Chapter 10
Lucy
Mara has my wrist. She is pulling me out of the kitchen and into the living room. The couch is pushed back against the wall. The coffee table is in the middle of the floor, and there is, on top of the coffee table, a person.
Stanley is barefoot in his unbuttoned button-down. He has a Solo cup in one hand, and his other arm is extended. He’s reciting the bridge of All Too Well.
“And I left my scarf—”
The room screams.
“—there at your sister’s house—”
The room screams again.
“—and you’ve still got it in your drawer, even now—”
Mara has fallen against my shoulder, laughing. Gianna is on the floor between two strangers’ legs, also laughing. Walsh is filming. Stanley, eyes closed, hand on his sternum, hits the next line clean and on key.
He opens his eyes and sees me. “Hey, tutor!” He extends the Solo cup. “You’re here!”
Gianna says, “It’s not your party, Stanley.”
He replies, “Every party is my party.”
Stanley, mid-bow, takes a step that is not on the coffee table, finds nothing where the coffee table is supposed to be, and starts to fall.
Walsh and Carlson catch him under the armpits like a sack of laundry.
The Solo cup goes one way. Stanley goes another.
The bridge of All Too Well dies on the carpet.
The music swells back up. Whatever drink Mara has put in front of me is now in my hand. I take a long sip without checking what it is. Oh, it’s the punch. Now I have a beer in one hand and a Solo cup in the other. I am cracking up, laughing at Stanley. My head spins, and I can’t stop myself.
Mara grabs my beer and asks, “Where did you even get this? Do you like this?”
Stanley keeps belting the lyrics, and I keep laughing with the rest of the room.
Mara takes my cup, finishes the rest of it for me in two swallows, and hands me a new one. She is, at five-foot-three and ninety-nine pounds, a more accomplished drinker than I will ever be.
Gianna comes up on my other side with a third cup that she is not sharing. “Lucy, you’re doing great.”
The song switches, and what starts blasting is the first beat of my favorite song in the entire world.
The only one that Gianna knows will make me dance because she’s my roommate and has the privilege of knowing random facts about me.
She has held this song over my head like ammunition whenever I’m being a grump in the apartment.
I have never danced to this song in front of another human being.
She turns to me. Her eyes are huge. “This is a sign!”
“You did this on purpose.”
She shakes her head. “I swear I didn’t. Mara,” she says, pulling her over. “Tell her that I didn’t request this song.”
Mara shakes her head. “No, we didn’t request anything.”
“See!” Gianna squeals. “It’s a sign. Come on!”
The first chorus hits, and they scream the lyrics at me at point-blank range.
Maybe Gianna has convinced me. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s the inspiration from Stanley on the coffee table a couple of minutes ago. I don’t know what gets me, but I scream them back.
When the beat drops, we dance. Not the kind you do at a bar where you are aware of the strangers around you. The kind you do in your kitchen at twenty-one, three drinks deep, with the two girls you would put your body in front of a bus for. Arms up. Eyes shut. Stupid. Carefree. And so much fun.
Gianna spins me. I almost lose my drink. She catches it and lifts it over her head. Mara gets behind me and bumps me with her hip and mouths something dramatic, and I cannot stop laughing.
The songs keep changing, and I don’t know how long we have been at this.
The drink in my hand is getting low, and I’m not refilling it because I feel perfect right now.
I grab Gianna and thank her for making me come out tonight.
She accepts my gratitude by dropping it low.
I fan her while laughing. My head is spinning, so I slow down my rhythm and sway.
When I look up, my heart tanks. Across the room, in the doorway between the dining room and the living room, there is a tall person leaning on the frame with a beer in his hand. Benson’s looking directly at me.
I don’t look away. He doesn’t either.
Mara grabs my hand and spins me. The moment ends, and I let it.
Twenty minutes later, I’m so sweaty. I need water and a long minute in a room that isn’t pulsing. I tell Gianna I’ll be right back, but she doesn’t hear me. She’s screaming the chorus with Mara.
I walk to the kitchen where it’s calmer. There are a few people in it, but they’re clustered near the keg and deep in a conversation. I find a clean Solo cup on the counter and run the tap water from the sink. I fill the cup with water and start drinking.
A guy comes up behind me. I don’t turn around at first. He is just a presence at my back, off-center, the way someone announces themselves without saying anything.
“Hey.”
I turn, noticing that he’s in a Camden Wolves shirt. I look at his face and know he’s not on the team. I know everyone on the team by face after three years of Gianna’s roster recitations. Maybe he’s a fan, a frat brother, or a friend of a friend. He’s cute.
