Not the dead.
And not her.
27
Arianette
“Jesus Christ!Put the fucking ball down! This isn’t playtime!” The voice echoing off the community center gym rafters belongs to Sy. The guys tossing a basketball back and forth take one last shot, then get back to the task at hand.
The final collection day for the toy drive has turned the gym into controlled chaos. Fraternities haul in the last of the donation boxes from their territories, stacking them in neat rows on tables lined up along the walls, while volunteers sort and separate. Carts rattle across the glossy hardwood floor, wheels squeaking under the weight of stuffed animals, action figures, board games, dolls and building sets. Girls from every house are here under the leadership of Story and Lavinia, and in theory, me, plus the general orbit of women who hang around the frats, all moving with purpose. It’s not hard to identify the cutsluts in their ripped jeans or the preppy outfits of the East End girls. The crypt chasers are here, but none of them pay me muchattention. I don’t think I won any friends telling Bronwyn off. They’re working with a few girls in LDZ gear because everyone is cooperating; the territory lines dropped for the moment.
Story’s directing traffic near the age-group tables, dark hair falling in her face as she calls out, “Zero-to-three over here–soft toys only, nothing with small parts!”
Lavinia’s pushing a cart full of Legos and puzzles toward the four-to-eight section, blue hair catching the fluorescent light.
I’m at the five-to-ten table, sorting action figures and craft kits.
The energy is surprisingly light considering the fact we’d all just been to Kelsey’s vigil a few days ago. Laughter bounces off the cinderblock walls. Someone’s playing holiday music low on a portable speaker, old-school holiday songs, the kind of music that makes even the most jaded people hum along. Remy Maddox weaves through the crowd, passing out red and green Santa hats, plopping them on heads with a grin. He skips me entirely, doesn’t even glance my way, and keeps moving.
“Ouch,” I mutter, watching him go. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I lean toward Lavinia, who’s sorting glitter pens next to me. “Did I do something to him?”
She freezes for half a second–long enough that I notice–then shrugs, eyes on the pens. “He’s just… Remy. Don’t take it personally.”
Her voice is too careful. Too neutral. I’m not the best with social cues, but even I can tell that she knows something and she’s not saying it. Most likely, he thinks I’m a freak.
Before I can press, the double doors at the front swing open with a cold gust. Verity steps in, baby carrier strapped to her chest. The baby, JJ, seven weeks old now, is bundled in soft gray, tiny fists curled near her chin. Lex and Pace flank her like sentinels. Lex on her left, his auburn hair pulled back in a knot. Pace on her right. Both scanning the room out of habit. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the wedding.
“Oh my God,” Story shrieks, dropping the stuffed bear she was holding and rushing over with a bright smile. Lavinia follows right behind, a curve on her red painted lips.
“Look at him,” Lavinia says, reaching out to touch a tiny foot. Verity laughs–soft, tired, but real–and turns slightly so they can see the baby’s bright blue eyes and pale blond tuft of hair.
Despite the territory lines, despite everything, there’s genuine fondness. No edge. No posturing. Just women crowding around a newborn, voices overlapping with quiet excitement. Women, and well, Remy, who makes a beeline across the room.
“How’s my nephew?” he asks, moving to drop a Santa hat on the baby’s head. Pace’s hand snaps out and blocks him. Remy’s jaw drops. “What the hell, dude?”
“Get that filthy germ-infested hat away from my baby, Maddox.”
Remy’s jaw drops. “Germ-infested?”
“Listen up! Everyone give Verity and JJ a little room!” Pace shouts while reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small package. He opens it up and pulls out a cloth mask. “I’m going to need everyone to take two steps back and put on a mask if you’re going to be near my son.”
“Pace!” Verity shouts, expression horrified. “He didn’t mean that.”
“The fuck I didn’t,” He starts to hand out masks, pushing one into Story and Verity’s hands. “Mask up, ladies.”
Lex yanks him away. “What he means is that flu season started, and JJ’s still immunocompromised. If you’ve been sick lately or have any symptoms, please consider wearing a mask.”
“We’re fine. And we both need a little socializing.” She nudges them away. “Go use those muscles and help out.”
The Princes reluctantly ease away, but neither goes out of eyesight. It’s sweet seeing them being protective like this. A little intense, but sweet. I also feel a prickle of something in my chest: jealousy.
I stay where I am, hands full of plastic action figures, feeling suddenly out of place. Like I’m caught in a scene I don’t belong in. It’s not like I’m here alone. Hunter volunteered his truck for picking up the toys at some of the drop-off locations, so he’s been in and out, but Damon walks around with a clipboard, tallying the items in each area.
He hasn’t checked on me once.
A cart rolls up and I glance over, seeing Sy.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing items from the cart. I can’t help but look over at the women, at the men, at everyone in the room, and feel out of place.
