“Is ityourparents?” I asked in a deadpan voice. “Because if so, you might want a mint. And some coffee. And a chance to make better choices.”
“What?” he said.
Again, I thought of Roo, nodding as I discussed my humor. Clearly, Blake was not of our people. “Never mind,” I said. “Show me.”
I followed him down the sidewalk. At the end of the row, there was a laundry room, a dryer inside banging loudly, as well as a bulletin board with the clearly ignored rules of NO PARTIES and NO GUESTS. After that, the walkway ended, but Blake kept going, hanging a left into the dark behind the building. We passed a row of shrubs before coming up on a blank bit of wall, a pair of floodlights shining down it.
“I give you,” he said, “the Campus wall.”
What I was looking at was a square expanse, maybe six feet by eight feet, weather-worn and streaked with dirt. It looked in need of a power washing, not our attention. “It’s nice?” I ventured.
“Nice?” He sighed, then stepped closer, right up to it, gesturing for me to do the same. “It’s history. Look.”
I stepped up beside him. As I did, I saw what I’d thought was dirt and blotches were actually signatures, tons of them, stretching from one side to the other. KENT RAMENS KITCHEN WARRIOR! CLASS OF 1987. ELIZABETH WAS HERE ’94. ALEX AND EVIE, 7/20/2000–4EVER. It reminded me of the pictures under glass in Mimi’s office, all these memories, but in words, not images.
“When was your dad here?” Blake asked me now. “Do you know?”
I thought for a second. “The late nineties, I think.”
He bent down to study something scribbled by one of the bushes. “I’ve seen some from then here for sure.Unfortunately, they’re not in any order. You just sign where you find a spot.”
“Have you?” I asked.
“Yep. It’s up there.” I looked where he was indicating, scanning the scribbles above us to the left. Finally, I found it: BLAKE R., DOCKS Y’ALL! ’18. Colin’s signature was below.
“You do it every summer,” I said, clarifying.
“At theendof summer. The bash on the last night. It’s a ritual.”
I looked back up at all those names and dates, wondering if my dad’s really was up there someplace. It was weird, picturing him at Blake’s age, maybe with my mom nearby. And now here I was, brought to this same place all these years later. It seemed crazy, and fated, hitting me all at once, so that I felt unsteady even before I turned to find Blake right there, his face close to mine.
“Hi,” he said softly. Up close the freckles weren’t so noticeable, which was weird.
“Hi,” I replied. I could see a name in my side vision—MARY!—with a heart, but only for a second, because then I was closing my eyes and he was sliding his arms around my waist and kissing me.
I’d waited so long for this moment, my first real kiss, and envisioned it in a million different ways. None of them, however, involved a wall, the thought of my mom and dad, and then, just as I’d managed to push these things away, thesudden sound of someone yelling.
“Did you hear that?” he asked, pulling back from me.
“Yeah. What was it?”
We were both quiet. His arms were still around my waist. A beat later, I heard a girl’s voice, distant but clear. “I always do what you want! The least you can do is return the favoronce!”
“That sounds like Bailey,” I said softly, not sure why I was whispering.
“You want me to let you drive the boat home when you’ve been drinking,” a male voice replied.
“Goddammit, Jack. I didn’t say that!”
Blake looked at me. “Her brother,” I explained. “I should probably—”
“Yeah,” he said, stepping back to wave me past him. “Let’s go.”
Quickly, I made my way around the building and into the light of the Campus. As my feet hit the sidewalk and I passed the bulletin board, I realized how loud their voices actually were.
“I set this whole thing up,” Bailey was saying. “I told everyone you guys were going to be here, and then you finally show up and just want to take the boat—”
“Because you’re not driving it,” Jack shot back. “Look at you! You’re slurring!”
