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  “Celine? Celine?”

  “YES! Sorry, I was—”

  “You called me for a name?” I ask, disappointed that she didn’t want to talk, didn’t care to find out how my trip was going.

  “I knew you’d know it,” she says, and I sigh. But then realize I have the perfect thing to say that’ll get her interested.

  “Okay, well, I gotta run. I’m at a party. . . .”

  “Wait, what?” she nearly yells, and I smile because, yes, this is me at a party. “You don’t go to parties.”

  “I do now, I guess. I’m here with Treena and she has a boyfriend. . . .”

  “What! See, I told you. Things are totally different in college.”

  “They are, kind of,” I say, turning around, and though I can’t see into the party since the blinds are shut, I can guess what’s going on.

  “Is it amazing? Are you having a blast? What’s her dorm like? What’s this party like?”

  “Dorm is cool, I actually went to a party my first night here, too. And last night we broke into an abandoned hospital. . . .”

  “WHAT!” she yells again. “No, sorry, Mitch, I’ll be right back, I need to get more details about this.” The phone rustles again and I smile. “You broke into a place? This is not the Maude I know.”

  When she says that, I think about Treena and how I thought that exact same thing. It’s funny how a few days can change someone. Though I don’t think I’m different, not really at least. “I’m having fun,” I say simply, because I am.

  “I can’t wait to go. Maybe I should have come on this trip with you.” She laughs.

  I lean my back on the railing when the door opens. It’s Bennett, looking in both directions. When he sees me, he smiles. “Maybe,” I say. “But hey, I have to go. Talk later.”

  “Definitely,” she says, then hangs up. I shake my head because there she is, back in Orlando, flirting with Starbucks Guy. She’s doing the same thing she was doing last week. And here I am, at a college party, one drink in, and about to talk to a guy. How did I get so far? She was right—a few days can change so much. And at the moment, I really don’t mind it.

  I put my phone in my pocket and feel Treena’s bike key. It makes me think of riding and moving and feeling alive. It makes me think of learning about my mother today. Mr. Wayne said my mother was sure of herself, was confident and moved to her own beat. Maybe I can be, too.

  So I look at Bennett and say, “Hey.”

  “I’m going to assume that whenever I can’t find you, you’re hiding out in or nearby a stairwell,” he says, pointing to the stairs and shifting his weight from the front to the back of his feet repeatedly.

  “Phone call from home,” I say, still leaning back.

  “Boyfriend?” he asks.

  “Girlfriend,” I say, and his eyebrows shoot up. I laugh, then add, “But not like that. She’s a girl. Who’s my friend.”

  “Oh, okay,” he says, leaning on the railing next to me. “I mean, it would have been cool if you had a girlfriend and all. . . .”

  “But I don’t. Or a boyfriend, for that matter,” I add, turning my body so I’m looking at him. “Did I miss anything in there?”

  “Nah, Trey wants to play beer pong, so I was tasked to come find you,” he says, and I feel a bit disappointed, knowing that he had to come, not that he wanted to.

  “I see,” I say, leaning back on the railing, away from him.

  “I mean, I was tasked to find a partner, and obviously it was going to be you.”

  “Really?” I ask, turning my head. Our arms are close, nearly touching against the cold bar. One move and they’d be together. In fact, all I want to do right now is close any gap between us. I know it’s probably the excitement of the day, and the drinking, but I feel myself being pushed toward him.

  “Of course,” he says, shoving himself off the railing and facing me. He’s close, and I look up to meet his eyes. He stays there, staring at me softly, then looks down, breaking contact. The air leaves my chest and my face feels like it flushes. “Come on,” he says with a grin, then grabs my hand and leads me back to the party. “We can be the Wonder Twins and totally take them.”

  When we get inside, it’s louder and more active.

  “Hmmm,” I muse. Bennett drops my hand and looks at me. I nod in the direction of Treena, who’s lip-locked with Trey in another session I don’t care to be privy to.

  “Yeah,” he says. “Treena and Trey are totally flirty drunks.”

