Finding Dell (31 page)

“You can’t think creatively under stress like this. Come back to your apartment with me. We’ll relax and you can sleep on it. In the morning, you’ll know how to defragment the space, or whatever it is that you need to do.”

“Dell…” He massaged his temples with his forefingers, his sandy brown hair hanging over his eyes. “You’re pressuring me.”

He looked up and his blue eyes were sharp again. “Isn’t this what a hurricane is? Waves of high pressure coming into contact with low pressure?”

I pushed away from the table noisily, the metal of the stool scraping tile. My elbow hit the bag on the edge of the table and it fell to the floor, sending a cascade of fries into the sawdust.

“I told you about that nickname so you would know how much it hurt me last semester,” I whispered. “If I’m a hurricane, then you’re the eye of the storm.”

I lifted a foot and stomped down as hard as I could on the food, smashing the burger in the bag. My heel ached immediately and I tried not to limp as I rushed through the studio with clenched fists.

My jaw throbbed through grinding teeth and I kept my chin tucked to my neck until I made it to the swinging door. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flicker of black hair. I stopped, hand on the door, and stared.

Her jet-black hair was longer, but her wide-set eyes were the same. She wore an industrial apron and a pair of plastic goggles rested on the top of her head. It was the same girl who had been
sitting on Will’s lap, nuzzled into his hair territorially.
She’s been in his classes all along
, I thought.
Maybe he never stopped seeing her
.

My vision clouded and an insistent burn scorched my throat, warning me that I was about to burst into tears.

I looked back at Will. He stood over the spilled bag of food, his shoe nudging the smashed burger while he watched my exit.

He wasn’t coming after me.

CHAPTER 35

THE SUN HAD
long gone down and the only sounds on campus were the jets of the library’s fountains and the dull vibrations of skateboarders in the empty faculty parking lot. Dean and I followed the petunia-lined path, letting the hazy lampposts guide our way. Tinny speakers affixed to the lampposts carried a melody, lightly audible when standing under the light.

Royal blue umbrellas announced the west entrance to the Student Union; they rose above the café-style dining tables that dotted the courtyard.

“We’ll get the most exposure there.” I pointed to a wide expanse of sidewalk in front of the Student Union. “Let’s start by the doors and finish up by the tables.”

The Student Union was the recently renovated marvel of campus. It boasted a four-story enclosed atrium with brushed silver support columns and exposed rafters. There was a movement to rename the Student Union to the Galleria after the remodel, but it didn’t catch on with the country-raised students on Seneca’s Kentucky campus.

“After all this, it better not rain tomorrow,” Dean said.

A yellow and green pail of Crayola sidewalk chalk dangled from his muscled arm, giving him the appearance of a giant in a fairy tale.

His knees cracked as he kneeled on the concrete with a groan, and I laughed. He upended the chalk pail and I reached for the pastel blue and started sketching.

The Student Union was the last stop on our chalk-graffiti tour of campus.

Dean was hosting a jungle-themed party and had assigned tasks out to his circle of friends. He and I were in charge of advertising the party on campus in cryptic notes with coded hints at the address and the number of kegs. Ruby and Natalie were committed to the decorations, a task I envied as I massaged my sore hand and switched positions. My knees were rough with gravelly bits of concrete.

“Do you think anyone will dress up for the party?” Dean asked as he sketched a tree with leaves reaching to the glass doors of the Student Union.

“I’m planning to wear a bikini made out of leaves.” I frowned at his sketch. “If you use block letters at least a foot tall to write the address, it’ll look much better.”

“Sounds scandalous. I’m sure Will is going to enjoy that.” Dean huffed as he stretched over the sketch to follow my instructions.

I was silent as I listened to the scratch of the chalk against the pavement. Thinking of Will put a lump in my throat.

Dean ignored my silence. “I borrowed a stuffed snake from my cousin and I’m going to wear it around my neck like Britney Spears, at that one awards show.”

My laugh was loud on the quiet campus.

“I can’t believe finals are already next week,” Dean said.

“You’d believe it if you saw how crowded the library has
been lately. I have to fight just to get a study carrel.”

Dean stopped scratching the nubby chalk.

