Sweet Water(33)

Marty gives me a smirk I can’t read. “He will. I don’t know why the kid tries so hard. He attempted to keep up with Meat the other night at beer pong and nearly drowned in the frat house toilet. Someone physically pulled his head out of the water.”

“Ugh. Gross. He’s not big enough to keep up with Meat.”

“He’s not big enough to keep up with any of us, but God help him, he tries.”

I grin. “Well, as long as you keep your promise, I’ll excuse your absence.”

Marty’s smile stretches to the corners of his lamb-chop sideburns, and even though I don’t love them, they’re my favorite shade of brown and they match his warm chocolate eyes. “You’ve got a deal, Sarah Denning.”





CHAPTER 9

Hanna and I receive an invitation to the next SAE party delivered as a cryptic flyer under our door. Marty said he’d be busy, and I smile at the paper, thinking he’s trying to be coy.

When we arrive at the party, the pledges greet us at the front door. They’re polishing the lions guarding the front steps, the iconic statues that have been there since the fraternity was erected. We giggle at the polishers and learn it’s a hazing ritual. I can almost hear Marty’s commanding voice in my head doling out the silly orders. “Now, polish the beasts!”

The frat house is packed to the gills, and when I finally have enough guts to ask Meat where Marty is, I’m told he’s busy with the pledges. “Rush started; he likely won’t be available for a while.”

I’m disappointed, but he warned me of this. The live music from the living room distracts me. A Jay-Z song got muted, and a pleasant sound now fills my ears. The only music comes from a single boy standing in the middle of the room playing a saxophone.

Hey, I know that boy.

There’s a group of girls fawning over Tushar Patel as he crushes it on saxophone. I’ve never seen a kid that small with pipes so big, but damn he can play, and I love his pick.

He’s playing Dave Matthews Band, the saxophone solo from “Ants Marching.” I’m practically salivating as he knocks it out of the park. I’d take DMB over Jay-Z any day of the week.

“Kid’s gotta work what he’s got, and he’s got that good,” Hanna says.

I nod, because even though Tushar has maybe twenty pounds on me, he’s sexy as hell playing that saxophone. There’s always been something about musicians that drives me wild. It’s probably because music bleeds into my body when it resonates, and when someone can play well, it’s like my soul teems with it. Tush reminds me of Josh right now, eyes closed, playing what he knows so intimately, he doesn’t need an audience.

Josh never needed one either, playing on those steps of the pergola at Stonehenge. My heart aches at the memory of him and then at the awful way he left, fast and with no goodbye.

The alcohol is making me nostalgic and angsty.

Once Tush finishes his set, I’m overcome with emotion and make a point to tell him how talented he is.

“Thanks!” he says, and I let him recover because he’s awfully winded.

He wipes the sweat from the skin above his bedroom eyes and places his saxophone back in its case. My heart melts, and I wonder if I’m swooning over the wrong boy. “Where’s your fearless leader anyway?” I ask.

“He’s MIA,” Tush says, and if I’m guessing correctly, he’s slightly disappointed I brought up Marty in the hopes that maybe his sexy sax playing was enough to turn me his way.

“I see that.” I look around.

Tush closes his case. “I think he had a sniffle or something like that. He went to the nurse today. I’ll go see if I can find him.”

I can’t help but crack a smile at his choice of the word sniffle. “Okay, great talking to you.”

“You too.” His smile is brilliant and white, and his slim body is easily swallowed by the mass of people as he walks away.

Hanna spills beer on me as she hands me a red Solo cup. “Sorry, they overfilled!”

I take it even though I don’t need any more alcohol.

“Excuse me,” one of the frat brothers says as he squeezes by, and all the guys in the house are nice and preppy, not smarmy and belligerent as I had expected from watching cult classics like Animal House and Revenge of the Nerds. By the time we leave, Hanna is disappointed she hasn’t been accosted, and I’m bummed I haven’t bumped into Marty.

Everything is fuzzy when we get home, and I don’t know what was in that beer, but I fall into an unprecedented black hole of sleep until the next morning. Hanna is still speaking when I doze off. When I wake up, I discover I haven’t even taken off my clothes first or climbed under my comforter.

My hair smells like smoke, sweaty and stuck to my face with drool. I don’t want to open my eyes, but there’s an awful sound outside, and I’m wondering if we’re having a tornado, because there can be no other plausible reason for a whine that loud unless we are under attack.

“Wha . . . what is that?” I ask, but I realize my voice doesn’t register because my throat doesn’t have enough moisture to make sound.

Hanna springs out of bed first and peers through the blinds. She’s wearing tiny shorts and a tank top, her clean hair pulled up in a nice ballerina’s bun. She tosses me a leftover bottle of water and says, “Something’s going on out there. The campus police are flying down the roads and the city cops are too.”