“I tried to keep him out of Sterling,” Ben says, “but he had someone on his side.”
At Ben’s words, I look up. But I don’t mention what I know and he does not: Pete isn’t just in Sterling, he’s also in Greystone.
—
Finally we arriveat Sterling, and after a couple of beers, I forget all about Pete Whitney. On the back patio, a guy in my class is playing a set, all in Spanish, and everyone is shouting the words to his songs. My sister always told me when she was here the crowd was all preppy and white, but while there are still guys like Pete, it’s not like that anymore. Around me, there are students of all shades of brown, black, beige, and everything in between.
I’m taking a sip of my beer when I feel someone staring at me from the other side of the crowd. I look up to find Liam, his arm around a girl I don’t recognize, and quickly force my gaze away. I shouldn’t be surprised to see him; he’s a member. We’ve managed to avoid each other lately, but seeing him with someone else so shortly after we’d spent the night together still stings.
Ben notices me staring and whispers in my ear, “Is that Nobody?”
I can’t help but smile.
He tilts his head to mine conspiratorially. “Want to make him jealous?”
I raise my eyebrows as adrenaline whips through me.
On the dance floor, Ben pulls me up tight against his body, and I try to forget about Liam. But a few songs later, I open my eyes and see him on the other side of the room, dancing with the same girl he was with earlier. Now that they’re closer, I think she’s a sophomore on the field hockey team. ProbablyMollie Field Hockey.
Liam looks over and meets my eyes, and then to my disbelief, he grabs her chin and kisses her.What the hell is he doing?
Flushing with anger, I force my eyes shut and press myself closer to Ben, who seems surprised at first but then wraps his arms tighter around me. We dance that way for several songs, until we’re out of breath and slick with sweat.
A half hour later, we’ve moved to the far corner of the dance floor, and when I scan the crowd for Liam, he and the girl are gone.
Ben looks down at me. “Do you want to get out of here? You could come to my place and I could show you my photography.”
I laugh. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
“No pressure,” Ben says, flushing.
I’d hooked up with a few people since Liam and I broke up—there had been Abe, the mouth breather; Gio, who was way too into role-play; Thea, who would not stop quoting Shakespeare. But this feels different.
At the same time, though, I’m not sure I’m ready to feel like this again. Everything with Liam still feels too fresh.
Over Ben’s shoulder, I see Liam standing with a beer in the hallway, watching me. With a rush of adrenaline, I turn back to Ben, thread my fingers through his belt loops, and kiss him. After a moment of surprise, Ben grins and kisses me back. I like the way his lips feel on mine, and his lack of hesitation is attractive. Without opening my eyes, I sense Liam watching us and it feels good in a kind of wicked, vengeful way.
The room is packed and sweaty, and we’re both breathing more heavily than usual. After another song, I pull back from Ben. His hairis pushed back off his forehead, shirt unbuttoned a little, and he looks kind of wild. “Okay, let’s see your photography.”
—
Ben’s room isnot at all what I was expecting. it’s warm and filled with life: plants and music and abstract art. “Mind if I look around?” I ask him.
He hands me a beer. “Be my guest.”
I make my way around the space, taking in his framed black-and-white photography of people in Chinatown, an antique abacus (his grandfather’s), running my fingers over his books:Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, A Brief History of Time,andThe End of Everything (Astrophysically Speaking).I pluck through his record collection—A Tribe Called Quest, Flowdan, Japanese Breakfast.
“So why can’t you pursue photography? I mean, after we graduate,” I say without looking up. My hands stop on a Childish Gambino album, and I lift it from the case.
“Oh.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “It’s not in the cards for me.”
I set the record down and make my way over to him. “What do you mean?”
Ben shows me a picture of him and an older Asian couple I assume are his parents. “The only way for someone like me to make it is to become a doctor or a lawyer or something.”
“That’s not true,” I tell him. “Look at these photos. You’re so talented. You could make a career out of it.”
“Maybe someone raised by the St. Clairs can.” Ben looks away. “But not me.”
