Better Off Red (37 page)

I wondered where in the world Benny was. No one had heard from her all afternoon, but she was back at the house in time for our emergency chapter meeting at eight. Camila wanted us to meet as a group, without the sister-queens, to decide who would feed Cleo.

They didn’t want anyone to feel pressured into it and they wanted to give us a chance to say whatever we wanted to say without them looking over our shoulders.

Camila didn’t try to cover up the fact I was there during Cleo’s change, but I almost wished she had. When all the details were out, I became the tragedy ambassador. The details of my relationship with Camila were mine to keep, but something that involved the chapter was fair game. I took my seat between Amy and Benny, avoiding eye contact with everyone else. Barb started the meeting before anyone had a chance to ask me what other details I knew.

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reBekah WeatherspOOn

“I’m going to cut right to it. We need volunteers. I’m looking for freshmen and sophomores. I’m not trying to say it has to be, but I know us seniors and juniors have a deeper connection—”

“I’ll do it,” Laura spoke up immediately. “Cleo is the coolest big sister I’ve ever had. No offense.” She nodded in Kate and Jordan’s direction, her nose stud gleaming. “But if she’ll have me, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Laura. Okay, I just need one more person.”

Things got awkward then. I expected at least ten clear volunteers from the start, but no one else spoke up. As the seconds turned to minutes, eyes started looking toward the floor. No one wanted to part from their sister-queen prematurely, and I couldn’t blame them.

Official demon proposal and pretty emerald ring aside, it would take a quarter horse to pull me away from Camila.

Finally, of fucking course, Samantha spoke up. “Benny. Ginger.

What the hell? You’re not going to volunteer?”

“Ginger can’t,” Barb replied before I did.

“Why?” Samantha asked.

“Because Camila said so, and if you have a problem with that, the elevator is through the kitchen, hook a left into the pantry. If you can figure out the code, I’m sure Camila would love to talk to you about whatever is on your mind.” I could have kissed Barb, but that would have required Samantha keeping her mouth shut.

“Well, what about Benny? You two were attached at the ass.

Daddy Dearest only want you feeding the best?” We all froze, waiting for Benny to walk across the room and finally punch Samantha in the face. But Benny stayed put. She gripped my hand, using me as an anchor as she spoke in a tone that was eerily calm.

“Because, Samantha, Cleo doesn’t want me. She told me this morning, in front of the queen and Ginger and her new feeder, Andrew, who is quite polite. You’ll all enjoy him very much. She told me that she didn’t love me anymore and she doesn’t want me to be her feeder. Now, Barb has asked very nicely for someone to volunteer.”

I looked over as Mel started mumbling in Spanish. I’m pretty sure she was cursing. My Puerto Rican slang was as good as my Japanese.

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Better Off red

She switched to English. “I’ll do it. Tokyo loves Cleo. She won’t mind.”

The entire room exhaled.

Barb went on with the meeting, giving us all preliminary instructions on what we all had to do next. As far as the university and the rest of the human world was concerned, Cleo was dead.

She now fell under the same jurisdiction as the rest of the sister-queens. We couldn’t talk about her. Barb stressed this fact to Mel and Laura. Slipping up and mentioning her in front of other students might raise a few eyebrows. They would let us know when someone from her family was supposed to come for her stuff, and if asked, we were all expected to attend her funeral.

After the meeting, Laura and Mel were immediately ushered downstairs to be bound to their new sister-queen. I wanted to talk to Benny alone, but in the moment I turned my head to ask Amy a question Benny disappeared.

• 277 •

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Better Off red

Cleopatra Joy Jones is survived by her mother Cynthia, her father Barry, her three brothers Maxwell, 26, Stephen, 24, and Nathaniel, 19, and her Sisters in Alpha Beta Omega Sorority.

The Chapter at 1444 Milson Avenue will be accepting condolences on her family’s behalf. Donations to Types of Hope will also be accepted in her memory at the aforementioned address and at TypesofHope.org. Cleo was loved dearly by all who knew her, and it is an immense understatement to say that, although she is no longer with us, love will never diminish and she will never be forgotten.”

