chapter three

I don’t see Andi again that week, and by Friday I’m more than ready for a party. Alpha Sigma Phi’s Epic Annual Welcome Party deserves its name and serves as a pretty thorough introduction to who’s who in sports at Burnham, and a who’s who of who’s into athletes at Burnham. After Andi’s rejection, I could certainly use the ego boost.

The night is warm so I opt for jeans and my Burnham Cross Country T-shirt, drinking a beer and playing video games to relax myself before starting the walk over. Dusk settles in quickly this time of year and the fifteen-minute trip is peaceful, the quiet interrupted only by the sound of moths banging into streetlamps. As I reach the perimeter of the Frat Farm I can hear the muted thump of dance music and voices, and two blocks later it’s almost deafening.

Every Alpha Sigma Phi party involves the walkway to the front door being lined with tiki torches, because the uncle of one of the brothers owns a party store and gave the fraternity a discount if they bought in bulk. Ten thousand torches later, we’re set for life. Flames flicker and people flow up the sidewalk toward the house. Most of the guys wear Burnham’s orange and blue colors while the girls opted for sundresses and heels.

“McVey!” comes a familiar shout. I turn to see Dane shouldering his way through the bottleneck at the front door, clutching two red plastic cups in his hand. Unlike most of the guys here who’ve opted for casual dress, Dane almost always wears a tie over an untucked dress shirt, and tonight he’s added a furry purple top hat to his outfit. He’s a tall, thin black guy who pitches relief for the Burnham Bears, our top-ranked baseball team. He’s the most responsible guy in the house, partly because his dad is a professor on campus and would kill him if he got caught doing half the things we do.

“It’s about time, man!” He hugs me with one arm while pushing a beer into my hand with the other. “When’d you get back?”

“Last weekend.” I down half the warm drink in one swallow.

“What? Where’ve you been?”

“Just busy.” Busy being stalked by former wrestlers and getting rejected by a chicken I thought was my friend.

If Dane notes my sullenness, he doesn’t remark on it. “You still off campus?”

“Same place as last year.”

“Have you heard about the robberies?”

“What? No.”

“You have to pay attention, man, if you’re living alone. Houses have been getting broken into. This place got burgled last week, but we didn’t have anything worth stealing so they just took some torches, which was actually kind of a relief.”

“What’s a relief?” Crosbie interrupts, slinging an arm around Dane’s shoulder and causing half his beer to slosh onto the grass. Nora’s under his other arm dodging the spray. “Knowing that we get one last night to party without shame before we buckle down and act like all-stars that get invited to the illustrious Burnham Sports Banquet?”

Nora rolls her eyes. We learned mid-July that Crosbie and I would be getting invited to the December banquet and he’s been finding ways to work it into conversation ever since.

“Hey, losers!” someone shouts from the steps. “The party’s inside! Get your asses up here!”

We turn to see Choo, the school’s only Asian basketball player, looming over the other partygoers. At 6’6” he towers over everybody and loves it. He hadn’t lived on campus last year but figured he was missing out on too much fun so he moved into the fraternity to make up for lost time.

We weave our way through the throng of people clustered in the yard and into the even tighter crowd in the house. The furniture has been removed to make room for more bodies, and pounding music has the walls trembling. Every square inch is packed with people, most dancing or trying to dance, and definitely trying to drink their weight in free beer.

“Thank your uncle for the torches!” I shout at Choo as he refills everybody’s cup and passes new ones to Crosbie and Nora.

“You need any for your place?” he asks. “I can get you a deal if you buy in multiples of ten thousand!”

“Not right now!”

A gaggle of girls shows up with empty cups and he ignores us to attend to them.

“Kell,” Dane says. “If you need any torches, just call me. We’ve got seven thousand left and it’s a major fire hazard.”

I’m jostled from behind and turn to see the culprit, a tiny brunette with lots of hair and huge brown eyes. For a second she just stares up at me, then she covers her mouth as she giggles.

“I’m so sorry!” she shouts. “Someone pushed me!”

I look past her, but the person is gone. “Don’t worry about it!” I shout back. “My beer’s fine!” I hold up my cup. “Do you need a drink?”

“Yeah,” she answers. “Desperately!”

I smile and turn back to Choo, who’s already passing one over.

