by D. A. Maddox
Steps coming her way. It was the customer girlfriend. The waitress girlfriend stayed behind the bar, still aglow from the kiss.
Savannah’s dad warned her she was too prone to apology in circumstances where she’d done nothing wrong. Nevertheless, she had a fresh one ready on her lips when the other woman spoke, leaning in by half a head before exiting the building. Her rich, chestnut-colored hair nearly brushed Savannah’s face. Pink fingernails drummed on her table.
“Get your own, Swiss Miss,” she said, but not unpleasantly.
Get my own what? Savannah wondered, watching the door swing shut. Girlfriend?
She thought of Nurse Sustrick, how she had allowed her to massage her down there as intimately as she had, knowing the examination was over—the medical examination, anyway. It had just … felt so nice, and she’d been taken so far beyond the boundaries of her modesty by then already…
“Hey, Sis!”
It was Alisha, striding into Finney’s like she owned the place and plopping down opposite Savannah. Her presence drew the attention of Steve-O right away, who advanced on their booth with his notepad drawn.
“Alisha—” Savannah started.
“Yeah, I know. I checked through the window—okay, I wanted to see what he looked like. But you were unencumbered, so…”
That’s what I get for leaving a note for my sorority sister. Probably came off like a giddy schoolgirl, too, with all those triple exclamation points at the end of sentences and everything …
“Yeah, but—”
Alisha turned her bright, smiling countenance to Steve-O and addressed him with a far more convincing Irish accent than he had employed. “Hey, laddie, that’ll just be a wee bit of the old ‘Diet Coca-Cola’ in a paper cup with ice. To go, don’t you know.”
Steve-O turned with a sigh and went to get it. He didn’t bother asking Savannah if she was ready for anything yet. Fortunately, when next Alisha spoke, her voice was back to normal.
“So, where’s He-Man? Tarzan? Conan the—”
“Scott.”
“Yeah, him.”
Savannah spread her arms as if to say, No clue, as Alisha got her soft drink and paid for it.
Once Steve-O was safely back out of earshot, she intoned, “And how was the dreaded twenty-first birthday checkup?”
Savannah was about to answer when, through the window, she saw Scott jogging—almost running—across the street, as if he were every bit as aware of his lateness as Savannah was. Good, she thought before she could stop herself. Thought you’d stood me up.
She pointed. “Scram, Sis. Please.”
“My God. Ain’t he a hunk of burnin’ love?”
“Alisha—now.”
“I’m out,” she said, reaching over for a quick press of Savannah’s hands before taking her cup and retreating with it. “Smile,” she said. “Look happy. Be happy.”
Savannah tried. She thought, Oh, Alisha. If only you knew what today’s been like.
Alisha crossed Scott’s path at the door, meeting him with a shake of her head and tapping her watch. “Huh, uh. That is not how you make a good first impression, Biff. No way.”
Then she was gone.
Scott stood there, rather flabbergasted. Sweating.
Savannah waved him over. “Well, you’ve met my best friend, and you survived,” she said as he slid into the place Alisha had just vacated, “Congratulations.”
He was only ten minutes late. And he was somehow even cuter, with that distressed look on his face. It actually put her more at ease.
“Savannah, I’m sorry,” he said. “Been a hell of a morning.”
“Tell me about it.”
He nodded, oddly serious. “I will,” he said, holding his hand up for Steve-O. “But first, how about I buy you that beer?”
****
She told him the only beer she’d ever had was light American beer, and she was open to recommendations. The truth was that he’d only had a month and a half to legally experiment, himself, but this was his pub of choice. “I wouldn’t go Guinness,” he said, “despite its popularity. Or any of the thick, dark stuff. It’s like drinking a meal. Pick a pale ale.”
“One O’Hara’s?” she tentatively said to Steve-O. She had her hair down—literally, if not in a figurative sense. Scott quite liked the way it curled a bit around her chin before coming to rest on her shoulders, as if it, too, were taking it easy after the morning workout.