Ebony folded the university newspaper and let it flop onto the cafeteria table. “Well, at least Sam knows how to write something nice,” she scoffed. Everyone around the table agreed. We were all a little surprised at the care she’d put into the piece.

I took another bite of my pizza and glanced around the cafeteria. At every table someone was reading or talking over Cleo’s obituary. News about her fatal accident had spread through the whole university Greek association by Monday afternoon. By Monday night, the bottom floor of Alpha Beta Omega was filled with flowers. The
MU-Times
came out early Tuesday morning, complete with Samantha’s eloquent tribute. It was a beautifully written article highlighting her recent life on and off campus, but it just added to the stress of pretending she no longer existed. Cleo’s funeral was scheduled for Sunday. It would be a private family affair. In January, a larger service would be held at her mother’s Baptist church in Richmond, Virginia. We were all invited.

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reBekah WeatherspOOn

Benny was trying her best to deal with their messy breakup, but that didn’t stop Cleo from feeding from Mel. On our way to dinner, Mel had been stupid enough to admit that Cleo was amazing in bed, right in front of Benny. Mentioning how Andrew was an interesting addition to the feeding didn’t help much either. Mel apologized the second she realized her screw-up. Benny didn’t react, but I knew the words coming from Mel burned her inside. Benny turned as we neared the cafeteria and headed off in the direction of her dorm. She refused to talk to me about Cleo, but even though I didn’t want her to be alone, I was glad she wasn’t around to hear what people were saying.

“It sucks she died, but I don’t even know who that chick is,”

some girl muttered to her friend at the next table. They passed the paper between them.

“This is going to get old,” I said.

“I know something that’ll take our minds off all this,” Amy announced a little too cheerfully.

“What?” I asked. I knew exactly what she was going to say. My birthday was on Saturday. We had parties for everyone, and I had been looking forward to mine, but now it just felt all wrong. I just pictured Benny sitting across the room, watching Cleo with Andrew and Camila and me stuck in the middle. Not my idea of a good time.

“We need to pick a theme for Ginger’s birthday party.”

“Let’s push the party till after break.” I stood and grabbed my tray. “Where are you going?” Amy asked.

“The house. I need a nap.”

“I’ll walk with you.” We left Ebony and Gwen to finish their food. I listened as Amy suggested themes and plans for my rescheduled birthday party. She threw in her opinions on how Benny was doing and what she and Danni had planned for New Year’s Eve. I listened, mm-hmming and nodding as we walked through the cold afternoon. There was no need to interrupt the perfectly good conversation Amy was having with herself.

We split once we reached the house. She booked it up the stairs to Danni’s room and I headed to the elevator. When I got downstairs

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Better Off red

I almost wished I’d followed Amy upstairs. I could hear Cleo shouting from the hall.

“Why are you being so stupid about this?” Cleo yelled.

“If by stupid you mean safe, then yes, I’m being stupid about this because I know you’re asking for trouble,” Camila said as I slithered through the door. She caught me and kissed me on the mouth before I got to a seat. “Hi, baby.”

“Hey. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not.” I melted into her when she kissed me again.

I took Cleo’s aggravated sigh as a sign I was interrupting enough for her tastes and slipped out of Camila’s grasp. I joined Andrew on the couch where he’d been watching them argue it out. “How long have they been fighting?” I asked him. He glanced at the clock.

“Ten minutes.”

“If they’re going to be here, I can do it then. Just get it out of the way,” Cleo said. Great. They were talking about her parents.

“I can’t have them here after nightfall,” Camila said.

“Why? You think I’m going to feed on them?”

“No. I think you want to see them. And I don’t blame you, but I can’t have you even thinking about going upstairs while they’re here.”

“Next week then. After my funeral. Let me go then.”

“That was the plan!” I’d never seen Camila pissed like this before. “I told you. After the funeral I will go with you to your parents’ house. I will show you how to enter your mother’s dream and you can say good-bye. If Andrew is okay with it, we can practice on him in the meantime, but I have to be able to trust that you won’t actually wake your mother up and start a conversation with her, but the more you keep arguing with me and suggesting that you appear to them in the middle of the sorority house, the less I trust you.”

