Chapter 7 Audrey
Audrey
Twenty-five years ago, the day after graduation
Aside from the expected sweating and congratulations, graduation was more emotional than I’d anticipated.
In nine weeks, I would move away from Bitter Creek Farm.
I wouldn’t see Stephen and Mom and Dad every day.
I wouldn’t have the Core Four physically present, though we’d talk every day, obviously. We’d already promised.
But it was the end of childhood, and God, my childhood had been perfect.
I was excited to live somewhere else, sure.
Savannah College of Art and Design—SCAD, as it was known—was in one of the prettiest cities in America.
We’d visited twice: once on the college tour, once for accepted-students day.
Mom loved it and promised to come see me.
Jasmine, Micah and I had already made plans to go to Beck’s first home game at UCONN (Micah was going to work for six or eight months before heading to parts unknown).
The Core Four would come to Savannah on Columbus Day, and Jasmine wanted us to come see Princeton before the end of first semester.
Then we’d all be home for nearly a month at Christmas.
And we still had this summer.
College would be great, I told myself repeatedly.
But I hadn’t really left home before. No camp, no cool aunt in Seattle wanting me to visit for two weeks—nothing.
Mom assured me I’d make friends immediately, and I hoped she was right.
But my likability away from Stafford was an untested theory.
By now, I’d realized that I was special because of who was around me.
It wasn’t a proud thought, but really, in what ways did I shine?
I was a daughter, sister, friend. A Chevalier.
Dr. Kate’s kid. The pilot’s daughter. Stephen’s sister.
Even in the Core Four, my identity came from what had been given to me, not anything I had done.
I was the lucky one. Would my classmates in Georgia see something more in me, not knowing my parents, my home, my family name, my brother, my friends? Was there anything more to me?
Also, how would Stephen do without me? Half of being the lucky one was being sister to him, my sweet little brother, my shadow.
That is, until he turned fourteen, suddenly a tall, handsome flirt and, as he liked to refer to himself, a strong Black man (as if fourteen were a man).
He and I talked about everything, even how he felt about being raised by a white family in the whitest state, how it was to be one of three Black kids in the entire school.
Would he be okay without me flopping on his bed every day after school, grilling him about everything that had happened that day?
Last year in the school hallway, Hattie Miller had called him the n-word, and I had slammed her against a locker, fiery with rage.
Who would protect Stephen without me? (He would, but still.)
My parents would miss me so much. When my dad wasn’t flying planes all around the globe, I was his little girl. He’d taught me to drive, loved watching me ride my horse, always put his arm around me if we were watching a movie.
And Mom was the kindest, smartest, most loving person in the world.
We did so much together . . . rode horses, got manicures, did honey-and-yogurt facials, took walks, baked Christmas cookies.
She’d miss me horribly. She’d been a little weepy these past few months, saying she was excited for me, but with the corners of her mouth trembling as the last days of high school slid past. She’d made a Freudian slip and told someone I was going to WPI instead of SCAD (as if I could’ve gotten into Worcester Polytechnic Institute).
But Massachusetts would’ve been so much closer.
Would she be too lonely without me? What would I do without her guiding me every day?
Mom had originally been very enthusiastic about me living in another part of the country.
She’d gone to Stanford, which was where she became friends with Stephen’s mother.
They’d spent their junior year in Spain together and would meet for a long weekend every year.
When Carly was going through the worst of her treatments, Mom went to stay with her.
Flew out again for the last two weeks of Carly’s life.
“Thank God we both went to Stanford,” Mom said whenever she told us their stories.
A friend so close you’d take her child and raise him as your son if she died.
I could make such a friend, too. At least, I hoped so.
But all day yesterday, a chunk of ice had sat in my stomach, too big for the space, its cold trickling into every part of my body despite the heat of the day.
A premonition, it turned out.
Luckily, I felt like myself again the next day.
Derek Shields, the most popular boy in school (and one of the wealthiest, since those things tended to go hand in hand) was having a party.
His parents and younger siblings had left for their summer place on Martha’s Vineyard right after the ceremony yesterday, and Derek would drive his blue Audi down to the Cape and catch the ferry to join them in a few days.
