Saving Ben (3 page)

The three of them quickly turned their attention to the bar, where four of the prettiest girls from our hall were waiting in line for a beer. Dolled up in little short sundresses, they giggled and flounced around in excitement over being at their first fraternity party. They were peaches, ripe for the picking.

When the guys turned back to me, they were all smiles. “I see no reason for you to have to leave the party.” Ben grabbed his friends by the shoulders and turned them toward the bar. “Men, what say we go get everyone a beer while my sister cools off a little?”

“You handled them beautifully,” Emma said, turning to me when they were out of earshot. “What a bunch of horny hound dogs. If you want to get a man’s attention, talk to his dick.”

I burst out laughing. “Exactly.”

“Look at them. They’re even hitting on the same girl,” Emma said, shaking her head in amusement as Ben, Spotty, and Reed made a pass at one of our unsuspecting freshman friends. “Reed can hit on me all day long. I thought you said he was from Richmond?”

“He is.”

“Well then, what beach did he work at?”

“Oh right. No. His parents are divorced. His father lives at Virginia Beach now. Reed spends his summers with him down there.”

“What about Spotty? He is definitely a cutie, as far as gingers go. His eyes are kind and his smile is sweet.”

I nodded. “He’s definitely a nice guy. I’m glad to see him happy for a change. He’s been a mess for a really long time.”

“You mean like drinking too much and stuff?”

“No, more like in a seriously bad mood.” I moved closer to her so no one would overhear me. “In high school Spotty was considered the top lacrosse attackman in the state. He was being scouted by Division 1 schools when he tore his ACL, wrestling, of all things, with his brother in their family’s backyard. He never regained the speed and agility he needed for D1. Everything else was second best to him.”

As the three guys headed back our way, I was glad to see Spotty walking with more pep in his step than I’d seen in several years. He handed me a plastic cup of warm beer. “Here. A peace offering. We talked it over and decided you’re right, Kitty. It’s time for us to give you some space.”

While we waited for the band to start playing, several of Ben’s friends stopped to chat, seemingly under the pretense of asking about his summer. But it was obvious they were more interested in meeting Emma. My heart softened a little toward my brother as I watched him interact with his friends. He seemed so happy and relaxed, so well adjusted to his life at UVA. While his constant concern for my safety drove me nuts, I understood he couldn’t help himself, that his genetic makeup included this overprotective component of his personality.

Ben is a worrier, has been all his life. When we were young, he worried that our parents would be killed in a plane crash, and that I would get rabies from playing with the wounded stray animals I was always trying to nurse back to health. As his mind and body matured, so did his worries. In high school he worried that
this
girlfriend didn’t like him enough, or that
that
girlfriend was cheating on him. He worried he hadn’t studied enough for his AP history exam, and he worried his SAT scores wouldn’t be good enough for UVA.

Because he had no say in what happened between my parents after the Rose Garden Affair, the only aspect of the situation he could control was keeping me glued together. Ben was the one who rubbed my back at night while I soaked my pillow with tears. He was the one who walked me home after a rough day at school, and he was the one who took me out for ice cream on Friday nights when all the other girls were learning to dance at cotillion or attending sleepovers.

When the music began to play and Emma and I turned toward the band room, Ben grabbed me by the arm. “You’ve done something different to yourself. You look good.” He bent down and whispered in my ear, “Please be careful and remember—don’t ever drink anything out of a trash can or take a drink from someone you don’t know. The guys around here like to take advantage of girls who drink too much.”

“Getting drunk is not my style, Ben. You know that.”

“Hey. I watch out for you. It’s what I do. I can’t just turn that off.”

I followed Emma as she made her way to the front of the stage where everyone was dancing as one. We joined in, losing ourselves in the music as our bodies moved to the beat. Emma’s fair hair and radiant skin glistened under the strobe light. She was the prettiest girl on the floor, and every boy who tapped her on the shoulder for a dance recognized that. She made it clear to all of them that she was with me. Not in a lesbian kind of way but in a leave-me-alone-I’m-partying-with-my-girlfriend kind of way. That hour and a half was a point in time I wouldn’t soon forget. My first taste of real freedom.

When the music stopped and the lights came on, Emma and I joined the long line of girls waiting for their turn in the restroom. We stood quietly, listening to others around us, the older girls who were commenting on the younger girls who were speaking openly of things they should’ve kept a secret.

By the time I turned my stall over to Emma, the restroom was empty except for one other girl. I snuck a quick glimpse of her reflection in the mirror while I was washing my hands in the sink next to her. I might have considered her unattractive—with hazel eyes, thin lips, and high forehead—if not for her golden hair. It wasn’t bleached white-blonde but the color of ginkgo leaves in the autumn.

Our eyes met and she smiled. “You’re Ben Langley’s little sister aren’t you?”

I nodded, surprised. “How’d you know?”

“Your eyes. You have the same deep, soulful eyes.”

I felt my face blush and I turned away from her, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser.

“I’ve been keeping a file on you, you know?” When she saw my concerned expression, she added, “Relax. I have a file on a lot of incoming freshmen. I’m Honey Mabry.” She held out her hand to me. “I’m the president of the Chi Delta sorority. Our mothers were pledge sisters.”

“It‘s nice to meet you.” I forced myself to smile. “I’m Katherine Langley, but then you already know that, don’t you?”

She covered her mouth and laughed, a tee-hee that sounded more like a sneeze.

Emma came out of the stall and inserted herself between Honey and me. “I’m Emma, Katherine’s roommate. Do they call you Honey because of your hair?”