She sips her beer and gazes up at me. “My hero.” Everything about her is everything I like. Glittery eye makeup, a little dress, nice cleavage, deadly heels. The opposite of Andi. “I’m Jackie!” she hollers over the music, sticking out a hand with each nail painted a different shade of pink.

I reach out to shake it. “I’m Kellan!”

“I know! Do you want to dance?”

I look back at Crosbie and Nora, who are openly observing. I’d dodged their questions about the chicken incident though I know they’re still confused, so I act like I’m totally over it and turn back to Jackie. “Sure,” I say, keeping our hands linked as I lead her into the crowd. We do our best to dance without spilling our drinks, which mostly means drinking really fast and dancing really close. She smells like apples. Applejacks, I think. Jackie smells like apples. Remember that. Applejacks. Her name is Jackie.

“McVey!” someone calls when the song switches over. “Come play!”

“What are we playing?”

“Come find out!”

“You in, Jackie?” I ask, enunciating her name very carefully.

Her brow furrows in confusion, then she grins. “Why not?”

I tug her after me as I shoulder my way through the pulsing crowd. The game is being played in what’s supposed to be a formal dining room but is really just an extension of the living area with a couple of couches jammed up against the walls. There’s a closet that used to be a pantry, the door open to reveal a few empty shelves spotlighted by a bare bulb hanging overhead. I know this game. Every fourteen year old does.

“All right, folks!” shouts a beefy blond guy I don’t know. “It’s time for Seven Minutes in Heaven! If you don’t know the rules, raise your hand.”

One scrawny guy nervously lifts his arm.

“You!” the host declares. “Get out!”

Everybody laughs as the kid hurries away.

“That was mean,” Jackie whispers.

I squeeze her shoulder. “He’ll be okay. Do you want to play? You don’t have to.”

She blinks up at me. Her eyelashes are approximately nine inches long and I wonder how anyone will get their face close enough to kiss her. “I want to,” she assures me.

For some reason it feels hard to smile. “Good,” I make myself say. “Me too.” I drain my beer and contemplate the empty cup. Then I look around the room. New pledges are identified by white T-shirts with I’M A VIRGIN stamped across the front in sparkly pink letters. “Hey,” I say, sticking my cup in the nearest pledge’s hand. “Get me a refill.”

“Ah, okay,” he stammers, getting up from the old couch and leaving the room.

The host explains that we’ll determine roles by spinning a bottle. The closest girl to the right of the spin is player one, the closest guy to the right of the next spin is player two. To make things interesting there’s a giant foam die with various items of clothing pictured on each side—tops, pants, socks, bra, underwear and pants again. When the players are chosen they each roll the die and remove whatever clothing item they land on. Then they move into the closet.

I’d played this game my first week here and gotten to third base with a fellow freshman whose name I don’t recall. She was the first girl I kissed when I got to Burnham and I used everything I’d learned with Andi when I got into that closet. For weeks I channeled whatever heartbreak I was nursing into random hookups, and after a while there was no more need for games—my reputation preceded me, parties were plentiful, and so were girls looking for the same uncomplicated good times. It was only during the incident last year that I’d really had to face just how many “good times” I’d had. The number was high, but that wasn’t what bothered me—it was how much time I’d spent working toward something that really didn’t matter. When I see Crosbie and Nora together, all that time is an investment in some sort of future. When they go to classes, they’re working toward a degree. I’m just treading water, and I don’t even know what for.

Jackie gnaws on her lip as the bottle spins, exhaling her relief when it lands on a red-headed girl on the opposite side of the circle. The girl gets to her feet, smiling nervously. A second spin selects a guy near me and his buddies whistle as he stands. Two rolls of the die later, they’ve both lost their shirts and are off to the closet while the host sets his watch.

A small commotion in the living room catches my eye and I peer over the crowd to see what it is. A new group of female arrivals is garnering attention. They’re not wearing Burnham T-shirts or chicken feathers, but I recognize the volleyball team captain from the bar. My heartbeat ratchets up a notch and I tell myself to calm down. Andi hates parties, so though I know I won’t spot her, I scan the group as best I can. And for a blessed minute, I don’t see anything. Then the crowd parts and there she is, red cup in hand, swaying to the music.