“Dell, you don’t know how much you helped me with that history project,” he said. “I’m going to pass the class now. And you saved me the embarrassment of Ruby knowing about it, too.”

“It was nothing,” I said, waving my hand.

“No, it made all the difference. I don’t know what she sees in me, but I don’t want to disappoint her.”

I put the chalk down and turned to him.

“You don’t disappoint her, Dean. Do you see the way she looks at you? I’d kill for someone to look at me that way.”

“You have someone looking at you that way.”

I sighed. “Will. . .”

“Not Will. Someone else you don’t notice, not like you should, anyway. I know Alex misses hanging out with you.”

We fell into silence again, so quiet that the faint music from the lamppost speakers drifted over and I realized that the skateboarders had left the parking lot across the street.

“Anyway, thank you,” he said. “I needed to pass that class to graduate.”

“You’re welcome. But it’s not like you wouldn’t have time to make up the credit hours,” I said with a shrug.

“I graduate in a week, Dell. This is pretty much it.”

My eyes widened and I sat back on my heels.

“But you’re a junior.”

“I’m a senior,” Dean said with a shake of his head.

“You’re sure?”

Dean laughed. “Pretty sure.”

“But school’s out so soon. Natalie already started taking posters off the walls. What am I going to do without you here? You can’t graduate.”

“You’ll have Ruby,” he said as he wiped a hand on his shorts and left a dusty green streak on the khaki.

“And Natalie,” I added. “I can’t wait to move into our apartment on Cherry Court. But it won’t be the same without you.”

He smiled, but there was sadness in it.

“You’ll like living over there. With Ruby and Natalie and Will, it’s like nothing ever changed,” he said. “The only difference is that I’ll be gone.” There was a creeping finality in his words, as if we were already saying our goodbyes. “This is the last time we’ll chalk for a party at my house.”

“Don’t start talking in lasts,” I said.

“Okay. I can’t wait to hear about the first time you chalk campus for a party at your new Cherry Court apartment next year.”

I laughed and threw the chalk at him.

“What about the first time I go back to Georgian Grande because I actually miss eating in the dining hall?” I asked.

“Or the first time you walk back to Paso Fino after class because you forgot you live off campus?”

“I guess there are a lot of firsts to look forward to,” I said.

For the first time, I couldn’t wait to look ahead instead of back.

The screen door on Dean’s rented Massey Avenue house still squeaked when it opened, but that was the only familiar thing about the house on Friday night.

Inside, the living room was awash in sultry green light, an effect of novelty bulbs and cellophane. Swooping vines of green paper leaves hung from the ceiling. The weaving strands formed a thick, low-hanging canopy and the room glowed emerald, exotic.

I slipped off my sandals with a hooked finger and dropped
them by the door without taking my eyes off the shelter of leaves swaying from the ceiling. My feet stuck to the floor and my soles turned black, but I padded across the room, oblivious, to marvel at the decorations.

Dean emerged from the kitchen with a piece of pizza in his hand and a safari hat perched on his head.

“Natalie and Ruby did an amazing job with the decorations.”

“Yeah, and I hope we did as good advertising the party,” Dean said as he chewed. “Go change into your costume and help me mix the jungle juice.”

I headed to the bathroom, where Playboy centerfolds were punched through the shower curtain hooks and bare breasts hung at eye level. I laughed and shook my head, wondering again how Dean could live in a run-down party house all year.

I stripped out of my clothes and slipped into a bikini top and sarong lined with fabric leaves. As I examined myself in the mirror, I realized I wasn’t leaving anything to the imagination.

In the kitchen, Dean mixed gallons of cheap alcohol in a plastic bin. His neck bent in concentration and his face was covered by his tipped safari hat. When he looked up, he dropped the ladle into the bin, swore, and then whistled at me.

I smiled and padded across the kitchen to an open drawer and pulled out a wooden spoon.

“I’ll mix this for you,” I said, fishing out the dropped ladle.

“Thanks. I have to tap the kegs before people start to arrive.” He placed a hand on the lip of the plastic bin where the mixture sloshed at the turn of the spoon. “My mom would kill me if she knew I was using this bin to make jungle juice. During the year, I keep my winter sweaters in here,” he said with a laugh.