  “There are different types of drunks?” I ask, feeling off—or, more so, feeling more on than ever. My senses are activated. The room is bright and dazzling, and Bennett is bright and dazzling, too. I want to feel what we had outside again, if only for a moment. I want to be that close to him again.

  “Oh yeah,” he says, bringing me over to the desks, where he sets up the cups to look like bowling pins. I help him, moving them around just so. “There are flirty drunks, who lose all inhibition and just want to, well . . .” he says, nodding his head toward Trey and Treena, who seem to have woven themselves together atop the couch. “Angry drunks, who start fights. Sad drunks, who cry about everything. Happy drunks, who cheer for everything. And sleepy drunks, who just fall asleep,” he concludes, nodding toward Film Guy, who’s conked out on the couch, on the opposite side of Trey and Treena. I laugh at the sight.

  “So what are you?” I ask, meeting him in front of the table.

  “I am a supremely awesome drunk,” he says, leaning back.

  “I don’t recall that on your list. . . .”

  “Right, it’s a special category for just a select few of us.”

  “So what would that make me?” I ask, eyeing him.

  “Hmm, let’s see,” he says, circling me and rubbing his chin with his hand. “You’re not sleepy, definitely not angry. I don’t see you crying, and you’re not forcing yourself on top of anyone. . . .”

  “So happy drunk?” I ask, wondering if I am, in fact, drunk.

  “I think the verdict is still out,” he says, stopping his circling in front of me. I feel a bit dizzy, but his steadiness is keeping me grounded.

  “Out on what? Us beating your ass?” Trey’s voice booms, ending our moment. I look over and he and Treena are on the other side of the table, ready to play.

  “We’ll just see about that,” Bennett says, and I take my spot beside him.

  Beer pong, it turns out, is not as easy as it looks. Especially when drinking. Trey shoots his first ball and gets it into one of our cups easily.

  “I’ve got it,” Bennett says, drinking the beer inside. They’re not very full, thankfully, just a few sips. I don’t know how much I can take. He turns the cup over, empty, then gives me a ball. “Ladies first.”

  I throw the ball and miss. Treena does, too, hitting the party’s host on the head. He doesn’t even notice.

  Bennett misses his, but Trey gets his in again, and I drink this time. Beer is just as bad as the drink last night, but I take it down and put on a game face. I notice Bennett watching me as I take the ball and sink my shot in. We cheer and he gives me a hug. Trey lifts the cup and effortlessly finishes it in one gulp.

  We keep playing until Treena leans on Trey and announces, “Sleepy,” in a childlike voice. She gets whiny when she’s tired; she always has.

  “I’ll take you home,” Trey says with a grin, then literally picks her up like a baby.

  “Wait,” I say, rational despite how I feel. “How are we getting home? We can’t drive.”

  “I can drive,” Trey says, then wobbles with Treena in his arms.

  “Not so much,” Bennett says. “Night bus.”

  “Like Harry Potter?” I ask, confused.

  “I wish. No, it’s an off-campus bus system thing. You can call if you need a ride and are within, I don’t know, so many miles of the campus.”

  “Oh wow,” I say. “That’s cool.” Then I realize something. “So . . . the campus expects you to get drunk?”

  Bennett laugh
s. “Guess so. I mean, college and all.”

  “Still sleepy,” Treena announces.

  “I think she’s hit sleep drunk,” I whisper to Bennett before walking over toward her. “It’s okay, we’re going home,” I say, petting her hair. She’s still in Trey’s arms, and she looks cute, sweet.

  Bennett looks at us and says, “Yeah, it’s time. Okay, I’ll make the call.”

  The bus picks us up and drops us off near the dorm. Treena sleeps the entire ride, leaning on Trey’s lap. When we stop, we all amble out into the night and into the dorm’s elevator.

  “Hey, I’m gonna take Treena home. You cool?” Trey asks me, and my heart jumps.

  “Wait, what?” I ask. “Treena?”

  She smiles, and leans on Trey. “We just want to snuggle. Nothing more,” she says. “Okay, maybe a little more.” And then she hiccups, and I remind myself that she’s drunk. So she probably shouldn’t be making this decision.