My stomach clenches. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Jackie, just as the host announces two minutes remaining in “heaven.”

I push through the throng, trying to go unnoticed as I edge my way close enough to confirm that it’s actually her, living life. And it is. She wears a plain white tank top, long black skirt and red lipstick. She even left her hair hanging loose halfway down her back, something she never does. Never did, anyway. She looks beautiful.

I don’t know what my next move is, but the decision is made for me when Choo emerges from the dining room. “McVey!” he shouts. “Get in here! We’re spinning the bottle and I’m pretty sure it’s going to land on you!”

A cheer goes up from the other participants and I twist around to see Andi staring at me. Despite everything that happened the other night I want to go to her, say something, do something, but that’s not what she wants. So instead of smiling or acknowledging her, I do exactly as I promised and return to the dining room like she’s not here at all.

The pledge is waiting with my beer. I take the cup, swallow the contents in one huge gulp, and wipe my mouth on my forearm. The room laughs, the bottle spins, and the host deliberately stops when it’s pointing at me.

“What a surprise!” he declares. “We’ve got a winner!” More cheers and laughter, then a second spin. I don’t see Jackie until she elbows her way in front of the girl the bottle lands on.

“It’s me!” she cries. “Where’s the dice?”

“Dice is plural,” says a voice in my ear. “Die is singular.”

All the hairs on my arm stand up when Andi speaks. “Do I know you?”

Her response is drowned out as the host gleefully shouts “Bra!” when the die lands.

Jackie giggles as she reaches under her top, eventually pulling out a lacy white bra. Someone tosses the die my direction and, deliberately ignoring Andi, I blow on it for luck then give it a dramatic roll. I should feel excited or at least smug that she’s seeing me move on with someone who actually wants to be associated with me, but instead I just feel anxious and let out a discreetly relieved breath when the die lands on socks.

I stick my empty cup in Andi’s hand and saunter into the middle of the circle like I’m happy to be doing this. Like I’m showing her what living life really means. “He’s not wearing any socks!” someone shouts.

“Take off your pants instead!” someone else cries.

I make the mistake of looking at Andi, who gazes back blandly. Her indifference irks me and I use my toe to flip the die over to top, then with great flair grab the collar of my T-shirt and pull it over my head. There was a time in my first year that I went a week without wearing a shirt, eager to show off my well-earned six pack. I got a lot of well-earned teasing from my friends, so I started wearing a shirt again. Now it’s gratifying to hear the catcalls and whistles that fill the room as I drop my shirt on the floor, and I grin at Jackie, who’s bobbing nervously in her very high heels.

The host opens the door and ushers us inside. At the last second I look back at Andi, expecting to see her watching, angry or offended or jealous or something, but she’s not even there. Something inside me that has no business caring withers in disappointment.

“So...” Jackie says, nibbling on a nail. “Should we...?”

She’s got her hair pulled back in one of those half-up looks, with the top part kind of teased like a princess. I reach over to push a stray piece behind her ear. It’s stiff with hairspray and again I smell apples. I discreetly wipe my hand on my jeans.

“You’re really pretty,” I tell her. It’s simple, it’s honest and it always works. Right on cue, she blushes.

“Thanks. You’re really hot.”

I can’t imagine Andi ever calling me hot. I mean, I know I never told her she was pretty, but I never thought about her that way. She was just Andi. My neighbor. My friend. My nemesis. And, for six weeks, the best sex I’d ever have.

“One minute down!” I hear the host bellow through the door.

I hear Jackie swallow. “Um, do you think we...?”

“What are you up for?” I ask, kind of hoping she backs out.

“Oh, whatever,” she says. “What do you like?”

“I’m easy,” I tell her. “If you like it, I like it.” That was my philosophy when I started here. I wanted every experience I could get. I learned a lot with Andi, but I learned a lot more at Burnham. Something tells me Jackie hasn’t learned much yet.

“Have you done this before?” I ask.

“Oh, sure,” she says too quickly. “Seven Minutes in Heaven. Who hasn’t played?” She crosses her arms across her chest, probably wishing she still had her bra.

“It’s stupid,” I say. “They like to rip open the door before the time’s up and catch you in the act.”

“Th-they do?”

“Yeah. It’s funny. Or so they say.”

