The Summer of '98

by Tay Marley

  The Summer of ’98

  Tay Marley

  CONTENTS

  Also by Tay Marley

  Dedication

  May 28, 1998

  One Month Later

  Five Months Later

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Also by Tay Marley

  The QB Bad Boy and Me

  Dedication

  To the readers. This book wouldn’t have happened without you.

  MAY 28, 1998

  Ellie

  There were rules when it came to attending an open frat party. I’d seen them in Teen Cosmo while at the nurse’s office waiting room when my mom had an allergy shot a few weeks ago. I read the article as a way to pass the time. But now that I was at an actual frat party for the first time, I was reciting those rules in my head—I wanted to follow every step.

  Alpha Theta Phi was one of the biggest frat houses in Waco, Texas. It belonged to Baylor and was along the same road as the several other fraternities and sororities. It smelled like stale beer and it looked like someone emptied a thousand trash bags and scattered garbage across the house. Nothing was broken. It was just a mess of beer bottles, solo cups, and glow sticks. It might be a nice place in between parties, but from what I’d heard, there was never much of a breather.

  My best friend Amber managed to convince her sister, Sasha, to let us come along tonight. Sasha’s boyfriend is in the frat, and he, along with the rest of the house members, decided to throw the doors open to whoever wanted in as long as we paid a twenty-dollar entrance fee. They were trying to save so that they could fund a summer vacation in Mexico.

  The first rule was obvious: Don’t leave your drink unattended. No issue there. Don’t take your shoes off. Looking at the floor, that one made sense. Don’t steal. Who would do that? Don’t eat from the fridge. Don’t break house items. Don’t wear anything you care too much about. That last one was harder. I wanted to look cute and all my clothes were treasures, considering I didn’t have a huge wardrobe. Don’t go to the bathroom alone. Again, another rule that made sense.

  “Amber!” I shouted over “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.” It was a shame that I was so desperate to pee—I loved this song. “Amber! I need to go to the bathroom!”

  It was useless. She couldn’t hear me. Or if she could, she was too drunk to respond. I reached out to give her a quick tap because her eyes were closed as she danced to the music with some cutie named Eric. He was from Colorado; he was here with a friend. That was all I’d acquired so far. When my fingers lightly connected with Amber’s cheek, she startled and snapped her eyes open.

  “I’m bursting! Can you come with?”

  Making our way off the dance floor, we headed to the staircase to find the bathroom. I wasn’t inexperienced with drinking or parties, but I hadn’t been to one like this before. If Momma found out I was here, she’d blow a fuse. But Amber convinced me that it was the perfect way to celebrate our graduation.

  We pushed our way through the crowd.

  “Eric is so hot, right?” Amber slurred, we held onto each other—well, she held onto me—as we stumbled up the staircase. “He reminds me of Will Smith. But with more hair and a sharper jaw. He’s so funny and sweet. Do we look good together?”

  “You look perfect together.”

  “Am I being a bad friend? I shouldn’t be chilling with a boy, should I? I’ve ditched you.”

  “No, it’s fine! You came out to have fun. It’s good. I’m fine.”

  And I was. Amber was always there for me when I needed her. She was one of those friends that was so familiar, she felt more like a sister. We could go three weeks without talking and fall right back into a routine when we saw each other again. Or we could spend three weeks straight together and never get sick of it. I loved her and I’d never stand in the way of her meeting a cute boy.

  “Okay, good,” she said. “You know I told him that as soon as school is out, I’m getting this ’fro twisted into locs and he said that I would look super cute and he approves and I said, I didn’t ask for approval! But thanks, and then he said he loves a confident woman and I don’t think a boy has ever called me a woman before, but damn do I feel sophisticated.”

  I laughed. “Make sure you get his number. He sounds like a total babe.”

  “Right?!”

  As soon as we hit the landing upstairs, Amber was intercepted by a friend of Sasha’s—Aliyah was her name. There was no way that I was going to wait while she had her drunk cuddles-and-catch-up. Normally the two had nothing to do with each other, but with the way they carried on, you’d think they were best friends.

  I told Amber that I’d be back in a minute and dashed up the corridor where the bathroom was open. I slammed the door shut and locked it, breathing a sigh of relief when I finally got to sit down. There was something so uncomfortable about getting blackout drunk in a huge house of strangers, so I’d opted for being the sober friend tonight. There had to be one. But in place of beer, I’d downed a fair amount of soda.

  When I was done, I gave my outfit a quick once-over in the mirror. Summer had barely started but I was a sun-kissed olive due to the weather we had almost year-round. My strapless crop top and denim midrise jeans were free of alcohol spillage and I was thoroughly impressed with how well the double-sided tape had kept my top from slipping down while we danced. The rules might have been to wear something dark and cheap, but I was proud of how well I was keeping free of spills. Perhaps it helped that I was sober.

