Page 20 of The Lake of Lost Girls

“Sure. I’ll invite some of the Phi Lam guys and Jess will put together a playlist,” Daisy offered and Kara practically jumped up and down.

“Yeah, sounds like fun,” I agreed, looking forward to a night of carefree frivolity. “I hope everyone likes the Dave Matthews Band.”

Daisy groaned good-naturedly. “She playsBefore These Crowded Streetsnonstop. I have been forced to learn all the lyrics against my will,” she explained to Kara. My roommate was a classic-rock junkie. She didn’t seem to have much taste for music post 1985. She and my dad would get along really well.

“It’s either that or Backstreet Boys,” I warned, causing Daisy to cringe dramatically.

“Dave it is,” she agreed. We grinned at each other, warm with camaraderie.

“This is going to be sick!” Kara squealed before running back into the dorm.

“Well, she’s something else.” Daisy looped her arm with mine as we made our way to the cafeteria. “So, do you reallythink our irritating RA has run off to follow some band around?”

I forced myself to smile. The topic made my stomach hurt and my chest tight.

“Who knows. What Idoknow is that she’s not worth the energy thinking about.”

“You’re totally right. Which means we really need to live it up while we can. Though twenty bucks says she’s tucked away having naked time with her grandpa boyfriend.” Daisy released my arm as we walked along the outer path that overlooked Mt. Randall.

She pulled us to a stop, looking down the hill at the buildings and streets below. “I still can’t believe you grew up here.” It was the same sentiment she uttered every time we ventured into town. It felt strange going down the hill to visit familiar shops and restaurants after enveloping myself in Southern State’s cocoon. I was both embarrassed and defensive of the tiny place I had always called home.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you don’t seem like a small town girl, Jess,” she commented, throwing her arm around me.

I felt warm all over. Daisy was right. I was changing. I felt it. I had thought I’d only ever be a girl from a small town. But that wasn’t true. I was more than that.

We moved on, heading to the Commons. Once in the cafeteria, she waved at a group of girls sitting at a circular table in the middle of the room. “Grab me a cranberry juice, will ya?”

“Can I use your ID again? I left mine in the room.” I made a face and Daisy laughed, rolling her eyes.

“I’m going to staple it to your hand at this rate.” She fished the card out of her back pocket and handed it to me before walking away.

I watched her join our fellow Pi Gamma Delta pledges. Eight of us had received bids in October.

I hadn’t been sure I even wanted to rush a sorority but was now glad I had. It felt good having a built-in group of friends and plans every night of the week. I was busy—maybe too busy—but I finally felt like I was having the collegeexperience I was meant to have. Even if my new social life was starting to come at the expense of doing my homework.

But being studious and hardworking was exhausting. Letting loose and getting drunk with my new friends was a lot easier than writing a five-hundred-word essay on the misogynistic themes ofThe Odyssey.

Mom was excited about me being in “her” sorority. Though, I suspected her enthusiasm would have been dampened by my decrease in academic focus. My mom claimed she wanted what was best for me. I, however, knew that what she wanted was to see me live the life she had. She always wanted details. Play-by-play accounts. Keeping her happy was exhausting.

Which is why my father had always been the easy one. Our relationship had been effortless. We used to share knowing looks when Mom gave me one of her well-trodden speeches, barely able to hide our laughter.

After sitting through Mom’s lectures, Dad would take me downtown to Carina’s Custard and we’d share a hot fudge brownie sundae. It became another thing that wasours.

“She only wants what’s best for you,” he told me one evening when I was fourteen. I was trying to hold back tears of frustration after being told by Mom I wasn’t applying myself enough after receiving a B on my American History test.

“By yelling at me?” I stirred the ice cream until it became a puddle of brown sludge.

Dad put his hand on top of mine. “She loves you. And I do, too. More than anything. Remember that when it seems like she’s riding you too hard. No one wants better for you than your mom and me.” He squeezed my hand. “Especially me.”

He pushed his half-eaten sundae toward me. “Finish mine. You’ve turned yours into soup,” he laughed.

My dad was great at making me feel better. He understood me in a way no one else did. Not Mom. Not my friends.

No one.

I loaded my tray with french fries, mac ’n’ cheese, and a slice of Boston cream pie, an extra large cup of coffee—I lived off the stuff—and I made sure to grab a bottle of juice for Daisy. My roommate was holding court at the table, telling the other girls all about our missing-in-action RA.

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