She looks at the door. “Oh.”

“Maybe you don’t want to start your year that way?” I offer. “With, you know...an audience?”

“Right,” she says hastily, her laugh a little too shrill. “I thought you were going to say ‘a bang.’ Start your year with a bang.”

“That too. I mean, it’s only the first week.” Looking down at Jackie in the yellow glow of the bare bulb, she looks painfully young and I know I’m not going to touch her. I’m not a douche bag, no matter what the list of names written on the wall of the Student Union bathroom might suggest. No matter that the person who’s known me longest doesn’t want to be associated with me.

I cross my arms and lean back against the empty wood shelves. “What’s your major?” I ask.

“Oh,” Jackie says. “I’m undecided.”

* * *

Four minutes later the door is unceremoniously wrenched open, everyone gawking to witness our embarrassing embrace. But Jackie and I just stand serenely, facing the door and holding hands.

“Fuckwit,” I mutter to the host as we step out.

“Disappointed, McVey!” he shouts, as the room laughs and boos in equal parts. Our clothes are in the center of the floor and I scoop up both items and pass Jackie her bra.

“Thanks,” she whispers.

“Any time.” A few people overhear and misinterpret, but I don’t care what they think. I yank on my shirt and try to pretend I’m not looking for Andi, but I am. And she’s nowhere to be seen. I wonder if she left because I went into the closet. Or maybe she went to find a game of her own. She never liked to lose.

“Would you excuse me?” I ask Jackie. “I need to find someone.”

“Of course,” she replies. “See you.”

“You bet.”

The crowd has already lost interest in our exchange and whoops it up when the next couple loses their pants before entering the closet bare-legged. I ease my way out of the room, but Andi’s blonde head is nowhere to be found. I squeeze through the mass of people in the kitchen, my flip-flops sticking to spilled beer and other unidentifiable liquids. I grin and say hi whenever my name is called, but don’t stop. 

Eventually I spot Andi talking to Dane and Choo along with a couple of her volleyball teammates. Her hands are empty and I know she probably forced herself to drink that first warm beer, then dumped whatever else she was given. She doesn’t see me so I watch her for a moment, looking animated as she tells some sort of story, everyone listening intently before bursting into laughter. I guess she didn’t care about the closet after all.

There are a hundred girls here that are more my type. Girls who dress up and do their hair and paint their nails; girls who don’t consider tearaway track pants a wardrobe staple. But I don’t look away from Andi until I hear someone else shout my name. Immediately I duck down like I dropped something, then stay hunched as I shoulder my way over to the front door, propped open with the half-dead potted plant from the porch.

I gulp in fresh air as though I’ve been living under water. There’s sweat at my temples and in the small of my back and I try to look casual and not strangely panicked as I hurry down the tiki-lit path toward the sidewalk. Toward freedom. I’ve never been the guy who left a party first, and this isn’t exactly what I envisioned for Kellan 2.0, but right now all I want is to go home.

It takes about twenty minutes to cover the short distance from the steps to the street, and as much as I want to make my excuses and run away as fast as I can, I force myself to stop, smile, shake hands and meet people. That’s what I’m here for, after all. That’s who I am.

Eventually I extricate myself and hustle down the sidewalk, keeping my eyes down and pretending not to hear anyone else who calls out. I take the first right so I can get off the Frat Farm and away from the crowds. It’s just a block but it makes a huge difference, the road dark and quiet except for the hum of the streetlamps. The lots here are large, giving the people unfortunate enough to live behind a fraternity a bit of a buffer, and soon the thud of the dance music is just a distant memory and a lingering headache.

I start west toward home, pausing when the slap of my flip-flops is echoed by another set of shoes. I glance over my shoulder to see a figure a block away, face hidden as she reads something on her phone. My recently calmed heart immediately starts pounding again.

She’s tied up her hair, but she’s still wearing the white tank that clings to her non-existent curves, the long black skirt swishing around her million-mile legs. I should probably start running in the opposite direction, but instead I stay exactly where I am and wait for her to notice me. It takes another dozen steps but she finally does, halting about fifteen feet away and staring in surprise. With any other girl I might suspect her of following me, of this being a careful performance, a phony “What a coincidence!” But even from here I can see the tiny map app glowing on Andi’s phone.

