Just One of the Guys(27)

Trevor is grinning, whether at me or my mom or us both is hard to tell. “The game wasn’t over when I left. But it was eight-zip, so I felt pretty comfortable going. They’re looking great this year.”

“Please, God, another Pennant.” I relax a little, back on familiar turf.

“From your lips to God’s ears,” he says. “Gotta go, girls. See you soon. Bye, Mom.” He kisses my mother, smiles at me and takes off.

At the end of the aisle, another woman stops him, and I turn away so I won’t have to see them standing there together.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN HIGH SCHOOL ENDED, I couldn’t wait to go off to college. Home had become boring—Jack was married, Lucky was married, Mark was full of himself and Matt was, well, Matt was actually okay, though off at the fire academy fulfilling his destiny. Trevor, too, was away, but at college. I was so bored at home, so tired of the same old classmates, so dismissive of my hometown. I was dying to go somewhere where no one would know me, where I could make my own mark, to be something other than an O’Neill of the O’Neills—Mike’s daughter, Betty’s daughter, MikenBetty’s daughter, Jack’s sister, Lucky’s sister, Mark’s sister, Matt’s sister, the O’Neill sister, the O’Neill girl. I couldn’t wait to be just Chastity O’Neill. No expectations, no legacy, just me and the new college friends I’d make and all those cool professors and fascinating classes. Binghamton University was waiting for me.

Oh, and Trevor. Didn’t I mention that? Right. Trevor happened to go to Binghamton University, too. Just a happy coincidence, I told myself. Definitely not the reason I’d applied there. He was a junior; he liked it; he was a great family friend, so that was a nice bonus, someone to share rides with. That was all. You betcha.

When we arrived at the beautiful campus, I tried to hide my excitement as Mom morosely made my bed and my father glumly inspected the fire exits and sprinklers. I chatted with other girls on my hall, lugged in the tiny fridge that bore the dents and scratches of three of my four brothers, hung up my Dave Matthews poster on my side of the room.

An hour after we arrived, Trevor popped in to welcome me to college.

“Hey, Chas,” he said, grinning, gorgeous, those hot-fudge eyes causing warm things to happen to me south of the border.

“Trevor!” my mother barked. “You’ll look after her, won’t you?”

“Sure, Mom,” he said, slinging his arm around me. I tried not to blush.

“No drinking,” my father growled, angry at the fact that his baby girl dared to leave home (or, for that matter, leave infancy). “No drugs, no idiot boys. You hear the fire alarm, you get the hell out of this goddamn building, you understand?”

“Yes, Dad. Thanks.”

We walked around campus, bought the requisite sweatshirts at the bookstore, admired the big shade trees and lush flower beds. When they could stall no more, my parents trudged toward the parking lot, Trevor and me trailing behind.

“I’ll miss you,” I said. A clamp seemed to circle my throat, and panic zipped up my legs.

My father stared at the ground. “Be good,” he muttered.

I burst into tears. So did Mom. Dad, too. We fell into each other’s arms, sobbing. “Have fun.” Dad choked.

“Study hard.” Mom hiccupped.

“I love you, Mom,” I squeaked. “I love you, Daddy. I’ll miss you so much.”

“Okay, okay,” Trevor said, good-naturedly pulling us apart. “She’ll be fine. We’ll come home soon. Come on, Chas, let me get you drunk.”

“You think you’re funny?” my dad asked, wiping his eyes. “You’re not funny. No drinking, Chastity.”

“And no unprotected sex!” Mom added, buckling herself into the seat, then blowing her nose.

“No sex at all!” Dad yelled. “And no drugs of any kind, young lady.” He got into the car and pointed at me. “No drinking, drugs or sex. You understand me? I will personally kill you if I hear anything different. Love you. Call us tonight.”

As they drove off, it started to dawn on me just how alone I was about to be.

“So, Chas,” Trevor said, “you okay? I have some stuff to do, but I could hang out for a while.”

“I’m fine,” I said, wanting very much for him to hang out for a while but being too much of a tough cookie to actually ask.

“Good girl. Want to have dinner one night?”

“Sure,” I said, still gazing in the direction of my parents’ car.

“Great. I’m in the directory. Give me a ring.” He gave me a quick, perfunctory hug, then loped away. I watched as four girls surged toward him. He stopped, chatted, continued, turning to wave at me as he rounded the corner of the building.

Sure, I’d been dying to get away from the irritating, know-it-all attitude of Mark. From Jack and Lucky’s constant stream of advice and input. I couldn’t wait to go to class, read, write papers, do labs, make friends, have a boyfriend.

But it was surprisingly hard.

I began to realize how much being the O’Neill girl defined me. Here, no one knew why I ate so quickly, showered faster than a Marine, swore with such color and energy. I found out rather quickly that most college boys don’t want to be instantly pinned during a friendly little wrestling match, outscored three to one in a basketball game or thrashed during a pool match.