Mrs. Fletcher(74)

“Ooooh fuck! You’re amazing!”

“Shhhh.”

“Sorry.”

“Shhhh.”

You’ve got to be kidding me . . .

The last time this happened, Eve had retreated in horror. But that was her son, not her friends. This time she opened the door—just a crack—and peered inside.

It was dark, but she could see pretty well.

Amanda was on top of Julian, her polka-dot dress unbuttoned to the waist. Her breasts were shockingly large, her tattoo a blotchy shadow. She turned and looked at Eve. She seemed oddly calm, not the least bit embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s not your fault.” Eve opened the door a little wider. “I’m a light sleeper.”

Amanda continued her gentle rocking. It was beautiful to watch, and weirdly familiar, like a memory from a dream or a video. Eve took a step forward.

“Is this okay?” Julian asked.

“It’s okay with me,” Amanda said.

Eve moved closer. Her foot landed on something strange, a snakelike object that turned out to be a roll of condoms. She was glad to know they were being safe.

Amanda reached for Eve’s hand.

“Ursula,” she said, as their fingers intertwined.

Eve bent down and kissed her; this time there was no confusion, no rejection, no need to apologize. It was a long, slow, welcoming kiss, and it didn’t stop until Julian lifted his hand and placed it, very tentatively, on Eve’s breast.

“Is this okay?” he asked again, gazing up at her with a worried expression.

Eve thought for a second.

“I hope so,” she said.

Julian looked relieved.

“You’re a really nice person,” he told her.

*

I was going out of my mind, drinking alone in my room, scrolling through my useless contacts. I left two messages for my dad, but I guess he’d already gone to bed, and my mom didn’t pick up, either. Becca ignored my invitation to Skype. Wade had a midterm he needed to study for, and Troy’s phone was running out of juice. Will and Rico had dropped some acid, and they weren’t making any sense. Dylan’s phone went straight to voicemail, so I finally tried Sanjay, because I couldn’t think of anyone else, and he picked up right away.

“What are you doing right now?” I asked him.

“Just working.”

“Let’s go get some pizza or something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come on,” I said. “Please? Just one fucking slice.”

“Brendan, are you okay?”

“No, dude.” I tried to laugh, but it came out weird. “I am not okay.”

He told me I should find my RA, or maybe go to Health Services. He said it might help if I talked to someone. But I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

“I hate this fucking place. I just want to go home.”

It felt good to say it out loud, but then I started to cry. It took me a while to get it under control.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m a fucking mess.”

*

Ten minutes later we were in Student Lot C, buckling ourselves into his sister’s Subaru wagon, which wasn’t really his sister’s. It belonged to their parents and Sanjay had his own set of keys.

“You really don’t have to do this,” I told him.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I know how it feels. I get homesick all the time.”

The highway was pretty clear at that time of night, mostly big trucks barreling along in the right lane. Sanjay was a decent driver, not as timid as I thought he’d be. He was also pretty easy to talk to, and knew a lot more about sports and music than I’d thought he would, which was a relief, since it was a long way to Haddington. Talking helped pass the time and kept my mind off the fact that I was a Huge Disappointment.

He told me about his girlfriend, this Korean-American math whiz named Esther. She was a senior in high school, applying early decision to Harvard. Sanjay was hoping she’d get rejected and end up at the Honors College at BSU so they could finally be together like normal people.

“Her parents are super-strict,” he explained. “She’s not allowed to date or go to parties. She would go to the movies with her friends, and I would go to the same movie with mine, and then the two of us would go sit by ourselves and make out. But then some girl from her church saw us, and after that she wasn’t even allowed to go to the movies. I could only see her at school.”

They kept things on the DL until the end of Sanjay’s senior year, when it was time for the prom. Sanjay organized this crazy stunt where one of his friends dressed up as a UPS guy and came into Esther’s AP Calc class with this big box on a hand truck. He said, Special delivery for Esther Choi! And then Sanjay burst out of the box with a rose in his teeth and the word PROM? scrawled across his forehead. Everybody clapped, and Esther hugged him and said yes, of course she’d be his date. But then she called him in tears that same night and said her parents wouldn’t let her.

“That sucks,” I said.

Sanjay nodded. “It sucked so bad.”

*

I must have dozed off after that, because the next thing I knew we were off the highway, driving through Haddington, past all the familiar landmarks I hadn’t seen in such a long time. I directed Sanjay to Overbrook Street and we pulled up in front of my house. I unbuckled my seatbelt and gave him an awkward one-armed hug.