The Rest of the Story(35)

“This game’s done,” Blake announced, glancing at the TV. “You up for some beer pong?”

“I’m not much of a drinker,” I told him. “But I’ll cheer you on if you play.”

“Yeah?” He seemed surprised by this, even touched.

“Sure,” I said.

He smiled, then got to his feet, picking up his cup. Before moving, though, he waved a hand in front of him, signaling I should go first. That’s sweet, I thought. As was the touch of his hand, which I felt briefly on the small of my back as I started toward the kitchen. Was this what it really felt like to have a boy interested in you? Girl falling in love at the lake was my mom’s story. But maybe it could still be mine as well.

“Great minds,” Blake said, waving a hand between us. “It’s hot as balls in there.”

That wasn’t exactly how I would have put it, but he wasn’t wrong. Hannah and Rachel had returned, the beer pong game began, and I watched as Blake lost three rounds in a row. Meanwhile, a bunch of servers and waiters, off their shifts from the Club restaurant, began to show up, taking the room from crowded to outright packed. Unlike at Mimi’s, the A/C couldn’t keep up. I’d basically had to leave before I melted.

Still, I hadn’t expected Blake to follow me outside, as this was technically his party. Then again, he had downed several beers in a short period. He probably needed air even more than I did.

“Having fun?” he asked. “I mean, aside from the hot-as-balls part.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“You sure you don’t want a beer? We have plenty.”

I shook my head. “No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. It’s just in college, when people are sober, there’s usually a reason. Religion. A problem. Parents super strict. Or something.”

“Nothing like that,” I said, and he nodded. I thought maybe I should explain more, tell him about my mom. But something stopped me. “Just not my thing.”

“Ah. Got it.” He snapped his fingers. “Speaking of parents, I wanted to show you something.”

“Is it your parents?” I asked in a deadpan voice. “Because if so, you might want a mint. And some coffee. And a chance to make better choices.”

“What?” he said.

Again, I thought of Roo, nodding as I discussed my humor. Clearly, Blake was not of our people. “Never mind,” I said. “Show me.”

I followed him down the sidewalk. At the end of the row, there was a laundry room, a dryer inside banging loudly, as well as a bulletin board with the clearly ignored rules of NO PARTIES and NO GUESTS. After that, the walkway ended, but Blake kept going, hanging a left into the dark behind the building. We passed a row of shrubs before coming up on a blank bit of wall, a pair of floodlights shining down it.

“I give you,” he said, “the Campus wall.”

What I was looking at was a square expanse, maybe six feet by eight feet, weather-worn and streaked with dirt. It looked in need of a power washing, not our attention. “It’s nice?” I ventured.

“Nice?” He sighed, then stepped closer, right up to it, gesturing for me to do the same. “It’s history. Look.”

I stepped up beside him. As I did, I saw what I’d thought was dirt and blotches were actually signatures, tons of them, stretching from one side to the other. KENT RAMENS KITCHEN WARRIOR! CLASS OF 1987. ELIZABETH WAS HERE ’94. ALEX AND EVIE, 7/20/2000–4EVER. It reminded me of the pictures under glass in Mimi’s office, all these memories, but in words, not images.

“When was your dad here?” Blake asked me now. “Do you know?”

I thought for a second. “The late nineties, I think.”

He bent down to study something scribbled by one of the bushes. “I’ve seen some from then here for sure. Unfortunately, they’re not in any order. You just sign where you find a spot.”

“Have you?” I asked.

“Yep. It’s up there.” I looked where he was indicating, scanning the scribbles above us to the left. Finally, I found it: BLAKE R., DOCKS Y’ALL! ’18. Colin’s signature was below.

“You do it every summer,” I said, clarifying.

“At the end of summer. The bash on the last night. It’s a ritual.”

I looked back up at all those names and dates, wondering if my dad’s really was up there someplace. It was weird, picturing him at Blake’s age, maybe with my mom nearby. And now here I was, brought to this same place all these years later. It seemed crazy, and fated, hitting me all at once, so that I felt unsteady even before I turned to find Blake right there, his face close to mine.

“Hi,” he said softly. Up close the freckles weren’t so noticeable, which was weird.

“Hi,” I replied. I could see a name in my side vision—MARY!—with a heart, but only for a second, because then I was closing my eyes and he was sliding his arms around my waist and kissing me.

I’d waited so long for this moment, my first real kiss, and envisioned it in a million different ways. None of them, however, involved a wall, the thought of my mom and dad, and then, just as I’d managed to push these things away, the sudden sound of someone yelling.