big,” Roma said, and put it back on.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Warren said.
“I’ll show you where it is,” Natalie said.
He followed her into the house. It smelled perfumey, and a big TV was on. The bathroom was nice, with gold faucets, and the towels had owls on them. Then he found Natalie in the kitchen, where the girls were unpacking the food and pouring Coke into paper cups.
“Have some, Warren,” Roma said. To Natalie, she said, “Okay, who is he?”
“My nephew.”
“What’s a nephew?” he said.
The girls chuckled.
“You’re an only child, Natalie,” Roma said. “How can you have a nephew?”
“I’m friends with his parents,” Natalie said. “They asked me to watch him for a while.”
“He’s a cutie,” said a girl whose cheeks made apple shapes when she smiled. “My name’s Jennifer,” she told him.
Warren drank his Coke. He liked all the girls.
“It’s a big day for us, Warren,” Roma said. “We’re in Rush Week. Has Natalie told you what that is?”
“No.” He gazed around the kitchen. The fridge was white and extra-big. Everything was clean, except where barbecue sauce had spilled. Some of the girls smoked cigarettes, leaning their heads back and laughing as they blew smoke into the air.
“Rush Week,” said Roma, “is when we choose who else will be in our club. It’s fun, but it’s heartbreaking too, because there are so many girls, and we can’t take all of them.”
“Why not?” he said, yet knowing you couldn’t get everything you wanted.
“Silly rules are why.” Roma raised the Coke bottle toward him.
“He’s had enough,” said Natalie. “I promised not to let him have too much sugar.”
“Ohh,” said Roma, breaking into a yawn. She pushed her plate away, pillowed her head on her arms, and said in a muffled voice, “If y’all want to rest up before the parties, do it now. We’ve got to be tip-top.”
“Warren, do you want to see my room?” Natalie asked.
“Yes,” he said, as Daddy and Aunt Tate popped into his mind. He wondered if they were still inside the restaurant. He followed Natalie up the steps. On the walls above the stairs were group photos of the girls at railroad tracks.
“A choo-choo train!” he said.
“That’s one of our symbols,” Natalie said. “It’s in a song I’ll teach you.”
Her room was wonderful. Sunlight turned the curtains golden, like the bands on her shirt, and she had bunk beds. He reached for the top one.
“Let me give you a boost.” She lifted him. “You’re heavier than you look.”
From the top bunk, he surveyed her dresser, crowded with sparkly jewelry. In a corner stood an easel with bright colors splashed on canvas. Suitcases were stacked against a wall.
“Are you going on a trip, Natalie?”
“I made trips all summer,” she said. “I went to California with a guy, a ski coach. We got married and drove all over the country. Then we split up.”
“Oh. Where is he?”
“He’s not here. He was never here. Nobody sleeps in that bunk. My roommate decided not to come back this year.”
Something shiny hung on the bedpost—a crown, set with bright clear stones.
“Are you a queen, Natalie?”
“I was the Queen Bee at the Honey Festival back home.” She pulled open her closet door. “Here’s my gown.”
She held up a long shimmering dress made of layers and layers of floaty cloth.
“It looks like clouds,” he said, “or butterfly wings.” He reached out to touch the soft, dazzling material, which had tiny golden bees stitched to silver netting. He loved the dress and the way she was smiling. “What did you do when you were the queen?”
“I gave away little jars of honey at fairs.” She hung the dress in the closet. “Let’s draw.”
“Are you a good draw-er?”
“The best. I’m an art major.”
From her desk, she took crayons, colored pencils, and paper, and spread them on the floor. He climbed off the bunk and settled beside her.
“Don’t tell the others what I told you,” she said. “About being married. They don’t know.”
He didn’t see why that had to be a secret. “Okay.”
She sketched a man with long poles on his feet, flying off a mountainside.
“Have you ever gone skiing?” she asked.
“No,” he said, thinking Aunt Tate’s dress would be clean by now. They’d be out in the parking lot, maybe home. “I have to go back.”
“Please, not yet.” She looked sad. “Aren’t you having fun? We’ll play—we’ll play some more.”
She lifted the sparkly necklaces and earrings from her dresser and piled them on his lap. She took jars of glitter, sequins, and confetti, and tossed handfuls into the air so they rained down brilliantly. He laughed, catching glitter in his hands, on his tongue. It tasted like the tinsel on a Christmas tree. She set the heavy, jeweled crown on his head, but it fell off. He spat glitter into his hand.
Somebody knocked on the door. Apple-cheeked Jennifer stuck her head in and said, “Natalie, we need you downstairs. You’re supposed to be a greeter.”
“Can’t somebody take my place?” Natalie said.
“Hurry up,” said Jennifer.
“Get Kimberly or Heidi to do it,” said Natalie, but Warren sensed she wasn’t talking to Jennifer, who had already gone away, or to him. “So many sisters,” she said tiredly.
“Are they all your sisters?”
“So they say. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“No. I wish I had ’em.”
“You have me,” she said. “I’m going downstairs now. I’ll be back soon.”
Warren found he was sleepy. He scrambled up to the top bunk by himself this time, and she climbed high enough to kiss his cheek.
“I love you,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m going down at all.”
*