  “Tree, I really don’t think—”

  “It’s cool. I’m not an asshole or anything,” Trey says.

  “Yeah, I know, but she’s drunk,” I say.

  He looks at me dead serious and says, “I’m not going to do anything. I promise.”

  I stare at him for a beat, and then nod.

  “Benneeeeett,” Treena whines. “Can Maude stay with you for the night? She’s a great sleepover friend. She picks fun movies, and will jump in your bed with you if you’re scared.”

  “Oh god,” I say, my face turning red.

  “This night has just gotten weird,” Bennett says, and I refuse to look at him.

  The elevator opens onto Treena’s floor. “I love you, I’ll call you in the morning, thank you,” Treena says, all as one statement, and before I realize it, she’s out of the elevator and the doors close, and I remember I’m with Bennett. Alone in the elevator. And I’m about to spend the night in his room. And I’m upset and worried that Treena just left me. This night has gotten weird.

  “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” Bennett says. I look back at him and he’s looking at his hands. He’s not an angry drunk, or a sad or sleepy one. He’s flirty, yes, and happy, definitely. But he’s also shy. He wouldn’t carry me out of the room in some big display like Trey. He wouldn’t make out with me in public view. He’d ask my permission. He’d make sure things were okay.

  “Okay,” I say, and he looks up with shining eyes, and smiles. “Treena’s okay, you think?”

  “Yeah, Trey isn’t that guy. She’ll be fine.”

  I nod, and when we get to his room, he says, “You can take my bed, I’ll take my nonexistent roommate’s. I don’t think he’s changed his sheets since we’ve been here; I refuse to put you through that pain and suffering.” He laughs awkwardly, standing in front of his bed.

  “Are you sure it’s okay?” I ask.

  “Of course. Where else are you going to go? I’m not sending you to the common room. And I’m not making you go into that room,” he says, nodding toward Treena’s room, one floor down. I smile, then sit on his bed, still in my clothes. I feel tired, noticing that it’s 3:00 a.m., but my mind is awake, alive. I look up and catch his eye and realize I want him here next to me. He’s taken me in. He’s helped me out with my trip. He’s interested.

  “Well, I don’t want you catching some disease in those unclean sheets,” I say, watching him.

  “I think I’ll survive,” he says, not getting my hint. Maybe he still does have a girlfriend, or maybe he’s just not interested. But I’m here, in his room, way past midnight. He looks at me and I know thoughts are running through his mind—I just wish he’d tell me what they were. He rubs his hands together, then says, “Right, so, good night?”

  I sigh inwardly, then smile at him. It’s not the right time, maybe. “Night, Bennett. And thank you. For everything.”

  “Of course,” he responds, then retreats over to the other bed. I lie down, facing away from him, and wrap myself in the blankets. The scent of him is overpowering, and I have to inhale deeply to stop my heart from pounding out. One breath. Two breaths. Three. I hear every movement he makes, and I’m sure he can hear me. So with every nerve on edge, I close my eyes and try to sleep, but I know, despite exhaustion, it’ll be a while until I pass out.

  FIFTEEN

  WEDNESDAY

  It’s morning. I know that when I open my eyes, but that’s the only thing I know. I have no idea where I am. The sheets are soft, but not the same as the ones in my room, or the ones in Treena’s. I lift my head and look around. There’s a laptop, a lamp, a desk, some DVDs, including Toy Story.

  Bennett. I’m in Bennett’s room.

  The night’s events immediately fill my consciousness. The party. The talks. The cups. The drinks. Treena leaving with Trey. I’m in Bennett’s bed. I open my eyes wider and freeze.

  I’m in Bennett’s bed.

  I hear movement from the other side of the room and remember that he’s still here, only not in the same bed. I roll on my back slowly, quietly.

  “Does your head hurt?”

  I look over and he’s sitting up, legs off the side of his bed. His hair is everywhere, a mess of curls. He’s wearing the same thing as last night, and he looks so cute there, first thing in the morning, despite hanging his head on his hands.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I say, then sit up. There’s a sting in the back of my head, and I squint my eyes shut. “Ouch.”

