The Four

As it happens, Dr. Newman was a critically-acclaimed, highly distinguished professor of Entrepreneurship out of Harvard Business School. Columbia had invited him to present to the Business Management students about his latest research, which I'm sure was stimulating.

As it also happens, Dr. Newman was escorted by two guards on campus before and after his seminar. I suppose this was in the event of, say, some crazy, screaming student violently hurling herself at him out of nowhere.

I was taken by a witnessing staff member to the Dean's Office and scolded for over 30 minutes for my "raucous, belligerent and unacceptable behavior," which "greatly embarrassed the University and very nearly tarnished its reputation with Dr. Newman and his colleagues." Luckily, I wasn't suspended, and instead assigned a letter of apology "to be addressed to Dr. Newman for my inexcusable actions."

I sulked out of the Dean's Office and ran my hands through my hair. I couldn't believe I'd gotten in so much trouble, on day one. To top it all off, my phone was practically unusable - although functioning, cracks splintered the screen from top to bottom, and the button was only responsive with rapid, hard presses.

"Well, what's the damage?"

I looked up at Sam, leaning against a window outside the office. "Have you been waiting for me?"

"To be fair, I didn't think they'd take their sweet ass time like they did. We don't even have time for lunch, I don't think." She sighed.

I showed her my phone with a frown. "Shattered. Right along with my goal of staying out of trouble at Columbia."

Sam offered me a weak smile. "It's okay, it was all just a misunderstanding. This'll be old news by tomorrow."

"What, is it already news?" I asked.

"Well, yes. In a manner of speaking." She took out her own phone, and opened an app. "It was posted in The Fed, Columbia students' honorary cesspool of gossip."

"I don't want to read it," I said quickly. "I want to find those shiny black shoes."

Sam turned off her phone with a click, and stared at me. "I don't recommend it."

"What do you mean? Did you see who it was?"

"Yeah, didn't you?"

"N- no, I was on the ground! All I saw were kneecaps and shoes," I huffed.

"That crowd wasn't gathering for that doctor, Analeigh. They were attracted by The Four."

"The four what?"

"The Four," Sam repeated sternly. "Capital letters and all."

"Who are they? A band?" I asked.

Sam grabbed my hand and pulled me from the wall. "Come on, easier to show than tell."

---

Sam literally dragged me across the quad to Columbia's centermost, grandest building, the Business School. The marble and wood halls were spectacular, renovated with floor-to-ceiling windows and bookcases. She led me up a modern glass staircase to the top floor, where we were met by a grand wooden door so high I had to crane my neck to take it in. We were in a wide open space flooded with light from the glittering chandelier above. No other doors or windows were in sight of it - just two long hallways in either direction.

It was eerily quiet. Our footsteps seemed to echo for miles as we approached.

"Where are we?" I asked Sam, who had stopped in front of the lonesome door.

"We're on the executive level of the business school. It's for graduate students and faculty only." She peered up at the banners hanging from either side of the door. "Well, and a choice few seniors."

"What do you mean?"

"This is the meeting place of The Four. They're an exclusive group of the most popular, wealthy and, frankly, attractive boys at Columbia. They come from some of the most well-to-do families in New York City, who have donated millions to the University over the years." She sighed and pointed up at the banners. "They're also world-class poker players. They founded the University's poker league, and have won dozens of championships and tournaments since they were freshmen. Columbia's kind of obsessed with them. This is the hall the University gave them to practice and study at their leisure." She turned to face me. "So that's The Four. In a nutshell."

"Seriously?" I asked, crossing my arms and looking up. Each banner indicated some sort of grand poker event: "World Series of Poker, 2017," "College Poker Tour National Championship, 2015," etc. Not a single sign was for a second or third place title.

They didn't appear to lose.

"That mob that trampled you," Sam continued, turning to me, "they were there for The Four. I think they were walking with Dr. Newman after his lecture."

"I was not trampled," I said under my breath. "But so what? Are you saying it was one of these guys who crushed my phone?"

Sam nodded, "Yup. I saw it happen."

