by Micol Ostow
I sighed.
“Wow, I think that’s pretty much the sound of the weight of the world.”
I looked up. It was Gabe, looking concerned.
Huh?
“I’m just having a—what are you doing here?” I asked.
“I love Mad Salad. Wouldn’t miss it,” he said. He put his hand on my forearm. “I kind of overheard your argument. I’m really sorry you guys aren’t getting along.”
“You overheard us?”
He jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. “I had to go. And then, you know … with the cat. And the curiosity.” He gazed at me with bemused interest. “Did you really puke on a date?”
“It wasn’t a date!” I said irritably. “It was a friend of a friend of Charlie’s.”
“But the barfing …,” he prompted.
“Sad, but true.”
Gabe burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, but that’s totally classic.”
I tried to stay frozen in irritable-mode, but Gabe’s laughter was infectious. Besides, it had been a really long night.
There was something off, though, about seeing Gabe at the concert. Something that didn’t feel quite right. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on it. But then I realized. “But Gabe,” I said, “if you love Mad Salad so much, why’d you offer your tickets to me? I mean, you could have used them. You should have used them.”
“Well, I mean, I just …” He looked down and began to toy with a nonexistent piece of lint on his shirt. “It seemed like it’d be good for you. Something to do with Drew. You seemed nervous about the visit,” he said finally.
I stared at him, struck by his response. How incredibly thoughtful and considerate it was of him to not only suggest an outing for me, knowing that I was going to have a guest, but to offer me his tickets and inconvenience himself. It was generous to the point of being odd. I didn’t quite know what to say.
“Wow,” I said finally. “That’s … that was really thoughtful of you. I’m sorry you had to go buy yourself another set of tickets. I mean, since you’re a fan and stuff.”
He shrugged. “Not a problem. Glad to help out. I know it can be really awkward when the exes come to town.”
“Let me make it up to you,” I offered. “I could buy you a drink.”
He wagged a finger at me. “No way, young lady. That way leads to messy endings. I know your nickname, after all.”
I groaned. “Please don’t tell anyone at the Chronicle about this?”
He held his hand up, a Boy Scout taking an oath.
“Tell them about what?”
I looked up, and thought, I should have known.
Standing next to Gabe and beaming brightly ahead was Kyra.
I tiptoed anxiously up the stairs to my dorm room, stepping around drunken couples giggling in the hallways. The building felt deserted despite the fact that I could hear movement and hushed whispering from behind closed doors. I reached the front door of my room and hesitated, nervous to enter, nervous to see Drew. I rapped on the door lightly, half-hoping he wouldn’t answer, though I didn’t know exactly what I’d do if he didn’t.
Of course, Drew hadn’t locked me out. He opened the door a crack, then pulled it back fully. The room was pitch-black, sharply divided by the shaft of light ushered in by the open door. Drew was wearing his boxers and a T-shirt, and his close-trimmed hair stood up from his head in sleep-sculpted spikes and peaks. His eyes were half-closed. He pulled me inside and closed the door quickly.
I glanced over at Charlie’s still-made bed. “Where is she?” I whispered, as though afraid she was sleeping under her bed, or in her closet.
He indicated to a note taped to my computer monitor: Sleeping at Shell’s. See you in the morning?
Oh.
Drew crawled back into my bed and burrowed under the covers. I stood, unsure, in the middle of the room. Given the night we’d just had, maybe the right thing to do would be to crash in Charlie’s bed until morning? But … the rumpled sheets where Drew had cocooned himself were infinitely inviting. And my conscience had apparently gone AWOL. It was Drew, after all. And he was here, in my bed. And I didn’t know when or if we’d have another chance to be together this way.
Soundlessly, I stepped out of my clothing, letting them fall to the floor. I slid between the sheets and draped one leg over Drew, pulling myself into the negative space carved out by his chest. As I touched him, his eyes flew open in surprise. I reached out my hand and covered them again. He smiled. It was all the encouragement I needed. I leaned over and kissed him. And then he was kissing me back, holding me, as though nothing had changed.
And for that moment, for that night, nothing had. We were together, would always be together, emotionally connected if nothing else. We would always have this memory. I knew that, in the morning, things would be different; we would both have to face the need to move on. But morning wasn’t for another few hours yet, and until it came, all I wanted was Drew.
Morning did come, of course, and with it the harsh glare of sunlight, sharp after a night tempered by alcohol, high emotion, and slow, hazy sex. I woke up before Drew, early, to find him pressed against me, spooning me from behind. His arm was firmly cinched around my waist, and he was breathing heavy, even breaths. I could feel his chest rise and fall. Carefully, so as not to wake him, I flipped myself around so that I was facing him. I ran my fingers over his face lightly, tracing his features, committing them to memory. I didn’t regret our actions one bit, but I knew that the moment he woke up, the magic of those in-between hours would be broken. We’d be back in real time, facing the fact that he was going back to New York, and that I was not going to be his girlfriend anymore.
He peeled one eye open slowly, as if sensing my gaze. “Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi,” I replied, snuggling closer to him.
“What time is it?”
“Still early,” I said. “You don’t have to get up.”
