Chapter 18 Clover
Clover
The Beverly Cleary Archival Library is the most iconic building on campus.
Outside of the shrine of a football field (for a very mediocre team), the gratuitous pictures of both the men’s and women’s rowing teams, and the Bellcliff building with its clock tower and observatory, the library is the star of every Wexley pamphlet and the home page of the university’s website.
The carpets are a deep, rich red and each of the nine stories is open all the way to the glass dome roof at the center. On sunny days it showers the whole building in light, and on the rainy days it brings the moody Pacific Northwest weather inside without the threat of being cold and wet.
Each floor is bridged together with iron railings and dainty walkways that I find myself walking across while holding my breath. The building sits at the highest point on campus and the top floors stretch above the tree line, giving way to a view of the ocean on one side and mountains on the other.
I work three five-hour shifts every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from eight o’clock in the evening until one in the morning.
On Monday night, my shift manager, a grad student named Rashid, sits me down in front of a computer for a training seminar about harassment in the workplace. It’s dry but very straightforward, and only requires me to tap through each screen.
After I clock out, I make the trek back to my dorm and I suddenly hear someone rush up behind me. Before I have time to decide if I’m running or standing my ground, a heavy arm is slung over my shoulders.
The lamp lighting the path ahead casts a warm glow on Tate’s cheeks as he beams down at me. “I thought that was you! What are you doing right now? Where are you going? I’ve hardly seen you outside of class.”
I hold a hand over a tear-inducing yawn. “So many questions at once. I’m heading back to my dorm and yeah, I’ve been working a lot,” I tell him after the yawn passes. Also, I’m technically married and told my husband I wouldn’t date anyone until we’re divorced, even though you’re hot and nice.
“Come out with me. We’ve got some time before last call.”
“Okay, first, I can’t get into bars yet,” I tell him. “And second, it’s a Monday night. What are you doing on campus this late at night? You don’t live here, do you?”
“No to living on campus, and I was studying in the library. I remembered you saying you worked the first half of the overnight shift, so I stuck around for a while and looked for you. Started to wonder if you were just trying to throw me off your scent until I saw you walking out the main doors.”
Another yawn presses hard against my chest, and I partially swallow it back. “They had me doing a training tonight and I’m about to fall asleep on my feet.”
“Well, at least let me walk you home.”
He removes his arm from my shoulder and instead holds it out for me as he tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow.
It feels wrong, especially when my brain does the inevitable and circles back to Midnight Yell with Bennett and how we spent the rainy weekend in bed watching movies in between studying sprints so I could cram for my financial-accounting test and finish my Intro to Professionalism essay.
I only left once on Sunday morning to work a brunch and when I came back, Bennett was waiting for me right where I left him.
The whole time I was gone, I felt restless with a pang in my chest. I need more space from him.
Because every time I have some breathing room, I remember that he is only doing all this to absolve himself.
As we walk, Tate chatters about his friends, people I’ve never met who sound like they should probably hydrate more and have Breathalyzers in their cars.
“Clover Walsh, I guess I’ll let you flake this time, but on Saturday night”—he fishes around in the front pocket of his jeans and hands me a small square card. “You’re going to go to this address and show this.”
“What is this for? Some kind of clandestine cult gathering?” I can’t help but feel giddy. I have never been the girl who’s invited places. “Can I bring friends to the cult meeting?” Not that I really have any just yet. Well, except Daisy. And maybe Briar, but the jury’s out on that one.
“Girlfriends,” he says with a wink.
I roll my eyes. “You’re a dog.”
He flashes a crooked grin and hooks a finger under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “I make no apologies. Woof, woof.”
My stomach swoops and I’m suddenly a little breathless. Under the weight of his attention, I simply nod.
On Thursday morning, just as I’ve mustered up the courage to knock at Briar and Daisy’s room, the door swings open and Daisy jumps back, her hair wrapped around a silk foam curling rod and mouth tape shaped like lips firmly in place.
“Mm-hmm!” She rolls her eyes and then peels back the tape.
“Sorry, forgot about the tape. What I meant to say was: Oh hi!”
“Hi.” I wave, and I can feel myself retreating already. She’s been nice to me, and we sort of bonded the other week in the laundry room, but are we actually friends?
Behind her, a hand shoots up in the air from beneath a pile of blankets, one choice finger in the air.
“Hi, Briar.”
“It’s too early,” Briar snaps back.
“Ignore her. She was up late making grilled cheese,” Daisy says conspiratorially. “She doesn’t bite.”
