“What? You’re going to have to speak up. I didn’t hear you,” I say the last part in a sing-song voice.
“Goddamn you, Kate. Yes, I’ll dance. Do you want me to go outside and scream it for the world to hear? Would that make you happy?” There’s a smile in there somewhere. It’s wedged between the grimace and the menace.
“Um, yeah, actually that would make me the happiest f**king girl in Grant today. Can you throw in a little booty shake while you’re yelling? That would make it perfect.”
“Don’t push it, Sedgwick.”
“But I’m not dressing up. I heard it’s a costume party and I don’t do costumes.”
“Neither do I,” she agrees.
Shelly picks me up from the dorm at 10:00 and two minutes later we’re parked in front of a frat house on campus. It looks like a ghost town.
“What the hell? Where is everyone?” She looks pissed. I know she said it was stupid, but I think she was looking forward to it. She spots someone coming out of the building’s side door, and her whole body tenses. She’s like a lion ready to pounce. “Stay here. I’m going to find out what happened.”
She tracks down her prey and begins questioning the poor guy like she did me the first time we met. I know how intimidating she can be when you don’t know her. (And sometimes even when you do know her.) The guy’s hunched over like he’s protecting his soft, vulnerable underbelly from an attack. Then she pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket and dials someone. There’s a brief conversation with lots of hand gestures and she returns with the scoop. “Cops broke up the party twenty minutes ago. Some drunken idiot dressed up like Superman decided to jump out of a second story window on a dare. He broke his femur. It was so bad they had to call the ambulance. That’s when the cops came. You know the rest.” She rolls her eyes, irritated. Shelly doesn’t tolerate stupidity. “Dumbass.”
I offer my condolences. “Sorry, dude. To tell you the truth, I’m more bummed about not seeing a grown man jump out of a window donning a Superman unitard. I mean I’m sorry the party was shut down and I’m really sorry the dude got hurt, but that must’ve been hilarious.”
“It’s ludicrous.” She corrects.
“Hilarious. Ludicrous. The difference is so subtle.” I’m going to babble on until she cracks a smile. “They play well together, like they’re both members of the same humorous constituency, but—”
A smile starts in her eyes. “Shut up, Kate.” It giggles its way out.
“Seriously, a twenty-year-old in tights who thinks he can fly? That shit’s not funny to you? I know I’m simple and easily amused, but to me that’s good stuff.”
She’s laughing now, and even snorts a little. I’ve only heard her snort once before when she laughed really, really hard at the club in Minneapolis. It’s her summit. Every time I hear her laugh, I feel satisfaction in knowing I can bring that kind of uninhibited happiness to this serious girl. She’s let me in, and that feels good.
She hits the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. “Thanks, dude. I needed that.” She looks resigned. “Now, let’s go have a few drinks.”
“Okay. But promise me you’ll stop before you attempt any superhero, second-story leaps of faith.”
When we pull up in front of Three Petunias, I assume we’re going up to her apartment. No problem; I can walk back to the dorms from here. When she gets out and crosses the street I’m confused. “Where are we going?”
“To see The Boyfriend.” It’s funny that she calls him that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard his real name. It’s always The Boyfriend. “Let’s see if he and his roommate got their drunken asses home yet. They were almost home when I talked to him a few minutes ago.”
“How far away do they live?” I’m rubbing my arms because I’m only wearing a T-shirt and hoodie and it’s unseasonably chilly tonight. I didn’t really count on walking very far.
“Just down the street. They rent out the room behind Grounds.”
The walk is short. We turn the corner at Grounds and walk around behind the building. There’s a gigantic ancient Suburban parked in the alley. It’s pale green and rusty, but the driver’s door is red. Next to the car is the door to what I assume must be The Boyfriend’s apartment, or “room” as she called it.
She tries the doorknob but it’s locked, so she beats her fist against the door.
A tall redhead with a thick beard swings the door open and then holds onto it, like he couldn’t stand without it. He smiles at Shelly—the same sappy smile she wears when she talks about him. But where hers is small and restrained, his is huge and wide open. “Honey, you’re home!” I’ve never seen anyone slur a phrase so enthusiastically.
She kisses him on the cheek as she enters. “When did you two start drinking?”
The slurring resumes. “I don’t remember. Three o’clock, maybe? It’s the Back to Grant Bash!” This guy is one happy drunk. I like that. I can’t be around angry drunks. It reminds me of my mother.
He’s physically startled when he glances over and sees me waiting on the threshold. I don’t want to be rude and barge in or make any sudden movements because the dude looks like he’s seeing double, possibly triple. He’s trying extremely hard to concentrate on just one of me.