. You can only make hydrogen in a chem lab a couple of ways. So far, this is a rehash of high school chemistry.

Is that why you didn’t take notes in class? At first, I thought you were sleeping.

Pushing up his glasses with a finger, Peter said, You were watching me?

Karen blushed and handed him a pair of safety goggles. You weren’t writing anything down. I thought it odd not to take notes during a technical lecture on chemistry.

You miss about a third of what the instructor is saying if your head is buried in a notebook writing instead of listening. If I listen and absorb, I catch it all and remember. Peter lit a match and waved it over the test tube. The hydrogen made a loud pop. You don’t need to waste time reading notes and get to spend more time doing this.

Karen jumped at the sound. Not yet halfway through their own experiments, the rest of the room gave them a dirty look. He removed the safety goggles, laid them on the table, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a shirt tail. Without the glasses, she thought, Peter was very handsome, but she wasn’t interested in getting a boyfriend.

Playfully, she waved a match over the test tube while he cleaned his lenses. He didn’t jump. Instead, his eyes gleamed. Peter liked things that went bang. Looking around the room, he elbowed her and nodded toward the rest of the class glaring in their direction. Apparently, the antics of the lab partners at the back table weren’t appreciated by the rest of the students. Class over, Peter helped with her backpack and escorted her to the door. Outside, she stopped.

Do you want to have lunch? She wanted to know him better before asking to be study partners. He was visibly torn with his answer. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so forward.

That’s not it, he said shyly, avoiding direct eye contact. I brought lunch.

Not used to taking no for an answer, Karen smiled. We can stop by the snack bar and I can buy a salad to eat with you on your tailgate.

My tailgate? Peter raised one eyebrow and finally looked her in the eyes.

Karen laughed. I’m not stalking you or anything. I passed you in the parking lot yesterday on my way to class.

Are you sure? I don’t need a bodyguard or anything, do I? Looking down at pushy Karen for what seemed an eternity, he bashfully smiled. Come on. Let’s fetch you a salad.

He draped her backpack over his arm as they walked to the snack bar, then the parking lot. Effortlessly throwing the heavy pack over the side rail, Peter grabbed his lunch out of the cab and lowered the tailgate. Wearing a bright sundress, Karen hesitantly looked at the dusty tailgate. He removed his plaid shirt and spread it out for her. I’m too hot anyway. I shouldn’t have parked in the sun. Assuming she needed help, he grabbed her waist with both hands and easily hoisted her onto the tailgate. Putting her hands on Peter’s biceps to brace herself, Karen stared at his muscular chest. He glanced down to see if he wore a stained shirt. What? Did I spill something?

No . . . No, it’s fine. Embarrassed, Karen ate silently for a while. He was extremely intelligent in math and science, necessities for her major. She’d achieved a full scholarship by not letting small missteps derail her goal path. Using the same mindset, she forged on. I was thinking. I need a study partner in chemistry and especially in calculus. Would you be interested?

Peter removed an apple and sandwich from a well-worn paper bag and placed them by his right side, next to Karen. Without a chemistry book, I don’t know if I would be much help.

Seeing an opening to gently persuade without bruising his ego, Why would you need one if we’re studying together? It seems a waste to have more than one book in a group.

He thoughtfully folded the paper sack, placed it under his left leg, picked up and opened the sandwich bag before replying. I guess that makes sense. The books are useless after the end of the semester anyway. I’ve never been part of a study group. What do we do?

Watching him eat a plain white bread and creamy peanut butter sandwich, Karen realized she didn’t buy anything to drink. Sensing she was parched, Peter unscrewed the plastic cork on his beat-up metal thermos and poured some dubious looking black fluid into the cup. Lukewarm coffee?

She gratefully took a sip, then gasped. "Whoa. How many scoops did you put in your pot when you made that?"

Only two. Although, I’m a bit thrifty and never empty the holder until overflowing. Why waste grounds that have only had water run across them once? I just keep adding to them.