“That’s good!” he said, sincerely. “Two, okay? Frosted glasses, please.”
Steve-O tipped his ballcap. “Comin’ up,” he said, and chucked Scott on the shoulder before going to get them.
“You two know each other?” Savannah asked.
“Not really,” Scott said, “Been here a few times, drinking my Irish roots with a friend or two.”
Savannah raised an eyebrow, but her voice was still quiet when she remarked, “Lachance doesn’t sound very Irish to me.”
“Archeologist,” he came back sagely, nodding. “Probably good with genealogy and family coats of arms and things like that, too. You must think I’m as French as French fries, name like Lachance.”
“Those are American,” she said, setting her beer on a table napkin and offering a word of thanks to Steve-O.
Scott sat back and let himself just smile at her. “I thought you were the shy one.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Usually I am.”
He raised his glass. “Happy birthday,” he said, clicking it to hers, chuckling at her change of expression after the first sip went down.
“Oh, man,” she said. “That’s light, but it’s not Miller Lite.”
“No,” Scott agreed. “And the Irish is my mom’s side of the family. The Fagans of Dublin and Philly have leprechauns jumping out of their god-damned ears.”
Savannah almost snorted beer on her second sip. But she caught it, swallowed, then managed, “God! Don’t do that. Jerk.” But she didn’t seem too upset.
“Okay,” Scott deadpanned, “This is me, turning off the funny…”
She rolled her eyes.
“Had a thought maybe you could use some funny today,” he said, then quickly changed the subject. He indicated the Greek letters on her tee shirt, which to him were indecipherable. “Sorority girl?”
“Gamma Phi Beta,” she answered. Then, with finger quotes, “‘We aspire towards excellence in all that we do’.”
“What a pain in the ass for you.”
“Yeah. I’ve been told it’s a problem. Frat boy?”
“Na, just a dorm moose-on-the-loose,” he said, referring to the university mascot. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got plenty of school spirit and all, but the only organization with any claim on me here is the crew team. You want an appetizer? On me—your special day.”
“Thanks, Scott. I really can’t.” She took another sip of beer, eyebrows arching again. Then, with an unladylike rim of foam over her upper lip, “Maybe another one of these things, though.”
I like her, God, Scott half-thought, half-prayed, hailing Steve-O back to their table. Please let her like me back.
“Whatever you want,” he said.
****
But two was her limit. Savannah had class at three-thirty, then the birthday after that.
“What’s the ‘birthday thing’?” Scott asked after the tab was paid, walking out with her back in the direction of the Commons. “I mean, that’s a strange thing to call a party, if that’s what it is.”
Somewhat liberated by the beer, perhaps, adjusting the position of her backpack, Savannah answered, “If that’s what it was, I’d ask you to come.”
“Really?” Scott said, and the happiness in his voice almost made her happy, too.
“Sure,” she said. “But … it’s not. I don’t want to talk about it, though—not until it’s over. Is that okay? It’s just—”
“It’s fine,” Scott said. “Stop me if I’m being pushy. Like I said, it’s been a hell of a day.”
“Hopefully a
little better now?”
She didn’t stop him when he took her hand. It was awfully soon for that, but she still didn’t stop him.
“A lot better now,” he said. “You don’t look like the day’s been all roses for you either, Savannah.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t pry. She didn’t especially want to get into any of it with him—nor to make him feel as though he was being pushy.
She wanted him to say something witty. She wanted to say something witty back.
Small talk.
Build some trust.
“I think I might,” Scott said, looking around before continuing. “I got an email this morning, too.”
****
“Okay,” Savannah admitted at length. “You officially know half of it.”
Five seconds had passed before she was able to say that. On top of everything else—this. Were they being set up? If so, it felt more like being “set up” for a fall than being “set up” in a matchmaking sense.
“Did you know that when you asked me out?” she asked. It wasn’t an accusation, only an honest question. For a hot, uncertain second, she wanted to cry—but she sucked it up by adding, “Is that why you did it?”
