During my media seminar, the professor calls each person to her desk to chat about our independent project. This assignment is worth a huge portion of our grade and is intended to be used in our portfolios to help us get internships and co-op placements in our second year. MyTCU Mysteriesweb series with Mia was supposed to be my project, but after Mia dropped me to do the skincare one with Taylor, now I need a new one.
My professor, Sarah, frowns when I tell her that my plans have changed. “I loved the sound of that series! Such a great connection to investigate mysteries associated with the school. May I ask why you changed your mind?”
“I had a falling-out with my cohost.”
“Is there any reason why you can’t do it alone? It doesn’t need to be a video series—a solo podcast would be great.” Sarah looks down at her notes. “If I remember correctly, you’re hoping to specialize in investigative journalism, right?”
I nod.
“Hmm. While I love the concept of theTCU Mysteries, I do think covering a different mystery each episode probably wasn’t the best way to demonstrate your investigation skills. It would be better to focus ononemystery. Investigate every avenue. Interview everyone you can. Do a real deep dive.”
“So do the podcast alone with only one topic?”
Sarah shrugs. “It doesn’t even need to be a podcast. A long-form piece or a documentary would work. Think about what you want to do, not just for your co-op term, but in yourcareer. Are you dreaming of print media? Then do a long-form article. TV? Do a web series. Demonstrate your passion! And make it relevant. Find a personal connection to the subject matter, like a mystery associated with the university, or maybe a scandal in your family—or anything, really.” She smiles. “A personal connection in an investigative piece makes it all the more compelling. Show me a first draft next week. I have faith you can do this!”
At least someone has faith in my ability. I certainly don’t.
After my last class of the day, I head back to East House. I’m nervous, though. Is the mystery prankster going to message me again? Maybe I can just delete the ResConnect app from my phone. Would that stop the hallucinations, or would they find another way to torture me? I need the app, though, for residence announcements and for the daily menus for the dining halls. But I turn off notifications. When I get in my room, I grab Tentacle Ted from his resting place on the bed by the window (I refuse to think of it as Jay’s bed), give him a hug, then toss him on my bed. I sit at my desk and open my laptop to find a topic for my media project.
When I was a kid, Dad and I used to listen to a weekly radio show on CBC about mysteries, and it would be a dream to do something like that one day. I am a realist, though; I know it’s a long shot. The entire media landscape is nothing like it was then. But Sarah said my project should align with my passions, and doing a ton of research to solve amystery is my passion. That, and good food. My stomach rumbles. I need to think about dinner soon.
After spending some time digging for a scandal or mystery connected to my own family and background, I give up. My family is the most boring immigrant family ever. My grandparents on both sides are Gujarati Indians who came from East Africa in the seventies, and they’re all healthy and still living in Canada. My parents met in the nineties at their prayer hall in Toronto, got married when they were twenty-three, had my brother, and then had me. When they got tired of city living, they moved to Alderville. Dad’s a tech consultant, Mom’s a librarian. Neither is the scandal type.
I googlefamous Toronto mysteriesand scan the hits. The irony of searching for a mystery to investigate while I’m actively avoiding a mystery of my own isn’t lost on me. Maybe the obvious choice hereisto investigate Jay’s disappearance. Mia said there were already several student podcasts about the case. Why couldn’t I be one of them? Even forgetting the mysterious messages on ResConnect, I’m literally living in his former room. That’s about the closest personal connection I can think of without actually knowing the guy. And I have another advantage over all the other amateur sleuths—I have a box of his crap in my closet that I could search through for clues.
But even though Jay was quite rude when he messaged me yesterday (or my mind’s construct of him was quite rude), I have no intention of violating the guy’s privacy and going through his things. I want nothing to do with Jay, with bird-watching, with his several girlfriends, or with any other bizarre thing I’ve learned about him since moving into this room. It’s unsettling enough to be living in a space where someone disappeared without a trace. Investigating it closely would only make the whole situation even creepier. No, I’m going with my original plan to ignore the existence of Jay Hoque. Hopefully someone will take his stuff soon, and I can pretend he was never in this room.
After reading about mysteries for a while, I narrow in on an old theater tycoon and playboy who disappeared in 1919 after depositing amillion dollars into the bank and walking out of his apartment. True, a white millionaire man disappearing more than a hundred years ago has absolutely no relevance to me at all, but years after his disappearance, the man’s family’s home was sold to Toronto City University and turned into a student residence: East House. He wasn’t living here when he disappeared, but the fact that I’m now living in his house is hopefully enough of a personal connection for the professor.
My stomach rumbles again. I really don’t want to go to the Tower dining hall for dinner. After what happened this morning with Gracie, I don’t want to see anyone from East House. Maybe I should go to another dining hall? Definitely not the one in my old building—it may be the best in the school, but I don’t want to see Mia either. I know I’d feel even worse about myself sitting alone while my former friend ignores my existence.
I decide on the new Indian kiosk at the dining hall at the other end of campus. I have no idea why the school took so long to provide Indian food, but their chicken korma bowl is out of this world. They even make homemade roti almost as good as my grandmother’s. But they don’t make the korma every day.
I open ResConnect on my phone. As I’m searching for the menu for the Indian place, a message from the chat comes onto the screen. Damn it. There’s no way to turn off notifications while you’reinthe app.
Jay:So now you’re back. You need to fucking leave me alone. This isn’t funny.
I stare at the phone, my heart racing in my chest. It’s him again. And he’s grumpy. It’s bad enough that someone hacked into ResConnect to prank me, but does he have to be such a dick while doing it?
Jay:I have no idea how you’re making all your information appear and disappear, but I’m taking screenshots this time so Kegan and the campus police will believe me. This is your last warning. Leave me alone. This is harassment.
My hackles go up.
Aleeza:You’re the one harassing me, not the other way around. All I’m doing is sitting in my room trying to decide what to eat for dinner.
Jay:Good. Stay in your room. You’ve canceled the transfer to East House then? Maybe the system hasn’t updated yet.
Aleeza:I’m IN East House. Like right now. Sitting in 225 with Ted, checking what curries the Indian kiosk in Central has tonight. Leave me alone, or I’m calling campus police.
There is no response for a while. Good. I finally have him scared. This joke has gone on long enough. I return to the dining hall menu and see that the Indian place is doing beef vindaloo tonight. Drat.
Jay:The Indian place in Central Dining isn’t open yet. I petitioned student services last year to get them to add it. We have a lot of international students from the Indian subcontinent at TCU, I don’t know why it’s taking so long.
Maybe thisisa hallucination, because it’s no surprise that my subconscious brain would go on unnecessary tangents about food like my conscious brain always does.
Aleeza:Whoever you are, stop. You are not Jay Hoque, and you are not in room 225. You’re impersonating a real person for shits and giggles. I’m taking my own screenshots to show campus police.
Jay:I AM JAY HOQUE. And I’m sitting right here in my room trying to figure out how you can also be in room 225 when I’m alone.