“I have a train,” he reminded me. “I need to be back in the city in time for that study session.”
Don’t go, I thought wildly. Stay here. You can live in the dorm with Charlie and me—she won’t mind. You can transfer. But I pushed those thoughts aside. They were knee-jerk ideas, not true to what I knew to be best.
Reading my thoughts, he leaned forward and kissed me. “Thanks for having me this weekend.”
I smiled. “Surprise.”
He touched my face lightly, and we kissed some more. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said. “I mean, I was hoping you would consider getting back together, but I didn’t, you know, have a plan—”
“It’s fine,” I said. “More than fine. It’s what I wanted. I think it’s what we both needed. Right?”
“Are you saying we slept together because we needed closure?” he asked carefully.
“Not exactly,” I corrected. “It’s more than that. There’s much more emotion to it. But that’s a part of it, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But whatever the reason, I’m glad we had a chance.” He hugged me tightly. “You know I love you.”
I nodded. “I love you too,” I said. I struggled to keep the tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks at bay. Crying would not help this situation.
“I’m going to pack up,” he said, “and then I’m going to hop that shuttle again for South Station. So I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can get my stuff together.”
“It’s okay,” I protested. Now that he was actually leaving, all of my resolve had turned to dust. “You can stay in my hair as long as—”
“Claudia, I need to go,” he said, pressing a finger to my lips gently. “And you need me to go.”
We rose, and Drew showered quickly. I tossed the bedspread back down and messily centered myself on it, Indian-style, throw pillows cradled in my lap, watching him pack and offering small nuggets of mundane conversation. But really, there was little more to say. Finally, he had finished, and there was no more putting off
his departure.
“Okay,” he said, standing stiffly and holding his duffel in one tightly clenched fist.
“Okay,” I said, pushing aside the small mountain of bedding I’d amassed, and rising.
“Look, Claudia, I’m not angry. I understand why you need things to be this way,” he said.
“Do you really?”
He shrugged. “I’m not going to lie. Seeing firsthand just what exactly your ‘independence’ consists of wasn’t, you know, the most fun I’ve ever had. I’m sure you’d feel the same way if you were in my position. But I respect you—I’ve always respected you, and I want you to be able to experience your first year at college just the way you want to.”
“I really appreciate that,” I said.
“There’s always the future,” he offered.
“Drew—,” I said.
“I’m kidding. Sort of. The point is, never say never. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine. And if we’re meant to be together again, I’m sure we will be.”
He was right. Which only made the reality of the situation that much more vivid to me. “I guess we won’t be talking so much?” I asked.
“Well, I am always here for you. You can come to me anytime, with anything,” he said. “But I think we both know that the best way to move on is, well … to move on.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with Drew?” I teased.
“I had some time to myself last night,” he reminded me. “It was good for me.”
“I should leave you alone more often,” I joked, realizing as I said it that I would, in fact, be leaving him alone more often, from now on. It was a sobering thought.
Drew must have sensed the shift in atmosphere as well. He dropped his bag and moved to me, taking me in his arms. He took my face in his hands and kissed me on the forehead. “Well be okay,” he said. “I promise.”
I nodded, and walked him to the door. One last “I love you, Bee,” and he was gone.
It wasn’t until I was back in bed, swaddled with pillows, sheets, and blankets again, that I let myself cry. I curled into as tight of a ball as I could manage and let loose, letting go of all of the frustration, tension, and bittersweet pain of the past two days. When I was done, I closed my eyes and slept.
It was Charlie who found me four hours later, still in sweats, still in bed. She took one look at me and called in for pizza. “Well just have a girl’s night, you and me,” she said. “I’ll do your nails. Does that sound good?”
I nodded weakly. “Don’t you have a pledge event?” She always did, it seemed.
“I think there’s another sister who needs me tonight,” she said, jumping into bed next to me and giving me a squeeze.
“Thank you,” I said. It was all I could manage.
Nine
LOCAL STUDENTS GET TOSSED AT THE TIN ROOM
Mad Salad Rocks the House on Saturday Night
Mix one part the raw, stripped-down essence of the White Stripes with two parts the crowd-pleasing listenability of Maroon 5, throw in a front man with more sex appeal than Usher. Shake, don’t stir, and you’ve got Mad Salad. More than that, you’ve got the reason why the Tin Room rocked to the rafters this weekend.
Indeed, though the bulk of the audience was students from the greater Boston area, some in the crowd had traveled from far-flung Williams, Amherst, and beyond, just to have their salads tossed.
The band did not disappoint. They played nearly every song from their most recent release, Eat Your Vegetables, as well as drew from their insanely popular debut album, Five Servings a Day.
The band members, friends dating back to elementary school, were happy to sit down with the Chronicle for a quick chat.
“Oh, yeah, we just love playing Boston,” lead singer Kyle Merrin said, pausing briefly to tune a guitar. “The college kids-they’re our core fan base.”
“Yeah, Boston rules!” drummer Trent Billie chimed in. “We were just down in New York, and let me tell you, those crowds get ugly. We were, like, not feeling the love down there!” He leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“They throw stuff.”