“Hi.”
“You’re Lucy, right?”
How in the world would he know my name?
“I saw you dancing.”
I sip my water.
“You’re hot.”
“Very.” I drink more water. “I’m sweating. I could drink a whole gallon of water right now.”
I turn back to the sink to refill my water.
“Can I get your number?”
I look at him and grip my cup. “Oh. No, but thank you.”
“Why not?” he asks nonchalantly. He’s mildly drunk.
“I’m not interested. Sorry.”
“Come on. I’m a nice guy. Give me a chance.”
“I’m sure you are. The answer is still no.”
He puts a hand on the counter next to my hip. Not touching me. I look at the hand, and then his face. I keep my voice at the same level it has been the entire conversation. “Please move your hand.”
He moves his hand. He does it fast. He does it like he has just realized what he was doing. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Have a good night.” I pick up my water and walk past him toward the living room. Creep.
Benson is in the dining room doorway across the hall. He’s staring past me. I look at him as I walk past. Neither of us says anything. I rejoin the girls. He goes back to his beer.
It’s an hour later, maybe more, and I am hot again.
I push through the kitchen and out the back door.
The porch is warm-cool in the way late August is at night.
There is a small fire going in the pit at the bottom of the steps.
Three figures are arranged on the porch — one on the top step, one on the second step, one on the bottom step.
They have the easy quiet of people who have been outside long enough that the conversation has stopped having to be a conversation. I stop at the door.
“Is this — am I interrupting?”
Benson glances up, and I’m surprised to see him. I thought he was inside. He says, “No. Sit.” He moves over an inch on the top step. There is, after he moves, room for me, so I sit. His thigh is six inches from mine. I am careful to leave the six inches.
“Lucy. This is Blue. And Percy.”
I wave. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Blue says. “I’ve heard about you.”
“You have?” I ask quickly.
“Reeve says you’re smart.”
“He said that?”
“He said you diagnosed his homework in forty seconds. He’s been telling everyone.”
“I was complaining,” Benson says calmly. “I was complaining to my teammates about being academically diagnosed in forty seconds. That is different than telling everyone about my new tutor.”
“He’s been telling everyone,” Blue says.
“Don’t listen to them,” Benson says to me.
Percy says, “He has.”
I look at Benson’s mortified face, and I laugh. The laugh is loose. It came out of me without my brain authorizing it.
Percy looks up at me. “Bonsoir.”
“Bonsoir,” I say back.
He looks pleased.
“You speak French,” Benson says.
I nod. “I took it through high school. I’m not fluent, but I can do bonsoir.”
Percy says, “That was excellent French.”
“It’s one word.” I smile at the compliment.
“And you said it correctly.”
Blue cracks up. Benson is grinning at the fire. I take a sip of the water in my hands. There’s a loud noise from inside. First, the music volume increases loudly. Then a big boom.
Blue stands up. “Welp. Lucy. Pleasure.”
Percy stands up. “Yes.”
“Likewise.”
They step around us and go inside. The back door closes.
“You can go with,” I say, pointing at the door.
He shakes his head. “Rather not to be honest. Sounds like Stanley.”
I nod. A long beat passes.
“Are you having a good night?” he asks, staring at the fire.
“Yeah. Surprisingly.”
“Why, surprisingly?”
“I don’t like parties.”
“A Hawthorne House party is different, though. You’re welcome to join us here for the rest of the year.”
“Not forever?” I joke.
He shrugs. “I won’t be here next year.”
I tilt my head, watching the flames of the fire. “Right.”
“So, what happened tonight?”
“Hm?” I ask, looking at him.
“You don’t have to answer, but our conversation got cut off earlier.” He puts his hands out. “I noticed that you––” he trails off. “What happened?”
I turn back to the fire, swallowing the dread in my throat. I don’t mind the question. It’s fair, but I didn’t expect him to care.
“I had dinner with my mom. And my brother. And her new boyfriend.”
He takes a moment to think about this.
“And it was good,” I say, nodding. I stare at the flames, thinking about my mom.
“Is that bad?” he asks.
I smile politely, not expecting him to understand. “It’s hard to explain.”
He doesn’t push. He just sits with me. His jaw is tight, and one of his knees is up against his chest. His hand is loose around the bottle on the step between his foot and mine.
The fire pops. In the house, everyone’s singing a song in unison. There’s another bang.
We look at each other.
He stands. “I should make sure Stanley hasn’t broken anything.”
“Yeah. I should find Gianna.”