"Why didn't you just say so?" I asked, losing some patience. "Are we here to confront them?"

"You can't just go inside. You have to be invited. It's a rule," Sam said with an apologetic look and shrug.

"I don't have to be invited. They broke my phone."

I stepped up to the door, took a deep breath and knocked repeatedly with my fist.

"Hey!" My voice was barely above speaking level out of timidity, and yet it still echoed across the wide, empty hall. "Let me in, The- The Four!" I hated the stupid name - it sounded so unnatural on my tongue.

"Analeigh, we should come back another time," Sam said hesitantly behind me.

I turned to look at her. "Like when? When I'm invited?" I asked sarcastically. I refocused on the door, and banged on it again. "They're the ones in the wrong here!"

From behind me, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps on the staircase. Was Sam ditching me? Was she that opposed to confrontation? I could hardly believe her.

"Sam, where are you go-?" I whirled around and froze, arm still raised in knocking position.

Sam had moved off to the side, clutching the straps of her backpack and staring at her feet. She was still as a statue.

She had cleared a path. Four bodies were emerging from the top of the steps, forming a literal line across the threshold. As they came into view from below, I marveled at the sheer length of them - it was like they were walking in slow motion as they rose. Before they even reached the top, I knew they were over six feet tall. Each.

The one on the far right had skin like coffee with cream, and sported greased up, jet black hair that was buzzed short on either side. His muscular arms swung by his side like the sandy-haired one on his side, who had the most boyish, charming face of the lot.

The next guy was, without question, the most intimidating of the group. He was the tallest by over an inch and had a mop of neatly messy black hair, with strands that strategically fell in front of his face. His expression was of pure austerity, as if he hadn't smiled in years. The last boy had wavy chestnut brown hair and wide rimmed glasses that, of course, didn't make him look any less cool than he undoubtedly was.

It went without saying The Four looked like they'd stepped right out of a men's high-fashion magazine. And they were coming right for me.

My eyes flicked down to their feet as they stepped up onto the floor. There, second from the left, were the shiny black shoes that had etched themselves into my memory.

Eyes fixed on the black shoes, I muttered, "Twinkle Toes."

All four pairs of well-dressed feet came to a stop, enclosing the hall in silence again.

"Did you say something?"

I snapped out of my frozen state, and my eyes traveled hurriedly up the tailored dark grey suit of the unfriendly, black-haired one. His dark stare was already at full intensity when it met mine.

"Twinkle Toes," I repeated louder, pointing at his polished black shoes.

My remark was met with silence, save for a surprised exhale from one of The Four. Which one, I couldn't have guessed - I didn't dare look now.

I straightened my shoulders in an attempt at looking tough, and took three hard steps toward the faux-boyband. I shot out my arm, shattered phone on full display.

"Do you know what this is?"

His eyes flicked to the phone for maybe half a second before returning to me with a single, slow blink. He was inhumanly expressionless.

"A broken phone," he remarked coolly.

A snort from one of his posse.

"Do you know why it's broken?" I asked.

"I don't care to."

I ignored this. "Your mob of... of fans all but trampled me on the steps earlier. Then you stepped right on top of it. I know," I said, gesturing to his feet, "because I recognize your shoes. Now my phone's shattered. I can barely use it."

Dead silence.

"So... you need to buy me a new one," I said defiantly, crossing my arms.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the sandy-haired boy raise an eyebrow at me. The other two looked to Twinkle Toes, who, I was certain, had to be staring straight through me. Then, after a long, drawn out moment under his scrutiny, his gaze moved up and past me, and he began walking in long strides in my direction, as if he was completely over this conversation. The others followed suit and matched his pace, even as he shouldered me to get by.

Speechless, I spun around at the moment The Four sauntered through the opening of the giant wood door. The brunette boy with the glasses was the only one to turn... all to narrow his eyes at me and close the door behind them. The click of the lock turning from inside rang through the empty hall.

A hand fell down onto my shoulder from behind me. I turned to look at Sam, dumbstruck and defeated.

"Oh, so now you're at a loss for words?" She asked sarcastically, then huffed. "Let's get out of here."