  When I opened the door, I froze—a group of guys had gathered in the hall. Ducking and weaving through them, I awkwardly made my way toward the staircase; luckily, they weren’t paying any attention to me at all. But there was one boy who watched me with his deep-brown eyes. His dark, unkempt hair was effortlessly wavy in a tidy mess and his fitted T-shirt accentuated what appeared to be an incredible physique.

  When I stole a glance behind me on the way to find Amber, he was still looking at me with a small, curious smile that made my heart hammer.

  When a hand gently touched my shoulder, the beautiful boy was there behind me. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m Leroy Lahey.”

  “I’m—”

  “Stunning,” he interrupted, and I couldn’t help but laugh. He shook his head and almost looked as though he was blushing. “Sorry, go on.”

  “I’m Ellie Livingston.”

  “That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

  I laughed and folded my arms across my chest. “Do these lines usually work for you?”

  “Lines?” he said. “Why would I use cheesy pick-up lines when the truth is so much more accurate?”

  “Like I haven’t heard that one before,” I teased.

  He slid his hands into his pockets. “Believe me, Ellie. The fact that my heart almost leaped out of my chest when I saw you is not something I could make up.”

  Okay, that rendered me a little speechless. I’d been hit on tonight, offered a drink here and there, grinded on. But no one had ever said something like that to me before.

  “Single?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You gonna ask if I am?”

  “You’d better be after those lines,” I joked.

  He laughed and the song coming from downstairs changed to “Summer of ’69” and I heard a collective cheer before the words were being drunkenly sung. “I love this song. The music is so good here. I need to find out who made this CD.”

  “You know the theme is A
ll-Out ’80s, right?”

  My face fell. “There’s a theme?”

  Leroy stepped closer when a group of girls ran past us toward the bathroom. “You didn’t know?”

  “Of course not. I have the perfect outfit at home for an ’80s theme.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Only the frat and sororities dress up. Most people are just here for the open party. Besides, the outfit you’re wearing is perfect.”

  His gaze swept over me. He tousled his hair and a strand fell onto his forehead. I could feel my cheeks warming, but before I could even think of a response, a series of voices and clattering sounded behind me and I turned around to find Amber in a heap on the floor.

  “Amber!” I ran forward to crouch down beside her. “What happened?”

  “She’s super drunk,” Aliyah slurred. “I’ll take her home.”

  “Ah, wait,” I said as she lifted Amber off the ground. My friend blubbered and mumbled something completely incoherent, which relieved me a little. At least she wasn’t dead. “You’re drunk as well. You can’t drive.”

  “I’m the designated drunk driver,” she laughed and practically dragged Amber down the staircase. A few of her friends hollered in agreement, but I wasn’t about to have it.

  “No way,” I said, bumping shoulders with people stumbling up and down the staircase as I chased her. Leroy trailed behind me. “You cannot drive her!”

  “How did you two get here?”

  “We took the last bus.”

  “How were you planning to get home?”

  “A cab.”

  “I can drive her,” Leroy said. By this point we were beside the front door, where dozens of people were coming and going, but no one found it unusual to see Amber in the state that she was in. “I have a friend’s car keys. I’m the designated driver. I’ll take her home.”

  “Who are you?” Aliyah asked.

  “He’s my friend,” I answered. “Leroy.”

  Aliyah seemed satisfied and before long, Amber was laid across the backseat of a sedan while I sat in the passenger seat and gave directions.

  “By the way,” I watched the streetlights illuminate his features as I slipped a palm-sized canister out of my pocket. “I have pepper spray. And the will to live. So—don’t be weird.”

  He burst out laughing and my heart skipped a beat at the sweet sound. “I was planning to kidnap you and lock you in my basement. But you’ve convinced me otherwise.”

  “You’re not from here, are you?”

  “Colorado,” he answered. “I’m going to Baylor at the end of August. I’m here to finalize a few things.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Is it this one?” he asked, the car slowing down.

  “Sorry. Yeah.” I’d been staring at him instead of the road. “This one. Just pull over beside the curb, and if you don’t mind, help me get her through the window?”

  “How old are you two?” He switched the car off and stared at me with incredulity.

  I was tempted to tell him that we were fifteen as a joke, but I thought better of it. “Eighteen. And yes, we’re allowed some freedom. But drinking at a frat party? She’d be in trouble and so would I.”

  It was an effort to get Amber conscious enough that she could help herself out of the car. With some maneuvering, we managed to get her out and push her through the window where she landed on her bed. I leaned through and asked if she was all right.

  “Mmhmm,” she mumbled.

  “You’re a good friend,” Leroy whispered. I appreciated him taking our sneaking about seriously. “I’m guessing that you’re supposed to be staying here tonight as well?”

  I chewed on my lip, replied yes, and peeked through the window again to the bright red digits of Amber’s clock that said 10:30, and I sighed with frustration that she’d gotten so wasted so freaking early.

  “I can drop you off again later if you want to come back to the party?” Leroy said.

  “Really? Do you . . . do you want me to come back?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I need more time to get to know you.”