“No, Savannah,” he said, looking her dead in the eyes. “Hell, no. I didn’t even know they selected you until after I got back from the gym. They’ve contacted me twice.”
Either he was a very good liar, or that was the truth. She decided to believe him. After the revelations from Nurse Sustrick this morning, she needed to believe somebody. “Twice for me, too,” she said, not mentioning that her second contact hadn’t been sent via email.
“Come on,” Scott said, leading her to an unoccupied park bench, easing the pack off her back and sitting with her. He seemed to want to put as much distance as he could from the other students meandering around the grounds, and he lowered his voice. “I don’t know much, Savannah. I know my friends Zeke and Rusty are a part of it, but I don’t think they chose us. I don’t know who sent the emails—”
“Me neither,” Savannah said. Then, without thinking, “Did they give you a box with a bunch of creepy clothes in it?”
“Creepy” might have been too strong a word. The box Nurse Sustrick had given her contained a plain white shawl, a sleeveless white gown, a lacy pair of panties that tied off at the side like a bikini bottom, and cheap slippers. What had been creepy were the instructions that went with them: Wear nothing else.
“There’s nothing about this that isn’t creepy,” he said with some heat, “but yes. We should just stiff ’em, Savannah. I mean, who do these people think they are, anyway?”
She’d had similar thoughts, back before the email came through her student inbox. The Select—how pompous was that? But what she said, rather softly, was, “They’re the oldest active society in the school, Scott. Aren’t you a little curious?”
She’d been given more information than he had. It was their way, when it came to girls. They’d tempted her, through Nurse Sustrick.
Blindfolds … They’ll count to ten … They’ll break the Behavior Reformation Laws.
She imagined it, being blind, being held at the wrists by men she couldn’t see, an invisible finger undoing the knot at her hip. Really, it ought to terrify her, not tempt her.
Scott let her hand go. “Yes,” he said again, this time making it sound like a confession, one he was reluctant—or ashamed—to make. He sat back on the bench, no longer facing her directly. “It’ll bug me until the end of time if we don’t go, that curiosity. Sure, it will.”
We, he’d said. What would he think if she chose to go without him? It wasn’t like they were engaged. They’d only just met, in terms of actually talking to each other and not just silently working out at the gym.
He was looking at her again, sidelong. “I think I could handle the not knowing, though, if you went out with me instead. Friday, just the two of us. Like normal people, Savannah. Dinner and a movie, miniature golf, something.”
“Miniature golf?”
“Something dumb and fun—and safe. Tell me something you like to do. It would be more than enough for me. I’ve been building up the nerve to ask you out for weeks.”
Savannah put her hands in her lap, studied them. He had been building up nerve to ask her out?
You’re blowing it, she warned herself.
“Sorry,” Scott said. “That was pathetic.”
“No,” she said, “it’s sweet—and I don’t mean that in a condescending way. No one’s ever said anything like that to me before. I mean, we hardly know each other, but…”
“But this is how people get to know each other,” he said, turning to her again, insistent. “We don’t have to go to this stupid ‘Origins Fete’. That much I know for sure. It’s a choice.”
He likes you, Savannah, she thought. He doesn’t want anything from you except you. Don’t ruin this.
But … she was already keeping the secret from Alisha. She’d accepted the box from Nurse Sustrick, then tucked it away under her bed. Every instinct in her mind and heart drew her inexorably closer to making this choice, to making it in the affirmative, because saying no—whether politely declining, or just not showing up at that critical moment of fear and self-doubt—was what she always did. With everything.
“You don’t have to do it, Scott,” she said, “but I think I do. I … haven’t taken many chances. I feel like I haven’t done anything in twenty-one years.”
If she expected an argument, some alpha-male attempt to change her mind, it didn’t come. Instead, Scott said, “I understand. But if you go, I’m going, too.”