“Are you lost?”

She looks at me for a second, then holds up her phone. “Not if this map is right.”

“Campus is ten minutes straight ahead, then make a left at the pool. That’ll take you to the bookstore. You can probably find your dorm from there. I assume you’re in a dorm.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I want to say more, but she made herself pretty clear the last time we spoke, so I nod stiffly and turn to resume walking.

“Kell,” she says quietly.

I stop. I should stomp off like the wounded warrior I am, but I stop as soon as she says my name. At least I don’t turn around. “What?”

“I’m sorry about how things went the other night.”

“When you told me you didn’t want to be associated with me?”

“Yeah. While wearing a chicken suit and one stripper shoe.”

I look at her when she stops beside me. “What the fuck, Andi?”

“Are you really upset?”

That’s probably my cue to say of course I’m not upset, I don’t care at all, but what I actually say is, “Of course I’m upset! That was rude.”

“It looks like you got over it pretty quickly.”

I know she’s referring to my seven minutes in heaven. “Nothing happened in the closet. I wasn’t in the mood.”

One of her dark brows lifts. “No? Because the volleyball team went on a campus tour earlier this week, and you know what one of the stops was?”

“What?” As soon as I ask, I want to take it back. I know the answer.

“The Student Union bathroom and the infamous lists. Fortunately I already knew what I’d find because you told me on the mountain that there were a few names on it.”

“Andi—”

“You didn’t mention it was seventy-six—”

“Seventy-what?! It wasn’t that high the last time I saw it.”

“No?” she asks sweetly. “How high was it?”

For a second, I’m stupid enough to open my mouth to almost answer. Then I clamp it shut. “Never mind. We all have pasts.”

She snorts out a laugh. “No kidding.”

Voices ring out in the dark and Andi looks around, paranoid she might be spotted in my company and become entry number seventy-seven. To be fair, those additions to the list are not real, they can’t be, because I haven’t hooked up with anybody in eons. I did, however, try to get back to business on a number of occasions, and it’s possible those attempts were documented by someone with a black marker and too much time on their hands.

The voices fade as they move in a different direction, and Andi and I start walking toward campus. “Is it okay to talk to you under cover of darkness?”

“Yes, but please stick to the shadows.”

I roll my eyes. “How are you liking Burnham? Is it what you expected?”

“So far so good.”

“Are you living life?”

“So to speak.”

“Speaking specifically, are you hooking up with anyone?”

“Kellan.” She sounds like an exasperated teacher.

“Well, that’s what living life means.”

“That’s what it means when you say it. To other people it can mean other things.”

“Like what?”

“Like enjoying my classes, going to practice, making friends, being in a new place. Feeling...different.”

I suppose I can relate to that. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Well, I’m glad it meets with your approval.”

“I didn’t say I approved. You’re still boring.”

“At least I don’t have gonnorhea.”

“You don’t have any friends, either. What kind of loser leaves the Welcome Party early?”

“Um, you?”

“I’m going home to hook up with somebody,” I lie.

She makes a show of peering around the deserted street. “Does she know?”

“Ha ha.”

“Oh wait—wrong question. Does everybody else know?”

“Wow. Not even an Ivy League school can teach you to be funny.”

She’s laughing at her own joke. “Some things you’re just born with.”

We approach the edge of the campus, the buildings dark and quiet. I see a few clusters of students walking around and know we’ll have to part ways. “Do you know where you’re going from here?”

“Does anybody really know where they’re going?”

I groan. “Don’t tell me you think you’re smart, too.”

“Smart and funny. A real catch.”

“Maybe if you don’t talk, you can fool somebody.”

She smiles but doesn’t reply.

“You looked good,” I say before I can stop myself. “When I first spotted you at the party, with your hair down, the red lipstick. It was nice.” I’ve known her most of my life and that might be the closest I’ve ever come to telling her she’s pretty. She looks good now, too, with the lipstick worn off and her hair up, but I don’t tell her that.

She blushes and looks away. “Shut up.”

A couple passes by, so wrapped up in each other they barely notice us. Something low in my belly stirs, something that has no business coming to life when Andi’s around. Something that’s more than desire. Something like...yearning.

I clear my throat. “Well.”

“Well,” she echoes. “I’ll see you around, Kellan.”