Honey gave Emma a quick head-to-toe inspection before returning her attention to me. “Are you all settled into your room in the dorm?” she asked me.

I’ve known girls like Honey all my life, girls from wealth and privilege who can spot an outsider from a hundred miles away. They have built-in radar that can alert them to impostors, and girls like Emma show up the brightest. Girls who try too hard. Girls who don’t stand a chance in their world.

“Yep. Seems like we’ve lived there for years.” I leaned up against the counter with my back to the sink. “I’m curious too. About your name.”

“It’s a boring story, really,” Honey said, sighing. “But if you must know. When my brother was little, he couldn’t pronounce my name, Elizabeth, so he adopted my mother’s nickname for me. Honey. It just kind of stuck.”

Disappointed, Emma reached over and stroked a lock of Honey’s hair in an overly familiar way. “Well your hair
is
very pretty. Exactly the color of honey.”

Honey tucked all her hair over to one side and turned her back on Emma. “Anyway, about the file. Our sorority has received a lot of letters written on your behalf, most of them by your mother’s friends. Have you given any thought to pledging Chi Delta?”

“Right now our focus is on getting ready for classes. Right, Emma?” I looked at Emma and she smiled, bobbing her head up and down.

“Which is exactly why we defer our rush until January,” Honey explained. “College is such a big adjustment. It’s better for first-year students to get settled before they have to think about making such an important decision.”

“You mean all colleges don’t defer their rush?” Emma asked.

Once again Honey ignored Emma, this time to the point of blatant rudeness. “It’s against rush regulations for you to come by the house, but I’d love to meet you, Katherine, for coffee one day, or maybe lunch.” She removed a small tube of hot-pink lipstick from her shoulder bag and turned toward the mirror. “I understand you’ve been accepted into the nursing program. We have several nursing students who would love to answer questions or offer guidance on course selections and teachers.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that,” I said over my shoulder as I turned to leave.

“Wait a minute. Let me give you this.” Without so much as a glance in Emma’s direction, Honey handed me a card with her initials scripted in pink in the center and her name and cell phone number printed below.

I’d witnessed some horrible snubs in my life, most of them directed at me, but Honey’s indifference to Emma was unspeakable. Much to her credit, Emma didn’t let it bother her. If anything, she appeared to be even more interested in Greek life than before. As we left the bathroom and made our way through the crowd, she peppered me with questions about the rush process.

“Honestly, Emma, I don’t know that much about it. But it’s my understanding that,
if
you have a relative who belonged to a sorority or fraternity, then that organization is obligated to give you special consideration.”

“And what if you don’t have any connections?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t seem fair they would hold that against you. But then again, what do I know?”

While we waited in line for another hot beer, Emma studied the crowd in silence, but once we were back out on the dance floor, her mood lifted and her confidence returned. She raised her arms high above her head and clapped to the beat of the band. The provocative sway of her hips attracted the guys like hummingbirds to nectar. This time she did not deny them. She made her rounds on the dance floor before settling in with a guy who had the build of a football player and the sweet face of a six-year-old boy. When the band played a slow song, the giant wrapped his muscled arms around her and pulled her close, whispering something in her ear that made her laugh. I scanned the crowd, wondering which group he belonged to, hoping there was more where he came from. But no one seemed to be paying any attention to them except the yellow-haired girl, leaning against the wall on the other side of the dance floor. Honey’s lip curled up over her top teeth, and I could almost hear her snarl over the loud music. Whether the guy was her boyfriend or merely a love interest, clearly he meant something to Honey. And Emma, whether she’d seen the two of them together earlier or whether she’d simply picked the wrong person to dance with, had made a horrible mistake.

Her heel got stuck in the dirt and she grabbed a hold of me to keep from falling. “Ow! Shit! That hurts.”

“Take off your shoes, silly, before you break your ankle.”

“Fine.” She held on to my shoulder while she slipped off her pumps. “I’m tired. Let’s rest a minute?” She relaxed all of her muscles at once and dropped to the ground like a rag doll. “Come on. Sit,” she said, pulling me down beside her.

“Ahh, feels sooo good to lie down.” I stretched out on the grass beside her, but when the earth started to spin, I sat back up. “Uh-oh. Bad idea. How many of those Mahiti Tartinis did we have anyway?”

Emma burst into laughter. “That’s a good one. Mahiti Tartinis.”

“You know what I mean.” I swatted at her arm but missed. “Whatever you call them things. They were strong.” I brought my knees up to my chest and propped my elbows on top.

I was surprised when she pulled a cigarette from her bag. “Since when do you smoke?”

“When I drink sometimes.” She offered the pack to me. “Want one?”

“Sure.” I took a cigarette and held it between my teeth while she lit it with her little pink lighter. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the taste and the buzz. “Wow. It’s been a long time since I had a cigarette.”

“What about you, Katherine?” she asked, stuffing the pack of Marlboro Lights back into her bag. “What kind of guy do
you
want to marry?”

“Hmm . . . let’s see . . .” I stared up at the dark sky. “The kind who gets up at night to feed our baby a bottle, even though he has to go to work the next day.”

“No, dummy. I’m not talking about the kind of father you want for your children. I’m talking about the kind of man you want as your husband.”

I took another drag from the cigarette and then flicked it down the sidewalk, watching the sparks fly as the cherry burst apart. “I want to marry a
man
, not a boy, someone who’s older than me. Someone who is world-wise and street-smart, but honest and kind, too.”

“Oh, how sweet,” she said, sarcastically. “But come on, don’t you want him to be successful? A doctor or a lawyer, someone who makes a ton of money?”