My excitement grewas Daisy and I walked down the Street toward Sterling. We passed Ivy, where international students met old money and Eton prep boys went heli-skiing in Courchevel over the winter break. They were the one percent of the one percent: your Rockefellers, Kennedys, and Forbeses.
As we neared Cottage, I cringed, remembering being soaked in beer while everyone laughed. Here were the Southern boys who loved their hunting trips, the athletes, and the sophisticated girls with runners’ legs and pearl earrings. Their members seemed to have a pipeline straight into Wall Street.
Across the way was Tiger Inn, the laid-back one with Animal House–style ragers. Daisy told me they’d once spent so much money on beer, they’d had to survive on hot dogs for the rest of the semester.
Next came Cap & Gown: more diverse, good music, great food. Tower: for intellectuals and politics majors. Terrace: artists and activists. Charter: nice guys. And Cloister, which according to Daisy was forfloaters, boaters, and one-night stands.
—
The next blockwas dark and empty, and as the music and laughter of the eating clubs faded into the distance, I grew increasingly nervous. A cold breeze brushed my collarbone, sending a shiver up my spine, and I pulled my jacket tighter to my chest.
Finally, there it was: Sterling Club.
The dark mansion towered over me, all gray brick and ivy, captivating and exquisite, music and party noise drifting from its glowing windows. Daisy looked back at me. “You ready?”
I nodded. I couldn’t believe I was doing this.
Daisy walked to the front of the line and showed her ID to a guard at the door. As the heavy door slowly unfolded, my heart beat faster. It felt as if some unseen force were pulling me in.
Daisy turned to me with a wicked grin. “Let’s get you into Sterling Club.”
Chapter Nine
Naomi
October 2022, seven months before her death
“All right,” Ben says aswe make our way across the shadowy campus and out to The Street. “So you’ll come to a game, and I’ll go to your show?”
I turn to him and grin. “Deal.”
Despite the couple of beers I’d had, I’m cold out here. And beneath the rustle of fall leaves, there’s a strange stillness, like the campus is lying dormant. Like it’s waiting for something.
We walk in silence for a minute, past the umber brick and ivied walls of East Pyne, our watery reflections slithering across diamond-paned glass. We duck under stone archways, wind through cloisters, and descend stone steps. We’re walking under a large tree when crows burst from its branches, making me jump.
Despite it being a Saturday night, the campus is oddly empty, and though I’ve walked this path many times, there’s something unnerving about the dark.
I turn to Ben, hoping to distract myself. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
“Shoot.”
“I’ve always wondered…why do men’s soccer players shave their legs?”
Ben laughs. “I don’t know, some guys think it feels better under their shin guards or tape. Why?”
“Well, I think that’s refreshingly subverting of gender norms, and I’m not against all guys doing it.”
Ben laughs. “Somehow I think that might be giving some of my teammates more credit than they deserve.”
He asks me about dance, and I tell him how I’m in five pieces this year and choreographing two of them. “I’m nervous I won’t be able to pull it off.”
“Wow. I mean, I have no doubt you can pull it off, but yeah, wow, that is a lot.” I laugh, and he smiles. “Are you going to keep dancing after?” he asks. “Professionally?”
I shake my head. “There’s no way I’m good enough. And…I don’t know, I want to travel, see the world, then figure out all the career stuff.”
Ben nods. “If you could go anywhere…where would you go?”
“So many places: Morocco, Brazil, Egypt. I’d love to backpack through Switzerland and then end up on some small island in Indonesia, work on a boat, and go climbing and scuba diving every day.”
