that he’s suddenly realized something about injustice and he wants everyone, all of us, to care as much as he does. If you’re not taking to the streets or going to his discussion group, you’re complicit,” Elisabeth said. “When actually, it’s a lot more complicated than that.”
They fell silent. Sam thought about George. She thought again of how the Hollow Tree applied to all the stories Gaby had told her about Barney Reardon.
She was about to raise this with Elisabeth and Andrew when, with sickening clarity, she remembered: today was the second Saturday in November. She had forgotten about the birthday party for Gaby’s daughter.
How could she have forgotten, when these past few weeks, it seemed to be all that Gaby and Maria talked about? Should they hire a clown, or were clowns, as Gaby argued, just too creepy? Homemade cake or bakery cake? Pink balloons or purple? (In the end, they went with both.)
Maria showed everyone a picture on her phone of the pink dress she bought for Josie to wear, and a pink party hat with the number 2 on it in glitter.
Sam went to text Gaby right away, and realized as she did so that the last three messages in the thread had been sent by Gaby, with no response from her.
The first said You around? The second must have arrived right after Gaby invited her to the party. It contained Gaby’s address. The third was a long story about some guy Gaby had gone on two dates with. Sam vaguely recalled seeing the text come in late at night and skimming it while she was talking to Clive, reminding herself to respond in the morning. But she had been so busy. Lately, a thought like that just came and went.
Now she typed: OMG, just realized today was Josie’s party. I had to work. I am SO sorry I missed it. How did it go? Send pics!
Sam could tell Gaby had read the text. She kept looking down at her phone to see if she had replied. No response. No response. Sam turned the ringer up.
Elisabeth and Andrew thanked her over and over when they dropped her in front of the dorm.
“You’re the greatest,” Elisabeth said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
Sam wanted to say, No, I’m not, I’m an asshole, but she just smiled and said, “Anytime.”
She had planned to get in bed and watch the Judy Garland movie marathon on Turner Classics. She told Isabella about it before leaving that morning, and Isabella replied, “You rebel, you. I hate to miss it, but Lexi and I have that concert at State.”
They had invited Sam, but the tickets were seventy bucks.
“I’ll cover yours. It will be an early Christmas present,” Isabella said.
Sam wished it was acceptable to say yes to an offer like that. Instead, she took comfort in the thought of having their room to herself for the night.
But when she opened the door, three guys with gelled hair sat on her bed, and there was Isabella at her desk, in the lap of a fourth, whom she’d met the week before.
The stripper’s assistant.
They had only referred to him that way since. Sam could not remember his real name. He worked as a bouncer at a bar near State. On Thursday night, he showed up at a birthday party in the living room of their dorm, along with a male stripper, who was covered in camouflage body paint. Twenty of them sat in a circle, drinking vodka and screaming when the stripper got too close. He stood in the middle, gyrating to “Born in the U.S.A.,” pulling off articles of clothing until all that remained was a G-string printed with the American flag. Despite this spectacle, many of the women in the room were watching the hot guy who stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing a gray T-shirt and jeans.
Isabella ended up inviting him to their room for a drink after. He said he didn’t drink on the job, but he’d love a cup of tea. She made him one in her hot pot, and for the next two hours, he sat there sipping chamomile and telling them his life story.
His friend the stripper, he said, had recently been beaten up by some customer’s angry boyfriend, and now he didn’t want to go anywhere without backup. He couldn’t stop stripping. He needed the money to get his online degree in criminal justice.
“Aren’t those degrees like a fraud?” Isabella said.
The stripper’s