Page 83 of Palm South University: Season 3
“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”
I hear my brothers chanting as Skyler and I race to see who finishes our beer first, which is ridiculous, really, because she’s a tiny little peanut compared to me. It’s kind of comical watching her throw down when she’s dressed to the nines, beer dripping down her chin and landing on the large gold necklace she’s paired with her burgundy dress. In the end, I finish first, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist and joining in with my brothers chanting as she finishes.
She’s just as smiley as she would have been had she won, holding up her empty glass in victory as her sisters cheer. Then she grabs my hand, pulling me back out onto the dance floor.
Everything is back to normal now that I finally manned up and apologized to Skyler. She deserved it way earlier than it happened, but thankfully she’d still accepted. Once I talked to my baby brother and heard the whole story from him, I knew I was being an ass — hell, I knew it before then — but it helped me clear my mind enough to realize I was in the wrong.
So, I booked a flight home in a little over a week for winter break to stay at Mac’s place and help Clayton find a job, or at least some way to earn some extra cash. I also made it clear that next time he was worried about money, I wanted him to come to me — even if he felt like I was busy or he didn’t want to bother me. Then, I got my brothers together and made a plan to apologize to Skyler.
The semester hasn’t exactly been the best for me, with Omega Chi being on probation and the fight with Skyler, but I finally feel like everything is falling back into place. We still get to recruit new members in the spring, which means we’ll all be busy when we get back to campus. Add in the facts that I get to spend a few weeks with my brother and Skyler and I are good again, and I’m finding plenty to be thankful for.
Skyler starts the cabbage patch when the DJ spins a disco track and I follow suit, pointing one finger up into the air before crossing it over my hip to point down and back up again. Jess and Ashlei join us, along with Greg and a few of my other brothers, and we make a dance circle, taking turns doing ridiculous dance moves in the middle to a crowd of cheers.
When a slow song comes on, most of the floor clears, making way for couples. Jess and Greg stay on the floor while Ashlei, Skyler, and I make our way back to our table.
“I’m going to run to the restroom,” Skyler says, pointing over her shoulder. “Grab us fresh beers and meet back here?”
“On it.”
She skips off with Ashlei’s arm linked in hers and I head toward the bar at the far end of the ballroom.
Semi-formal is always a little more casual than Formal held in the spring, but everyone still dresses up, and the setting is always some sort of fancy hotel or venue with a ballroom. This one also has a garden, one that connects to the back end of the ballroom where one of the bars is, and when I glance out the door as I wait in line and spot Erin sitting alone on one of the benches, I frown.
Abandoning my spot in line, I dip through the glass double doors, the heat of the night hitting me as soon as they close behind me. It may be December, but it’s still South Florida, and there’s a thin sheen of sweat gathering on the back of Erin’s slender neck as she stares down at her lap, rolling something over and over in her hands.
It’s just the two of us outside — probably because ties and tight dresses already make you sweat enough without adding humidity to them — so I take the open seat next to her on the detailed metal bench.
For a moment I let my eyes roam the garden, taking in the low-hanging trees and wide array of bright flowers. There are a few bird baths, too — the water gently running from each of them serving as the only soundtrack as I try to think of what to say to her. Erin and I haven’t spoken since the night of her birthday, and she made it pretty clear that she didn’t want my help… or maybe even my friendship. But I can’t just walk away from her, not when she’s hurting — even if she denies that she is.
“My mom used to have a garden,” I say finally, my voice soft and low. “When I was younger. Maybe like five or six or so? Before the drugs became more important to her than anything else.”
Erin pauses rolling whatever it is she’s holding and clasps her hands over it tight, listening.
“I would help her sometimes. She didn’t grow flowers as much as like vegetables and stuff. I remember we had fresh tomatoes in our dinners almost every night — in a salad, on a sandwich, mashed up into chili — whatever.” I shake my head. “The garden just turned into a dried-up mess of weeds after she got into drugs, though.”
“I’m sorry,” Erin whispers.
“It’s okay. I really don’t think about her much, honestly. But something about this garden struck that memory, I guess.”
Erin nods and I finally look down at her, taking in the soft shape of her face, the rosy tint of her cheeks, the long slender slope of her nose. She’s always had such a classy and regal look about her, which fits perfectly with the all-black pantsuit she’s wearing tonight. It’s cut deep in the front, right between her chest, but tastefully so, and the back is open, too. Something tells me she decided to wear pants instead of a dress for a reason, a statement of sorts, even if she’s the only one she’s making it for.
“You look gorgeous tonight, Erin,” I say, still watching her.
“Thank you.”
I pause, waiting to see if she’ll talk, but when she doesn’t, I try for humor. “What? Not going to compliment me on my dope threads?” I pull at the cuffs of the gray, black and white plaid jacket I paired with an all-black dress shirt and forest green dress slacks, popping my collar with a grin.
Erin eyes me, a soft smile cracking at the edges of her lips. “It’s a wonder what wearing something other than basketball shorts can do.”
“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”
She smiles a little more but it drops from her face too quickly, reminding me that she’s still a sad girl sitting alone on a bench at her Semi-formal.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, nudging her gently.
Erin shakes her head, fists closed tight around the object of her hand. “Did you hear about Landon’s car?”
My fists clench just at the mention of his name. “Yeah. Fucker deserved it.”