I’d known Derek for a decade, but in March, he’d passed me in the hall, said, “Hey, Lucky One,” with a grin.
That was all it took. He went from nice boy in my class to oh my God just like that.
For the first time, I understood why I had hormones.
I swear I could tell when he walked in a room, because my skin tingled and tightened, and parts of me as yet unexplored seemed to come alive.
If we made eye contact—we took AP English together—my tongue felt hot, and the soles of my feet prickled.
I had to seriously concentrate on forming sentences if he was within three yards of me.
Tonight, I was hoping he’d become the first boy to kiss me. I was the last of the Core Four to achieve this milestone.
The Shieldses’ home was new and huge, accessible through a giant iron gate with stone pillars on either side.
My family was quite comfortable, but the Shieldses were rich in the way that drew attention .
. . expensive cars, a house staff, a gardener who lived on the property.
Even so, Derek was a pretty nice kid, confident and secure in his future.
At six o’clock that night, we were all getting ready at my house. “Is this shirt too desperate?” I asked, pulling the edge of the crop top down so it didn’t show quite so much skin.
“Just hook up with him already,” Micah said, running her fingers through her glossy curls as she looked in the mirror. “I have. He wasn’t bad. Oh, stop looking at me like that. It was last year, before you liked him, and we only got to third base.”
With a sigh, I purged the mental picture of Micah and Derek together.
She was always talking about things like sexual agency and patriarchal views on virginity.
My mom had lectured her about STDs and birth control (something Micah told me, not Mom).
She was currently back with James, her boyfriend from sophomore year, after a yearlong break that had included her dating three other guys.
As well as hooking up with Derek, apparently.
“Audrey’s not gonna hook up with anyone,” Jasmine said, smiling at me. “Maybe some serious making out and a few gropes, but no sex, right, Audrey? You don’t want your first kiss and first sex to be on the same night.”
“Serious making out and a few gropes is exactly what I’m hoping for,” I said, and we all laughed.
“He explicitly asked her to come,” Beck said. “I was there. I bear witness.” Beck did not primp the way the rest of us did. Instead, she was lying on my bed, wearing jeans and a Stafford Bobcats T-shirt, completely at ease.
“It’s true,” I said. “Nine days ago, he passed me in front of the diner and said, ‘Hey, you’re coming, right?’”
“Poetry,” Micah said. She leaned down to inspect my makeup. “Let me do a cat’s eye on you. And some red lippie, too, so Derek can lick it off later.”
“Gross, Micah. That’s my sister, okay?” Stephen leaned in the doorway.
“Oh, Stevie-bear, are you uncomfortable with the notion that your perfect sister has sexual thoughts?” Micah said. “That she has a vagina and labia and breasts—”
“Micah, stop,” Beck said. “Stephen, she doesn’t have any of those. She’s like Barbie.”
“Barbie has boobs,” Stephen said. “Trust me. I spent a lot of time with Barbie when I was, like, nine.” My brother grinned at me. “Just don’t be stupid, sis. Teenage boys can be assholes.”
“They can be,” I agreed. “They drink all the milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge and never remember to put the toilet seat down.”
“That’s my way of reminding you that you have a brother and not just these three,” he said. “Wish I could go and protect you tonight.”
“You should!” Beck said. “No one will care.”
If he had said yes . . .
“I’m going to the movies with Silas and Matt,” he said. “Have fun. Don’t be cruel to all the boys who are in love with you, Core Four.”
Mom appeared in the doorway then, holding a tray of sandwiches.
“Some food, my darlings, just in case you’re tempted to drink.
This way, you’ll have something in your stomachs.
But I will remind you that you’re all underage, and as a doctor, I can tell you dozens of horror stories about alcohol abuse, even some that end in death.
I do not approve of any of you drinking anything alcoholic or smoking anything at all, or taking any kind of pill, powder or small piece of paper that’s supposed to dissolve on your tongue. No injections of any kind.”
“We got it, Dr. Kate,” Jasmine said.