A Million Miles Away(12)
He put his fingertips to his lips, reached out toward his screen, and then stayed there, frozen.
“Peter?” Kelsey asked, moving the cursor over his face.
But that was the last image that remained before there was a popping sound, like a rock dropping in water. Peter disappeared, and the screen read CALL ENDED.
Kelsey clicked on the aqua-blue Skype icon, opening the contacts window. Peter was Michelle’s only contact, and he was now offline.
Kelsey replayed the conversation in her head. Had he not seen the well-wishers on Michelle’s wall? Kelsey vaguely recalled Michelle smugly telling her that her new boyfriend didn’t have Facebook, didn’t care for the waste of time. That must have been Peter.
“Oh my God,” Kelsey said to Michelle’s quiet room. What the hell did I just do?
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the following Saturday, the Midwest had fallen into a mild winter. The University of Kansas campus was lit up, holiday lights hanging from every lamppost, casting golden circles on the limestone of massive lecture halls. Lawrence was one of the only places in Kansas that wasn’t desperately flat. Some of the hills were so steep, cars weren’t allowed to park on them. It was a walking city, anyway. It was a college town.
As the four of them plodded toward Allen Fieldhouse, Kelsey noticed Davis and his father had the exact same walk. Long legs with knees weakened by years of soccer, hands in pockets, head up, winking at the world. Dudes in Kansas basketball jerseys jogged past them, holding tall boys in paper bags. Girls in tight “Rock Chalk” hoodies and leggings staggered toward them down the perilously slanted sidewalk.
The stream of people was steady and exuberant, yelling across campus with fist pumps and high fives whether they knew one another or not, like churchgoers under some blind, divine light. It was infectious.
Davis turned to where Kelsey and his mother walked side by side, buttoning up the blazer he always wore when he was with his parents, and pointed to a giant brick fraternity house with white columns.
“There’s the smart frat!” He walked backward, like a tour guide.
Kelsey wrapped her coat around her, against the chill, and smiled to herself. Davis was full of it.
“And what does that make Delta Sig?” Anna, Davis’s mother, asked, turning up her manicured hands. “The handsome, intelligent, gentlemanly frat?”
Davis rolled his eyes. Fraternities, especially in his parents’ eyes, were supposed to turn out lawyers and CEOs and politicians. Once he made pledge, his future was set. Davis’s father, George, was one of the most generous alumni to the University of Kansas. Generous enough to have lifetime courtside tickets to KU basketball games, for example.
“Delta Sig is the anti-frat frat,” Davis said, turning around. “They did, like, reverse-psychology hazing on us. They just treated us super nice for two weeks. At first it was cool, and then you realize that it is kind of traumatizing to eat cupcakes for breakfast every day.”
George looked at Kelsey over his shoulder, and slapped his son on the back. “Such a hard life my boy has.”
Kelsey tried to keep herself from giggling. Unbeknownst to his parents, the Delta Sigma house was just a “place to crash” until Davis could find his footing elsewhere. He went to some fraternity events, frequently enough not to get kicked out, but spent most nights in Kansas City, trying out jokes he wrote on notebook paper. Kelsey had always known how much he enjoyed making people laugh. He liked to quote comedians he saw on Comedy Central specials, or reenact ridiculous scenes from the animated shows. But now he was getting serious. He told Kelsey he wanted to go to every open mic in the area, following his true dream: to be a stand-up comedian. Michelle never liked that he was going to be a frat boy. She would have been proud.
Oh, there it was. The inescapable thought. Michelle. A little rip in the wound that she would have to restitch over and over.
“You excited for the game?” Anna put her arm around Kelsey in a quick squeeze as they walked, her bangles clinking together. Since the funeral, Anna had been sending her a card in the mail every week. Not a cheesy Hallmark, just a square piece of thick white card stock. Sometimes they simply said “Thinking of you.” Sometimes there was a quote, like the last one. “Death ends a life, not a relationship.” It was weird, but Kelsey kind of liked that her support came in small doses, unlike her parents, whose new group slogan was LET US HEAL.
Kelsey took a breath, letting the hole in her stomach fill with air. She glanced up at the two men, now debating the starting five. She kept her voice low. “Is it bad that I’m more excited for halftime?”
Anna threw her silver hair back and laughed. “Not in the slightest. That’s going to be your future after all!”
Every time Kelsey went to Allen Fieldhouse, she worried that the pure energy of the people inside would bring the fifty-year-old building down to a pile of bricks. The walls and metal seats and wood of the court—everything literally vibrated. As she joined the sold-out crowd bathed in crimson and blue, Kelsey felt herself lifted. Whether she had wanted it or not, the tradition of this place had soaked into her skin.
By halftime, KU was beating Nebraska by twenty-two points. At any other court in the country, fans would probably be sitting down, smugly checking their phones, making plans for after the game. But not here. A win was a win was a win, whether it was down to the minute or an easy blowout. They would be there to the end, standing.