Briar sits up in bed. Her long red hair is in a nest on the top of her head that is held together by a scrunchie and sheer will. “Just come in before Larissa gets any ideas.”
Daisy pulls me in by the wrist and shuts the door behind me. “Larissa down at the end of the hall is obsessed with birth charts. After she did Briar’s, she decided that they’re cosmically linked or something.”
Briar pulls a pillow over her head with a groan. “The only thing I want to link is my fist with her face.”
“You’re violent in the mornings,” I tell her.
Daisy smiles and pats a papasan chair with a fur cushion for me to sit in. “Oh, that’s an all-day thing.” She opens a baby-blue mini fridge. “Can I offer you a cold-pressed juice? A jade roller?”
“Uh…”
“Say yes,” Briar says as she emerges from the pillow. “I don’t know what they put in that juice, but it’s the nectar of heaven.”
I nod, and Daisy presses a glass bottle into my open hand and a jade roller into my other.
“I was invited to a party,” I tell them and then take a sip of the dark red juice, rolling the cool jade under my eyes. “Oh shit, that is great.”
“Told you,” Briar says as she holds her hand out for a juice of her own. “Turns out having a rich roommate is great.”
“I’m not rich,” Daisy clarifies. “Just comfortable.”
Briar snorts. “Well, it takes a lot of money to be this comfortable.”
Daisy smiles as she sits on her bed with her legs crossed. She wears matching silk pajamas with little chocolate-covered strawberries all over them. “You were saying something about a party?”
“Right. Yes!” I set my drink down on the dresser between their beds and pull the square card Tate gave me from the pocket of my sleep shorts. One side simply reads “1919 Hemphill” and the other has a QR code.
Daisy gasps. “You were invited to a party at 1919 Hemphill?”
Briar snatches the card out of my hand and immediately scans the code.
“You have been invited to an exclusive party hosted by the residents of 1919 Hemphill,” she reads.
“If you’ve received this card, your cover charge has been waived.
Party dress codes are strictly adhered to and this Saturday is an ABC party.
Guests are required to wear anything but clothes. ”
Daisy turns to me with wide, pleading eyes. “We have to go!”
Okay, this is easier than I thought it would be. One girl down.
“This sounds like a breeding ground for date rape,” Briar says.
“Point taken. Which is why I was hoping you would both come with me,” I say. “Safety in numbers, right?”
“I thought it would at least be the spring semester before I got invited to a party at 1919 Hemphill,” Daisy says.
“Dreams really do come true,” I tell her. “I guess this is a big deal, then?”
Daisy nods like a possessed bobblehead. “A super rich family owns the place and guys live there by invitation only. And when I say rich, I mean, like, enough money to buy elections and own private planes.”
Bennett definitely falls into that category of rich. God, I hope he’s not going Saturday. Things between us have been too easy lately, and I need just one night to remind myself that there is life after this silly little marriage is dissolved. I need to remember that I will be okay.
Briar is unimpressed. “No can do. It’s a Saturday night. I can’t just close up shop.”
Over the last few weeks, Briar’s grilled cheese pop-up has become the thing of legends.
She even has add-ons now like pickles, pesto, and jalapenos.
The other night when I got home, I heard some girls walking down the hall, discussing a supposed secret menu.
With the dining halls closing at ten and nonexistent food delivery options after midnight, Briar’s business is booming, and Bennett has become one of her most loyal customers. (Which I have greatly benefited from.)
“Just one night,” Daisy begs her roommate. “Aren’t you a little bit curious?”
Briar is silent in response.
Daisy is quick to crumble. “Fine. You can extend your grilled cheese hours until three. But weekends only!”
Briar thinks on that for a minute. “Deal.”
“The weekends are turning out to be in high demand,” Daisy explains.
“And I can’t make the sandwiches in the hall because running a business out of your dorm is frowned upon,” Briar says nonchalantly.
“I wouldn’t say frowned upon,” Daisy says. “It’s a blatant violation of the housing contract.”
Briar pouts. “And our stick-up-his-ass RA has it in for me.”
Daisy winces. “Maybe if you didn’t call him that to his face…”
“I don’t say things behind a person’s back that I won’t say to their face,” Briar calmly explains. “And he started it when he made me get rid of my lava lamp. Fire hazard, my ass.”
“I need to start crafting,” Daisy says as she begins to furiously tap out a to-do list on her phone. “Oh! Is Bennett coming?”
I glance down at the ring on my finger. “Uh, no. I think I need a girls’ night.”
“Well, at least that’s one less costume to make.” Daisy chews on her lower lip, lost in thought. “Now, we just have to figure out a theme.”