“I wasn’t going to stand on the stairs and rattle chains. I just thought I could be in the room while they’re packing. Drop some hints that I’m still with them.”

“No.” Camila was done.

“Fine. The day after the funeral. You fucking swear on it.”

“The day after your funeral, Cleo. Do not make me regret this.

You want to argue with me? Fine, I’ll be okay with that for a few

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more months. If you mess this up, Dalhem will force me to come down on you. No exceptions. And stop fucking cursing at me.”

“Sorry,” Cleo said. “I’m just—this isn’t cool.”

“I know. Just give it some time.”

“Come on, Andrew.” He followed her faithfully out the door leaving Camila and me alone. I think Camila was at her breaking point. We all were.

❖

The next day after chem lab, I’d dragged myself back to the house to meet Cleo’s parents. I’d been preparing myself for the absolute worst. I should have known we’d get much better from Cleo’s family. Before they’d even set foot in Cleo’s room, the Reverend Cynthia Jones had all of us unloading the fixings for an enormous Southern BBQ buffet. When Cleo’s dad was stressed, he cooked, and man, did he cook. Her mother ordered us to eat while they packed her things, and almost to assure we wouldn’t get caught under their feet, her brother Maxwell put a DVD on for us in the living room. The afternoon after Cleo’s passing, he’d set about compiling a montage to show at her memorial service.

I curled up with Amy and Benny on the couch. The rest of the girls trickled in and gathered around. We watched footage of videos and scrolling photos of Cleo’s short life: Cleo singing in her mother’s church choir, receiving an award from her third grade teacher for citizenship. We all cracked up at several shots of Cleo scoring eight different goals throughout her soccer career in high school. The last clip had been shot just days before. Cleo was in her kitchen, helping her father make Thanksgiving dinner.

“What’s the word, Mr. Maxwell Jones?” she teased her brother.

“You the word, Miss Cleo Jones.” His laughter boomed from behind the camera.

“And don’t you forget.” I laughed even harder when she suddenly deadpanned. “Okay, put the camera down and help Daddy with the stuffing.” Her brother had almost five years on her and even he couldn’t resist her bossy charm.

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We watched it three times before her family was done loading her things. Once Cleo’s things were loaded up, her mother asked us all to join them out by their van before they said good-bye.

Cynthia Jones took Benny’s hand and pulled her close to her side. Cleo had mentioned their friendship, but not the details. “Now I want you girls to pray with me.” She glanced around the circle at our shocked faces, but didn’t wait for a response. She bowed her head as I closed my eyes.

“Father God, our heavenly Lord. We gather before you to give thanks. We thank you for the life of our Cleopatra and the gift you gave when you sent her to us. We thank you for the power of friendship. We thank you for these girls and the sorority that brought them together. We thank you for the joy they brought to our daughter’s life, and we thank you for the joy their faces bring to our hearts today.”

I peeked up as she spoke, wondering who else felt like a complete asshole. Though everyone’s eyes were closed, there was a range of rigid postures and wary expressions and not a few tears already running down some faces. Here her family was, doing everything they could to hold it together. Bringing us food, sharing more of Cleo’s life with us, praying for us, and we all know that their daughter was alive and well somewhere beneath our feet. I wondered if anyone other than me wanted to tell Cynthia Jones the truth. Tears stung my eyes. I tried to blink them away, making a strange noise with my effort. Beside me, Amy held my hand a little tighter.

“We ask you, Father God, to please watch over these girls as we know you are watching over Cleo. Wrap them in your love, Father, and help them through this time. We praise you, always in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

“Amen,” we all replied. I wanted to throw up.

“Now, I’m going to call up here in a few days, and I better get a full report that you are all studying for your tests,” Mrs. Jones said.

“Yes, ma’am,” we all giggled through our tears. I knew the others were seeing just what I was. Even though Cleo was alive, looking at Cleo’s mother was like looking at the Cleo that would never be.

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“Cleo will always be our baby, but you girls were her sisters, and now you’re our daughters. You are welcome in our home any time,” her father said.