Karen couldn’t help herself and laughed. "Yes, that is thrifty." Then, sat enthralled as Peter finished his dry peanut butter sandwich, folded the plastic bag, put it back into the brown paper sack, refolded the sack, and returned it under his leg. She smiled to herself; his fixation on saving money was as strong as her drive to become successful enough to ignore thrift. Karen decided that his hunkiness wouldn’t be a distraction for her as a study partner.

He nervously held out the Granny Smith. Apple? I can cut you off a piece.

No thanks. I’m stuffed from the salad. In truth, Granny Smiths were too tart for her taste. Back to the study group thing. Do you want to get together tonight or tomorrow?

I’m sorry. Peter looked down at his well-worn boots. I can’t do that on weeknights, but I’m free on weekends. If it doesn’t work, I understand if you find someone else.

That’s all right. She shrugged. Everybody has a social life.

Social life? He laughed. No, I work swing shift at a sawmill north of town to pay tuition.

Suddenly, the well-worn jeans and boots made sense—so did his tired face the first day in chemistry class. She couldn’t hide the respect in her voice. Her mind was set, she was not going to accept no for an answer. I think we can work something out. Let’s compare class schedules and see if we can find a time. I think we can help each other. I saw your face in English Comp, one of my strong suits.

You mean my Blissful face? You’re right, though. Somehow, during my transfers from one school to another, my knowledge of sentence structure jumbled became. Relaxing a little around this pushy girl, he glanced out of the corner of his eye. For all I know, dangling participles are those thingies swinging around between a cow’s rear legs when she walks.

Whaaa? Shocked, Karen looked at Peter.

I know. He grinned. That sounds udderly ridiculous.

You . . . Playfully punching his arm, she read his schedule. This is a pretty heavy course load.

He shrugged and nodded toward the administration building. The quicker you build your credits, the sooner you can quit being extorted by those thieves.

What’s your major?

Engineering. You?

Premed. Karen pointed at the schedules. On Thursday morning, you have Drafting the same time I have Latin. Of course, we have the same classes on Monday and chem lab on Tuesday. That’s three times a week we can do lunch and study. Does that sound okay?

Sure. Peter reached across her and dug out the worn pocket watch from his shirt. Oh, crap. I’ve got to go. I need to get to work.

I didn’t think swing shifts started until four or five.

They don’t, but I like to go in early sometimes. I have a good foreman who understands when a class makes me late. I work late or go in early to make up for it.

I’ll see you for lunch Thursday then. Karen stuck out her hand. Study partner.

I’ll try to find a shadier place to park. Peter shook her hand.

Uhhh . . . maybe a park bench. She nodded toward the dusty truck.

Maybe a park bench. He smiled and helped with her backpack. We might even upgrade to a picnic table.

She watched Peter’s old truck drive off, followed by the slightest puff of blue smoke. Once she broke through his initial shyness, he seemed extremely intelligent with a very quick wit. Karen’s first college friend was a shy, socially inept nerd. She walked to her biology class, more secure about having a successful college experience.

Chapter 2

Awakenings and Broken Hearts

Biology lecture over, a clean-cut young man walked up. Nice dress.

Uh, thank you. Karen frowned and zipped up her backpack. He stood so close, it was almost impossible for her to maneuver without bodily contact. Excuse me.

Oh, sorry. Here, let me help you with that. He picked up the backpack before she could stop him. Boy, this thing is heavy. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t carry so much stuff at once.

Oh, thank you. Karen blushed and looked down coyly, not about to protest when two handsome men in one day offered to carry her books. Then, he held up the backpack, so she could insert her arms.

Putting the shoulder strap of his expensive leather briefcase around his neck, he followed her out. Can I buy you a cup of coffee? By the way, my name is Martin.

Karen. Glancing back to answer, she caught him watching her legs.

I’m going to guess that, because you’re taking biology and all the books, you’re planning to enter the medical field. Outside the building, he held her upper arm while they walked.

Yeah, premed. She waited as he opened the coffee shop door. You?