“Scott, no, don’t put that on me. Please—”
“And that would be my choice, not yours,” he said. “No one but myself to blame if I regret it later. We still have a couple of days, Savannah. We at least have tomorrow, if today’s all used up.”
Savannah drew her phone from her back pocket. 2:55. As far as she and Scott went, yes, today was almost used up. She had to go—but she had one more thing to do first. Suddenly, it was clear to her. And part of it was a lie.
“Swap phone numbers?” he ventured, nudging her.
“I haven’t made up my mind all the way about the Origins Fete,” she said. “Neither have you, even if you think you have. It’s going to be on our minds all day tomorrow.”
Again, he didn’t argue.
“We can’t make this decision together, Scott. Maybe if we knew each other better—”
“Hey,” he cut in with soft protest. But Savannah wasn’t done.
“After Friday, we try this again. We swap phone numbers then. We play miniature golf then—without this hanging over our heads. I need you to make your own choice, for real, without thinking about me.”
He stared at her.
“Who knows? Maybe Saturday we’ll find out we both decided to stay home.”
She could tell he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t fight, either.
“Let’s do one thing,” he said instead, reaching out to her, cupping the side of her cheek. “Something safe, before either one of us does anything crazy. Just one thing before everything changes. Because it will change, Savannah. You know it. There’s no way it won’t.”
“What’s th—” she started, but before she got the second word out, Scott pulled her in for a kiss.
She let it happen. She supposed she saw it coming. She wanted it, and she kissed him back. Right out in there in the open—like so many others, every day—they kissed. Scott kept his hands to the side of her face and her shoulder, slipping just once for a gentle squeeze to the bare skin of the back of her arm above the elbow.
She allowed his tongue in her mouth, which she’d never done before. Felt the back of his teeth with her own, tasting a faint, residual hint of O’Hara’s Pale Ale. She ran her hand over the short growth of hair on the back of his head. Closed her eyes. Let it continue until the clock tower struck three.
She pulled back. “I li
ke you, Scott Lachance,” she said. “Whatever happens on Friday, that doesn’t change.”
He grinned at her. And for the first time since they had started talking to each other this morning, the blush was in his cheeks instead of hers. “I know what you said about phone numbers,” he promised. “I won’t ask for yours.”
But he held up his own phone, which was alight with his profile. His number. Savannah had an excellent memory. She wouldn’t forget it, even if she tried to.
“If you change your mind about tomorrow,” he said, “my last class ends at four.”
“You’re wicked,” she said, shaking her head.
The top of which he gave another kiss as he stood from her. “If I’m the wickedest person you meet this week,” he said in parting, “then we’re both lucky.”
Chapter Four:
Visitation
Pandora’s box, Alisha thought, is under my best friend’s bed.
Between them, there was no hiding anything—and it wasn’t just that they were so close. Their quarters were that close, too. Between their beds, their separate desks, their shared dresser, closet, and nightstand, there was hardly room to walk. Each knew the other’s catalogue of personal possessions down to the last sock, and they shared freely, for the most part. Under-the-Bed was an explicitly defined “no touch” zone that they both respected.
It was six-fifteen. Savannah would be out of Religion as a Cause of War and Peace in fifteen minutes, back in the sorority house at a quarter ‘til seven. There, Mandy would stop her and lead her to the kitchen unit—to the special birthday present Alisha had prepared for her.
She wouldn’t stop anywhere else on a whim. She wasn’t spontaneous.
Alisha needed to be gone by six-thirty. Savannah had her thing to do.
Her eyes returned to the box under the bed. From there, they went to Savannah’s desk, to the laptop. “Spam email,” she’d said. “Something stupid.”
It rang false. Alisha could not have said how or why, other than it simply hadn’t sounded like her sorority sister. Savannah didn’t have password protection on that laptop. She never took it out of the dorm, so there was no point.
It was still only six-twenty, but Alisha hustled to get her things, throw on a light jacket, and leave. She’d go to the Student Union, get a card game going with someone, see a movie. Something.
