Page 4 of The Summer of ’98

“Wow,” Leroy said, “I feel terrible not knowing that. I mean, I knew about plantations and stuff. Just not the Southernbelle part. Thanks for telling me.”

It was a relief that he wasn’t like some of the scrubs at school who refused to hear about anything that might educate them.

“Yo.” We both looked at a guy standing beside us, drunk and wobbling, his cap on sideways. “Me and my babe need someone to double with us in beer pong. Want to join?”

I looked at Leroy, searching for his thoughts on the invitation, but he was looking at me for the same thing. “I’m not drinking tonight.”

“I have to drive,” Leroy added.

“Aw man,” the guy slurred. “No one’s down for beer pong. Bummer.”

“We could have one game,” I gave in. “I’ll just take a sip. Not the whole cup.”

The guy’s excitement was obvious as he jumped, almost dropping his loose baggy jeans from their place around his butt. He held onto them and ran over to the table that had been set up, where his girlfriend was waiting, smacking her gum.

“You don’t have to drink at all,” Leroy said beside my ear as we walked over to the table hand in hand. “We can tip it on the grass.”

“I’m sure a few sips won’t hurt.”

“All right,” he said when we stopped at the other end of the table. “Go easy, though. If you get too drunk, I won’t be able to kiss you later.”

My stomach did an abundance of somersaults and I missed the round of introductions that were made with our opponents, entirely too focused on his words and the tingling that was running rampant through my veins.

It turned out that I didn’t need to be concerned—the ping-pong ball almost never landed in our cups, and between a sober Leroy and me, we sunk most of our shots. The drunk couple congratulated us and hollered for the next contenders to step up as Leroy and I wandered off.

“That was fun,” I said, stepping over a discarded keg on the ground. Leroy held my hand to steady me, and before we could go back inside, a tall, lean college student intercepted us, a little redhead clinging onto his arm.

“What’s up, man,” Leroy said as the two of them clapped hands. “Ellie, this is Preston, the family friend I mentioned.”

“Hello,” I said, and he gave me a chin nod, his gaze moving between us before he pointed with enthusiasm.

“You wanna room tonight, bro?” he asked Leroy, who suddenly turned crimson red. It was endearing. Leroy opened his mouth to answer but was cut off. “I’m leaving with Shellie. You can take mine, man. I won’t be back tonight. Saves some random slob jerking off in there. Just chuck the sheets in the hamper after. Have a good night, dude.”

He left, tugging a giggling Shellie behind him. Leroy and I stood on the back doorstep as they walked away, and he was unable to make eye contact with me. As mortified as I was, it was amusing all the same.

“I’m not expecting . . . that,” Leroy finally said, still not looking directly at me. “We can—”

“It could be a quiet place to talk?”

His shoulders relaxed and the fact that he was such a gentleman was a major comfort. He’d already alluded to the fact that he wouldn’t kiss me if I was drunk and now it was clear that whatever we did, was up to me. I felt totally safe with him.

The bedroom was tidy, thank goodness. I leaned back against the headboard and spent hours talking to this gorgeous stranger who had stumbled into my life, and somehow, after such a short time together, I felt like I couldn’t remember what life was like before I knew him.

“What about college?” he asked, sitting against the wall with his legs outstretched, mine crossed on top of his. “You going?”

My cheeks warmed. “Can’t afford it. Mom was in high school when I was born and I never knew my dad. He took off, which is fine—I’m not hung up on it at all. But it’s been a struggle for Momma ever since. It’s no big deal; I’m going to do a small business course. I want to run a skincare line when I’m grown.”

“You don’t need some sort of beauty diploma or something for that?”

“Nope. I’m a bit of a guru, to be honest. I do a lot of research at home. It’s science of the skin and I know a thing or two.”

“Is that why your skin is so perfect?”

I touched my cheek, my stomach twisting. “I know what products work for it, so, maybe?” The tremble in my tone exposed how nervous he was making me.

“What about your mom? What does she do?”

“Manages a small sporting goods store for her uncle. She’s waiting for him to retire and hand it over and then she’ll sell it when she takes ownership, but I have no idea what else she would do. She started working there when she got pregnant with me.”

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