Me too. We’re going to see a lot of each other for the next few years. Why don’t you find a table?

Karen sat at the small table watching the handsome, obviously well-to-do young man paying for her coffee.

Thank you. She smiled as he placed the cups on the table. Before she could take her first sip, he reached into his briefcase and handed her two wet wipes. Uh, the table looks fine.

No, they’re for you. Gazing at her chest, he said, I thought you’d like to clean your body, uh, hands.

So, you’re also premed. What year? Karen felt herself blushing again. Good-looking in a polished, manicured way, Martin’s presence blurred her laser focus on goals.

I’m a freshman. I should be a sophomore but . . . He took a sip of coffee in a refined country club manner. I took a leap year off and explored the world. My parents handed me a credit card, a passport, and an airplane ticket. I just returned last month.

You’ve travelled the world? Did you go to Antwerp? I’ve always wanted to go there.

Why Antwerp? It was all artsy and had a lot of history but not much interested me there.

She shrugged. I don’t know. For some reason, I’ve always had a fixation with the place.

Well, I preferred the far east. In Europe, I suppose Paris was my favorite.

Between being raised in a religious family, training to be a figure skater, and her bout with anorexia, she had only gone on a couple of dates. Having just turned eighteen, Karen found college to be a real eye-opener. During high school, fixated on her goal of becoming a doctor, doing everything necessary to acquire her scholarship, she never learned to actually flirt. Now, free of critical hometown eyes, swimming in uncharted waters, her sexual side was awakening.

Oh, interesting. Karen’s sundress was an exception to the modest, bosom-disguising clothes she wore at home. Shocked but flattered that he stared so openly at her chest, she attempted to flirt, leaning back, making it even more prominent. I . . .

He interrupted her. Oh, look. There are some others from the premed study group I’m putting together. Let’s call them over. You should join our group.

When Karen did join the group, she quickly became friends with Josie Bennett, a down-to-earth high school principal’s daughter from a tiny rural community. Martin Brundage came from money. Steven Daugherty, not wanting to let down his family’s long line of physicians, studied diligently and tried hard to fit in. The other members were normal college freshmen trying to survive their first year.

Karen developed a crush on Martin over their first cup of coffee. There was something about him that took away her ability to think rationally. His outgoing personality, knowing all the right things to say to girls, was the opposite of Peter’s. During the premed group’s first study session around a long table, Martin sat beside Karen. When he placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed when making a point, electricity shot up her leg. It was excitingly dangerous, feeling his eyes on her, usually from the neck down.

Steven’s fraternity is throwing a party this Saturday night. Wanna go? Josie asked during a late September study session. We can dress up and act like sophisticated snobs.

That sounds like fun. Is it fancy? Karen hadn’t planned on such events when packing for school. I don’t think I have a dress.

We have plenty of time Saturday morning to go mall hopping. It can’t be that hard to find a little black dress somewhere.

Sure, let’s go. Karen had a sudden pang of guilt. I have a study session scheduled with Peter. I wonder if he’d like to go?

You mean your chem lab partner? He doesn’t strike me as the type to fit in at such a party. Josie lowered one eyebrow and cocked her head to the side.

You’re right. I’ll call and shine him off this weekend.

Peter drove home late Saturday afternoon from the library. Citing conflicting obligations, his study partner had begged off their session. Fraternity row, normally the quickest route from the library area of campus towards his house, was more congested than usual. Forced to stop in the middle of the block while a rental limousine deposited its decked-out passengers in front of a frat house, Peter glanced toward the building’s porch. Karen and three other girls, all wearing little black dresses, were posing for pictures. With her hair all done up, she was radiantly beautiful and smiling. He sighed and put the truck in gear when the limo moved on. He knew he would never fit in with such a lifestyle and wondered why she bothered with him as a study partner.

Hey, isn’t that your chem lab partner in that old truck? Josie pointed past the photographer to the street.

