59. Lydia #2
“Well, actually,” Lani says. “We decided we’re doing a…dry semester.”
I blink, confused. “We?”
“Simone and I,” she says, as if my comprehension problem was adorable. “This semester. No drinking. In your honor.”
“Don’t say ‘in your honor’ like it’s a funeral,” Simone says, swatting at her.
“We just…want to walk with you in this. It’s already hard enough trying to navigate how different this year will look.
We can make it a little less obnoxious by not waving tequila under your nose every weekend.
We can find ways to have fun without alcohol. ”
“You don’t have to do that,” I tell them. “I’m the mess. You guys can still…live. This is college, you should be having all the fun while you can.”
“We can live without an IPA,” Lani says dryly. “I know that’s radical.”
Simone’s face softens. She hops off her bed and comes to sit next to me.
“Also…it’s not all about you,” she says gently, and I flinch before I see the smile on her face.
“I could use a reset, too. Plus, Lani is enough on her own. She doesn’t even need the liquid courage to be crazy, and her liver could use the break. ”
Lani laughs, knowing it’s true. “We like being with you more than we like a shot. Don’t make it weird.”
I swallow, because my throat is doing that thing I hate when it wants to get all emotional.
“Okay,” I say, quietly nodding.
“Are y’all coming to the house with me before the football game?” Simone asks. “We’re all still going together, right?”
Lani and I both nod and smile.
“Of course,” I tell her. “Got a cute A&M shirt in there anywhere I can wear?”
“Yes…but they’re all um…cropped.”
I give her a look, tilting my head. “I asked Simone Edwards for a T-shirt…of course I know it’s gonna be cropped.”
She rolls her eyes at me and laughs, going over to her clothes and pulling one out for me. “Here, put these jean shorts on, too. They’ll go perfectly with that.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
* * *
At the Gamma house, the smell of beer was strong, like it always was on game nights, or party nights, or just…
any night really, yet my body didn’t get scared like I thought it would.
That surprised me. Scent was sometimes one of my big landmines.
I expected to get hit by it like I was doing it myself again. But it was…fine.
I stuck close by Lani and Simone, and a guy I kinda knew from a class last year offered me a drink.
I told him I was good, and he made a face like he was surprised, but didn’t say anything else and walked away like a regular person.
The world didn’t explode and punish me for setting a boundary.
I made a mental note of that—I might actually be able to do this.
“White Claw?” someone offered Simone, and she held up her seltzer with a smile and said, “Dry semester, baby,” like a little gladiator. I love her so much it hurts sometimes.
We all walked to the stadium with a crowd of frat boys singing something off-key nearby.
The night was alive in that school spirit and team camaraderie kind of way.
Like, even if you hated football, you loved your school enough to still show up and show out for them.
It didn’t feel like a dangerous place to be, no dark corners with the temptation of a stranger, no empty bathrooms with lines of coke left on the counter, just a fun time out that didn’t need numbing as its partner in crime for the night.
I watch Mason dap up Chase on the field and can’t help but be pulled back to the memory of where it all started last year, that first taste of an escape, the high of another person’s attention, how Chase is actually a really sweet guy, and has even checked on me since I’ve been back to campus, but also how I could never see myself around guys like him anymore, the kind of life he lives is everything I stay away from now.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to incorporate the two in a safe way, but I don’t think it’s something I even need to worry about doing at this point. It may never happen, and that’s okay.
The fourth quarter was ending, and I no longer needed to calm my brain and convince it that we were okay here.
I was screaming just as loudly as everyone around me as we watched our school score the winning touchdown.
Lani had both hands around my arm, jumping and screaming, while Simone was narrating the entire play.
“For the record,” Simone yells over a song blaring after the game ended, “being sober and still screaming this loud is a true public service.”
I laugh at that, loving the way it felt. We all linked arms and followed the crowd down the steps, into the ocean of students in face paint and jerseys and glitter that will probably never fully wash out. My head isn’t too loud, and I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
“Come here,” Simone says suddenly, veering left. “Two seconds. Soro stuff.”
Two seconds with Simone is never two seconds.
She tows us through a gap in the fence and onto the strip of lawn, and a group of her sorority sisters waves us over, all lip gloss, high ponytails, and oversized shirts tied at the waist. We did the hug–name–smile and keep it moving thing with everyone.
We’d barely said hello when a handful of guys from the team found the same patch of grass, shoulder pads off, eye black smudged, adrenaline still pouring off of them.
Mason grins when he sees us. “Hey!” he says, greeting everyone. He bumps fists with everybody, hugs Simone longer than normal, then looks at me. “Good to see you back, Lydia.”
“Thanks,” I tell him quietly, a little embarrassed to have any attention on me.
Being completely sober again has reminded me how uncomfortable attention has always made me feel. I turn to Lani, but am quickly distracted again by another rowdy commotion. Looking back over at Mason, I see a face I wasn’t expecting to see—Bash.