  The frat house was still pumping when we got back. Leroy put his hand at the base of my spine and steered me through the crowded entrance, where groups were gathered on the stairs, cheering as people slid down on cardboard and collided with the wall. There was a group of boys leaning over the railing around the top floor, throwing darts at a dartboard that was on the living room wall on the bottom floor.

  “I was going to suggest that we sit in here,” Leroy said, looking up at the half-drunk college kids flinging darts around. “But I don’t really feel like getting stabbed in the head tonight.”

  He had a point. I looked at all the people gathered in the living area, all of the heads that could be the victim of a stray dart.

  “Let’s go out back,” he said, leaning in close and taking my hand. “You feel like dancing?”

  “I’d love to.”

  We went through to the kitchen and passed a game of suck and blow. I laughed as a girl hollered in protest when the guy beside her dropped the card from his lips and kissed her. Guys were making a tower of solo cups on the table and someone was throwing up in the trash can. Outside, the antics were much the same, but the air was easier to breathe and there were dozens of couples dancing together, which made it easier to insert ourselves into the crowd and do the same.

  Leroy and I danced to “Tell It to My Heart” by Taylor Dane. His hands rested on my waist, tugging me in close as my heart fluttered, painfully so.

  “So,” Leroy said, staring down at me. “What brings you here tonight?”

  “An invitation,” I said and tried to steady my voice when it came out with a hitch. It was hard to be calm when his thumbs were circling the bare skin on my waist. “And Amber and I are celebrating graduation. How about you?”

  “I know someone in the frat too. He’s a family friend. His dad knows my dad sort of thing. I’m sure glad I decided to come along. I almost passed.”

  My chest squeezed. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  A light breeze ruffled his brown waves of hair, tousling it so that it fell across his face. He quickly swept his fingers through it and pushed it back, looking amazing as he did. I tried not to salivate at his bicep that expanded when his arm was in the air, but wow. Surely, he couldn’t be sweet and drop dead gorgeous.

  “I like your accent,” he said, putting his hand back on my waist. “Southern belle.”

  “Ooh, no,” I said, wincing. “Nope. So, the Antebellum era is where the idealization of the Southern belle originated. And as you know from your history class,” he chuckled, “that era was defined by slavery and its profitable gain. Southern belles were often from high society plantation-owning families. I’d never want to be associated with someone who was in favor of slavery.”

  “Wow,” Leroy said, “I feel terrible not knowing that. I mean, I knew about plantations and stuff. Just not the Southernbelle part. Thanks for telling me.”

  It was a relief that he wasn’t like some of the scrubs at school who refused to hear about anything that might educate them.

  “Yo.” We both looked at a guy standing beside us, drunk and wobbling, his cap on sideways. “Me and my babe need someone to double with us in beer pong. Want to join?”

  I looked at Leroy, searching for his thoughts on the invitation, but he was looking at me for the same thing. “I’m not drinking tonight.”

  “I have to drive,” Leroy added.

  “Aw man,” the guy slurred. “No one’s down for beer pong. Bummer.”

  “We could have one game,” I gave in. “I’ll just take a sip. Not the whole cup.”

  The guy’s excitement was obvious as he jumped, almost dropping his loose baggy jeans from their place around his butt. He held onto them and ran over to the table that had been set up,
where his girlfriend was waiting, smacking her gum.

  “You don’t have to drink at all,” Leroy said beside my ear as we walked over to the table hand in hand. “We can tip it on the grass.”

  “I’m sure a few sips won’t hurt.”

  “All right,” he said when we stopped at the other end of the table. “Go easy, though. If you get too drunk, I won’t be able to kiss you later.”

  My stomach did an abundance of somersaults and I missed the round of introductions that were made with our opponents, entirely too focused on his words and the tingling that was running rampant through my veins.

  It turned out that I didn’t need to be concerned—the ping-pong ball almost never landed in our cups, and between a sober Leroy and me, we sunk most of our shots. The drunk couple congratulated us and hollered for the next contenders to step up as Leroy and I wandered off.

  “That was fun,” I said, stepping over a discarded keg on the ground. Leroy held my hand to steady me, and before we could go back inside, a tall, lean college student intercepted us, a little redhead clinging onto his arm.

  “What’s up, man,” Leroy said as the two of them clapped hands. “Ellie, this is Preston, the family friend I mentioned.”

  “Hello,” I said, and he gave me a chin nod, his gaze moving between us before he pointed with enthusiasm.

  “You wanna room tonight, bro?” he asked Leroy, who suddenly turned crimson red. It was endearing. Leroy opened his mouth to answer but was cut off. “I’m leaving with Shellie. You can take mine, man. I won’t be back tonight. Saves some random slob jerking off in there. Just chuck the sheets in the hamper after. Have a good night, dude.”

  He left, tugging a giggling Shellie behind him. Leroy and I stood on the back doorstep as they walked away, and he was unable to make eye contact with me. As mortified as I was, it was amusing all the same.

  “I’m not expecting . . . that,” Leroy finally said, still not looking directly at me. “We can—”