Yes, it is. Karen gave a big wave but Peter apparently was busy trying not to run over pedestrians. I guess he didn’t see us.

Comfortable with her body again, Karen’s little black dress was shorter and lower cut than anything she would have dared wear at home. Martin, the reason she bought it, gave her goosebumps when he held her on the crowded dance floor. Toward the end of the evening, she stood in a group of students socializing. Surveying the room, she smiled. This was the life she was working toward. In the future, as a physician, she expected to attend many such functions, hobnobbing with the community’s elite. That was her goal—to be successful, respected, and financially comfortable.

The first premed study session after the dance, Karen sat next to Martin at the conference table. Trying to subtly flirt, she moved her leg against his and smiled when his hand stayed on her thigh, even when not making a point. Finding it hard to breathe, Karen placed her hand on his.

After the session, Martin asked, Want to go for a burger?

Until that night, boys had only given her goodnight pecks on the cheek. Martin took her for a drive in his sports car, stopped in an empty dark parking lot, and made up for lost time. They started dating, Martin handing her a couple of wet wipes at the beginning of each one. In a theater on their fourth date, his hand slid inside her blouse. After letting him work his magic for quite a while, she reluctantly whispered, I . . . I can’t, I’m a virgin.

On their next date, overwhelmed, feeling that for the first time in her life, a boy lusted for her body, she could barely stop him from taking her clothes off in his car. Karen went to his apartment the following afternoon.

Remember the virginity thing I told you about?

Yeah, did you think I was going to forget something like that?

I don’t want to be able to say that tomorrow. She snuggled next to him. Is that all right?

Their necking session quickly moved to his bed with her blouse and bra off. Karen couldn’t imagine a better sensation than Martin kissing her chest—until his unimpeded hand found its way under her skirt. She gave herself to him, each new sensation more powerful than the last. After an evening with her arms wrapped around him, emitting shallow, panting gasps, she became instantly addicted. Sex with Martin was her new favorite thing in the world.

The next afternoon, in biology, she whispered to Martin, Remember the subject matter we covered last night? I don’t think I have quite figured it out. Is it possible to have another tutoring session?

Martin choked on his gum. I suppose. What part of the lesson didn’t you get?

I think I understand the main thrust of the subject. I’d love to work on the peripheral approaches to the theme. Do you have the time?

He did. Only having her first real kiss a few dates before, Karen forgot her upbringing. Wanting to be near him as much as possible, she went to Martin’s almost nightly, staying overnight when she had late classes the next day. Sometimes, she skipped her weekend study sessions with Peter when Martin took her to his family’s summer cottage outside of town.

*

Karen kept Peter, her lunchtime and now intermittent weekend study partner, her social life, and premed study group on separate planes of existence. Martin scowled after seeing them studying together. What do you see in that lowbrow idiot? Why do you keep hanging around with him?

I study with him because he probably has a higher I.Q. than any of the rest of us. Sitting on his lap, kissing while unbuttoning his shirt, she said, Why do you care? I’m getting naked with you.

Her interactions with Peter were the opposite of those with Martin. Putty in Martin’s hands, she dominated Peter. Enjoying his honesty and lack of pretenses, but reluctant to be seen with her friend in public, Karen had her mother send the soft-sided, insulated lunch box from the family pantry. She filled the dorm room mini-refrigerator with the foodstuffs of a professional carnivore, infrequent omnivore, horrifying her vegan roommate. The day of her next study session with Peter, Karen set it on the table. He gave her a questioning look.

Since when did you start packing a lunch?

Time wasted standing in line at the snack bar is time lost studying, she hedged the truth. As long as I was holding a knife spreading mustard on bread for a sandwich (and a pickle, lettuce, cheese, mayo, and two slices of thick-cut bologna), I thought I might as well make two.

Huh. Confused about his pushy study partner’s motives, Peter pretended to believe her, and ate the sandwich. He had plenty of other things he could be doing, but he had also developed a crush on someone the second day of classes—Karen. She was the first girl who had actually taken an interest in him. He had