9/26, 10:02 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected], [email protected]
re: Rock stars are…
… different from you and me. But my interview with Mad Salad knocks four more targets off of my list.
Gabe let slide the fact of my being twenty-four hours late with a story that ended up being more pre-fab than fab. I assured him I’d done my best (leaving out the part where I’d had to cut the interview short after the bassist—the married bassist—propositioned me). I’d e-mailed the article to him and then spent the better part of the evening in the library. I’d made a serious dent in my outline for the pop culture essay and was feeling pretty proud of myself. I gathered my books and wandered outside for some fresh air. The roof of the library offered a gorgeous view of campus and, beyond, downtown Boston. As such, it was the site of many a smoking break and confessions of undying love. I, of course, just wanted to stretch my legs.
“Hey, Claud!”
I turned to see Charlie walking up the steps to the roof. She was a little bit overdressed for a random Monday night, swathed in tailored wool pants, polished, heeled boots, and a cashmere sweater set. “Where ya been?” I asked, indicating the ensemble. That’s what it was, really. An ensemble. I was suddenly aware of how long it had been since I’d washed my jeans.
She pointed. “At the house.”
“The House” meant the Tri-Delt mansion, located just one block parallel to fraternity row.
“I should have just assumed,” I teased. “Good night?”
As a pledging sister, Charlie was often sworn to secrecy about many of the goings-on of the process. This was for the most part okay with me, except for those moments when I could tell she wanted to talk. This was one of the moments. The dying for a cigarette look on her face was a dead giveaway (she’d been a chimney in junior high, she told me, but had had to give it up when the pageant circuit kicked into high gear).
She shrugged. “Yeah, it was fun. I mean, it was nice.”
I frowned, not sure of the difference between the two and not wanting to pry. Fortunately, Charlie was feeling talkative. “We got our big sisters tonight.”
“Oh, cool!” I said. This was, like, a thing, I knew. Each pledge was paired up with an older sister who would look out for her and guide her through the process. It was all about mentoring and fostering friendship. Which, in that case—why did Charlie look so miserable? “Not cool?”
She sighed deeply. “Anu Shah is my big sister.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“She goes out with Zach Masters?”
“Still not ringing a bell.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, perhaps that’s because the first time you met them you were so drunk on Cosmopolitans that you basically threw yourself at Zach!”
Oh, Zach. Sure. I remembered him. President of the Inter-Greek Council, no? His girlfriend was pretty pissed…. “Oh, Charlie,” I said, realizing.
“Yeah.”
“But, I mean, you weren’t the one throwing yourself at Zach that night. It was totally me! I don’t think you were even anywhere near me in the room!”
“Judging from the way that Anu was behaving tonight, I’m not sure that matters.”
“But I thought the big sisters got to pick their own little sisters. I mean, she wouldn’t have picked you if she hated you, right?”
“It’s not an exact science,” Charlie explained, shaking her head. “There are a certain number of upperclassmen who sign up to be big sisters. They put in their requests, but it doesn’t always work out. So I don’t know. But based on the looks she was shooting me all through our ceremony, I’d say she isn’t thrilled about this matchup.”
“I’m sure you’re just being paranoid,” I said, even though I wasn’t. Charlie was a frighteningly good judge of character
. If she thought this chick was pissed at her, then the chick probably was.
Charlie shrugged. “Whatever. There’s nothing I can do about it now, anyway, right? I guess the trick is to be Super-pledge. Make sure she doesn’t have any reason to dislike me.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard,” I said. “I mean, you already were Super-pledge.”
“Well see,” she said worriedly.
I didn’t like the tone in her voice. It was one I’d never heard before. Charlie didn’t normally get rattled by social situations and the like.
“Charlie, I am so sorry,” I said. “Honestly, it was just me being stupid, trying to prove to myself that I was capable of talking to boys. Which, clearly, I am not, given the stupid chain reaction of events I seem to have set into motion.”
“No way,” Charlie protested. “Ami’s being a freak. My friend hit on her friend’s boyfriend—unknowingly—a month ago? Please.”
“Good point. But you still have to make with the nice.”
Charlie leveled me with her patented Are you kidding? look. “Do you really think I wouldn’t?”
“Of course not!” I insisted, wrapping my arm around her. Her thin frame felt frail to my touch. “Enough of this sad pondering,” I insisted. “The yogurt shops still open.”
At this, she perked up slightly. “Your treat?” she asked playfully.
I groaned. “I guess I owe you.”
“Oh, Claudia.” She sighed wistfully. “You’re like the big sister I never had.”
9/28, 12:38 p.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected], [email protected]
re: Good morning and happy lunchtime!
Hola, Chicas—
Just coming from the comp sci lab. Always an invigorating way to start the day. But today I come bearing good tidings. For starters, Hartridge (who seems to like me better now that I’m wearing pants and coming to class on time) has graciously offered to let those of us who failed that last quiz turn in some extra credit. Which is a shame, really, for all those kids who were cruising straight to A-ville on the basis of my contribution to the curve. But no complaints here. At this point I’d be thrilled to make a swift pit stop over to D-town.