Dean clattered down the stairs to the basement. As I stirred the drink, I wondered if Will would show up tonight. It was the last big party of the year, Dean’s last before graduation, after all.
But after our fight in the architecture studio, I knew it would be unlikely that he come.

Thinking of Will gave me a nagging ache in my chest, the pressure that reminded me that something was going wrong again and I didn’t know how to fix it. I found myself bargaining in my mind:
If Dean comes upstairs in the next minute, it means Will is going to show up and everything will be fine
.

Dean walked up the stairs a few minutes later, but the ache didn’t go away and I knew the bargaining didn’t mean anything.

Arcs of fire cut through the darkening sky and there were as many people on the front lawn as there were in the living room.

A shirtless guy spun a fiery stick in swooping pinwheels and the crowd cheered. It looked effortless as he sidestepped, winding his arms and bending to kneel on the grass. It reminded me of being a kid, drawing shapes with burning sparklers that left a hint, a stamp of afterthought, on the summer sky before dissolving into smoke.

Bass thudded through the floorboard and windowpanes, choreographing the fire spinner’s slow steps and fast arms.

I watched from the open window. The room was hazy with low-hanging cigarette smoke and crowded with half-dressed, sweaty bodies.

Knots of girls dressed in leopard print and snakeskin clustered together, at once offended when boys ogled them and angry when they didn’t.

In the corner near the stairs, I saw Ruby and Dean, oblivious to the pulsing crowd. Ruby lifted her thin arms to grab the ends of the stuffed snake lounging around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer by gently tugging on the snake until their lips met.

A sting of jealousy crept into my heart and I took a greedy gulp of beer to compensate for the loneliness I felt.

I felt a hand on my bare back and turned.

“Will! You’re here!”

“Indescribable, Dell,” he shouted into my ear over the din of thumping music.

He leaned in close and I could smell the fresh wood scent of the studio on his shirt through the polluted party fog. In the crush of the room, elbows jabbed at my ribs and a sticky drink spilled down my leg, pooling at my feet.

“This party is amazing,” I replied, my voice already warning that I’d wake up hoarse in the morning.

“Not the party,” Will said. “I meant you.”

A flush of happiness climbed its way across my face. The fire spinner’s show crackled outside and Will’s hand was hot on my back. I felt elevated in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time, and the anxiety after our last interaction at the studio and doubt from when he slept on the couch melted away.
Misunderstandings
, I thought wildly, justifying him.
He forgot about the photos under the bed and he’s just been stressed
. Looking at Will, I knew he was supposed to be my happiness.

The crowd surged and he stumbled into me, this time gripping my shoulder near the giant hibiscus bloom fastened to my costume as he caught his balance.

He grunted a laugh. As he moved closer I could smell another scent—the unmistakable skunky sweet odor of pot. I squinted at him.

“Have you been smoking?”

He smiled lazily while his finger toyed with the flower at my shoulder. “Too . . . much . . . pressure,” he said. “I had to relax. For a change.”

His tone was low and flat, altered from his charming drawl, and I couldn’t tell if he was accusatory, as if I were to blame for his recent anxiety. Or maybe I was just paranoid. I wished I
could blame it on a contact high instead of insecurity.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he said.

Will took my hand in his as he weaved through the crowd. I trailed him eagerly, feeling a giddy relief that he wasn’t mad at me anymore.

Dean and Ruby blocked the stairs, only letting up trusted friends. They moved aside to let us upstairs. Dean didn’t glance up from Ruby’s face, but she looked away long enough to smack my butt with the end of the stuffed snake and smile mischievously.

“Have fun, you two!” she called in a singsong voice.

Will ambled into a bedroom with wood-paneled walls and a mattress on the floor. He sat down and his knees rose up in front of him. He patted a spot on the bare mattress next to him and I sat with my legs extended, trying to demurely cover the expanse of skin that my leafy sarong revealed.

He ran a hand along my bare leg and tilted his chin as he looked at me. His eyes were dull, a little bloodshot, but they had that sparkle of knowing in them. He guided me to my back and slid on top of me. Without any sheets, the mattress was lumpy and slick under my back. His gold-dusted hair tickled my cheek as he kissed from my shoulder to my neck, but it wasn’t until he brought his lips to mine that I remembered he was high. He seemed oblivious to the smoky taste, but I cringed.