  “Yep,” he says. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” I ask, leaning forward and copying his position. I roll my legs off the bed so we’d be looking at each other, were we looking up.

  “We shouldn’t have played the game. Drank too much. Didn’t drink water or eat anything before bed. Hangovers suck.”

  “So this is a hangover?” I muse, looking up at him. Another rite of passage? An induction Trey would be proud of?

  “Yeah. First one?”

  “Yep. Yaaaaay. Ouch.”

  He looks up and smiles at me. “I’d like to point out that, despite you being hung over and in my room, I’ve still not gotten in your pants. Promise still kept.”

  “Thank you for being a decent guy?” I laugh, then wince.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” he says. “I’m going to run downstairs and get us something to eat and drink. Make yourself at home.”

  “I can come with . . .” I start.

  “Nah, no use both of us suffering.” He grins.

  “Thanks,” I say, and he waves, then leaves.

  Once he’s gone, I flop back down on the bed and smile to myself. I’m conflicted because, no, I shouldn’t be here. But I am. In his room. He invited me here, and though nothing happened between us, I felt something.

  And I like something.

  I grab my phone off the desk to tell Treena, but as I pull up her number, I remember last night again. How she chose Trey over me. I wasn’t hurt about it then, but now I feel torn. Sure, she was drunk, but . . . I’m visiting her. And she just left me behind. She never did this—or would have even thought of doing it—in high school. And why’d she get so drunk anyway? For Trey? The thought that she does all of this for him festers in my mind until I shake it out.

  But still, I want to talk to her. I want to make sure she’s okay. So I shoot her a quick text.

  Awake @ Bennett’s. Wha! Call me xo.

  If I don’t hear back from her in twenty minutes, I’m going to the room.

  I shake my head and focus on where I am. Once again I feel Bennett all around me. His smell of grass and sunshine from yesterday’s ride. I smile at the thought. I sit up and flip through my phone, deciding to check Facebook. And, maybe, while there, take a brief glimpse at his profile because . . . why not?

  There’s a cute picture of him in a classroom, looking off to the side, off the screen at something else. There’s a hint of a smile in his face. There are a few comments on his page, friends from home it looks like, who are arranging something for his Thanksgiving break. I click over to his About section. He likes
Adventure Time and The Catcher in the Rye and Star Wars. He likes video games, and dinosaurs, and animation. He plays Dungeons and Dragons.

  I bite my lip and click Photos, in full investigation mode now. He’s tagged in a few from graduation, a few from here. One girl is in a few photos with him on the beach. Maybe that’s the ex he mentioned?

  I look at the time and realize I’ve spent the last five minutes poring over his profile. I shake my head, slightly embarrassed by what I did, and go back to my homepage. It’s then that I see I have an unread message. I open the screen. It’s from Bee Trenton-Shrayer. My heart leaps as I open the message and read.

  Maude, I can’t say digging up the past and discussing Claire is a pleasant task for me. We did not get along well, and though I should be over it by now—it has been 17 years, after all—some scars never heal. What I can say is this—we were friends, we were not friends, and she did things in between that contributed to our falling-out. I am sorry to hear about her, however, and wish you luck in finding the information you seek. I’m sorry that I cannot help you. —Bee.

  Whoa. I sit up straighter and read it again. And again. Each time it seems meaner, and a wave of emotions comes over me. What could have happened that made her feel this hostile toward my mother so many years later?

  I think about what Mr. Wayne said about my mother, remember that she was a ringleader, a popular person who might have been a bad influence. Maybe this Bee was jealous. Or maybe not.

  My heart is pounding in my chest as I drum my fingers on the bed. The door opens, and I jump up, practically attacking Bennett.

  “Whoa,” he says, balancing two coffees in his hands.

  “Sorry! Sorry, I have news,” I say, backing away.

  “Really? What news?” he asks, handing me a cup. “Sorry, no food—the line was crazy long. Like, Lord of the Rings extended version long. So, coffee now. We’ll go out for breakfast.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say, looking down at the drink and smiling at the reference. He wants to go to breakfast with me.

  “So what’s up?” he asks. He sits on the bed behind the desk and takes a sip of coffee.