Sweet Water(22)

“I’m sorry, Victor Denning, head of campus maintenance.” Dad sticks out his hand, and Gregory sets down the brochure on Hanna’s bed to shake it.

“Gregory Flaherty, Hanna’s father. Head procurement officer at Lockheed Martin,” he adds for good measure.

“Oh, well, I guess someone had to pull the short straw and take the boring job.” Dad laughs with his deep rasp, and so do I. Even when Dad is picking on people, it still sounds like he’s cracking a joke. The Flahertys look puzzled, crinkling their brows in unison, although Mrs. Flaherty’s forehead doesn’t move an inch.

“Right. Well, I didn’t see cable included in the brochure,” Gregory says.

“That’s because it’s not!” Dad smiles because it’s hard for him not to. He’s so alive, unlike these two stick-in-the-muds. Their willowy bodies sway for a minute as they process the information.

“So you mean . . .”

“I know the back wires of these buildings better than the men who built them, that’s what it means.” Dad slaps Mr. Flaherty on the back, and he lurches forward.

“Right, well, Hanna, we’d best be off for our dinner reservation. Nice to meet you, Sarah, Victor.”

“The pleasure was all mine. And please call me Vic. Everyone else does,” Dad says.

“Right. Okay, then, Vic,” Mr. Flaherty says. “Bye now.” They nod and exit the room in a hurry.

Dad gives me his seal of approval with two thumbs-up and says he has a few more things to take care of, and then we’ll be off for dogs and root beer floats at The O. No fancy dinner for us—we’ll save that for when I make dean’s list.

When I return to my dorm, Hanna is unpacking her stuff. I thought I was in for a year with Little Miss Goody Two-shoes, but the minute I open my mouth to say hello, she pulls out a rolled cigarette.

“Thank God they finally left. Wanna find somewhere to smoke this? I need to chill out.”

Betty Crocker’s daughter packed a joint. I’m speechless and just stare at it. I’ve smoked only a few times, and only because Joshua said I couldn’t vibe to him playing Pink Floyd without it. And I loved to listen to him play. I’ve already convinced myself that what happened in that house, with Josh, was only my fantasy manifesting itself into the briefest of realities. I’d half convinced myself none of it had even happened at all. Especially after how it ended.

I shake my head at Hanna.

“Oh, you don’t smoke?” she asks.

“Nope,” I say. Better to set the ground rules now so I don’t get into trouble later.

My worst offense before Joshua was a stolen beer here, a bottle of Boone’s Farm there, but no drugs. I was too focused on getting straight As so I could maintain the grades needed to get into CMU and use my father’s free ticket. In a way, everything led me right up to this point. I couldn’t just smoke it all away.

Hanna shrugs and sets her joint down on my end table, since her side of the room is still mostly in boxes. She proceeds to yank a black pencil out of her purse and color her top and bottom eyelids with an insane amount of eyeliner. I guess light charcoal just won’t do. “My parents don’t like it when I wear too much, so I have to sneak it in my purse. Just like high school, right?”

“Right,” I say, even though I don’t wear makeup.

“So glad I won’t have to do that anymore.” She sighs.

“Totally,” I say, although I can’t relate at all. I don’t even know how to put that stuff on. Being raised by my father didn’t outright make me a tomboy, but it sure didn’t help make me a girlie girl.

“Hear of any parties tonight?” she asks. It’s then that I notice Hanna has also changed her clothes from jeans and a polo shirt to a jean skirt, a white tank, and black combat boots. With her blonde hair pulled up in a long ponytail and all the makeup, she reminds me of a Spice Girl.

“No . . . but one of the frat boys said I should come to the fence tonight.”

Hanna stops lining her eye, blinks, and then glares at me like I’ve been holding out on her. “The fence? Who invited you?” she asks.

“Some kid named Marty. He’s a sophomore.”

The memory of Marty floats over me like a midday tease—“You have to find it on your own. I can’t be the one to tell you.”

“We have to go. Didn’t you attend orientation? Didn’t you see the big painted fence in the middle of campus? It’s legendary.”

I wince inside, as if Hanna has just kicked me in the ribs. She isn’t allowed to know things about this college that I don’t. This is my stomping ground. I was practically born on the doorstep of the student union.

“What’s so legendary about it?” I ask, because now I can picture the ugly fence, layered with years of paint, the eyesore on campus painted different colors with random words and symbols plastered on it like bad graffiti. Carnegie Mellon has a rad art program, and I somehow always connected it to that. Dad gave me the ins and outs of everything at the college to make me a better student but left out all the fun parts.

“I guess it’s been there forever. If you want your painted message to stay, you have to camp out and guard it. There’s even an electrical outlet for people to plug in space heaters outside.”

I laugh at the ridiculousness. “Isn’t that vandalism?”