“Crystal River and the Santa Fe both have larger gator populations this year,” adds Delia. She ducks under Ellie’s flailing arm, stumbling back into her roommate and fellow environmental science major. Also the wall. “Lake Alice has a lot more too.”
“Oh!” Susanna blinks at the detective. “Oh, that’s why they’re meeting! Because of Lake Alice!”
“And the smaller lakes, which might equally attract alligators,” he agrees mildly. He glances behind them to the bar. “None of you are driving, right?”
Ellie gropes along Rebecca’s arm until she can lift her friend’s hand, showing the large letters on the back. “Designated driver,” she announces, overenunciating the words.
“Also, no one’s driving,” Rebecca says. “We walked. Servers are a lot less twitchy if they know at least one person per group won’t be swaying.”
Det Corby gives a dubious look to the street, busy with bar traffic despite the late hour, and at the intermittent lights on the campus beyond. “Want me to call you a ride?”
“We’re good.” Rebecca smiles, hoping that her blush doesn’t look as bad as it feels. Or, if it does, that it can be explained away as a by-product of the heat and humidity. “We just need to make sure Ellie doesn’t get in any more fights.”
With a deep groan, Det Corby shakes his head. “Another one? Ellie.”
“He deserved it.”
“Did the table?” mutters Hafsah.
“It was in the way.”
“Everything’s in the way when you’re on your fi—”
“Don’t!” Det Corby lifts his hands, palms out. “Do not tell me how many drinks you’ve had when I know damn well that none of you are twenty-one.”
“My ID would beg to differ.” Ellie sniffs.
“Please don’t continue.”
Rebecca grimaces. Fake IDs and underage drinking are an inescapable part of the college experience. Even the police seem to acknowledge that. If you make it very obvious or force the point, they’ll make the arrest, but otherwise they seem to rely on a few random checks to keep the fear of God in the students and hope that will keep the alcohol poisoning to a minimum.
Meeting the one law enforcement officer who knows for absolute fact that Ellie is not yet twenty-one because he taught them a year ago how to tell a good fake ID from a real one is already a problem. Given that they’re still in the parking lot of the bar . . . ?
It’s a good thing he likes them, Rebecca decides and refuses to think more deeply about that. She scrolls through the rest of the email and puts her phone away. The university has been compulsive about sending out alligator-safety-and-awareness messages throughout the semester, and the past couple of weeks have been particularly saturated. Then again, that’s what happens when you find what’s left of an alligator’s dinner bobbing on the campus’s most popular lake a few hours after a storm churns up the shallows.
Det Corby studies them all and sighs. “Come on, I’ll walk with you partway.”
“We are just fine!” Ellie says too loudly.
“Humor the cop, and let me help. I’d feel bad if you splattered all over University Avenue. Besides, it works best to have a one-to-one sober-to-drunk ratio.” He bows and offers Susanna his arm, and he catches her when her drunken curtsy starts to tip into a face-plant. In order to keep her balance as they start walking, she winds around his arm and presses her cheek into his biceps, humming happily in a way she probably doesn’t intend to sound as suggestive as it does. A moment later the humming ticks up into a wobbling off-key rendition of “Nessun dorma.”
Susanna’s older brother is an aspiring operatic tenor; they can always tell what show he’s rehearsing for by what Susanna sings (badly) when she’s drunk.
Rebecca’s more impressed that despite the muffled snorts of laughter from Det Corby, the shoulder supporting Susanna doesn’t move at all.
They make their way slowly down to the crosswalk, which they honestly wouldn’t have done if the detective wasn’t with them. Backtracking sucks. Delia and Hafsah put their arms around each other’s waists, close enough in height that it provides balance without a lot of wrestling. Delia tends to list left when she’s been drinking, and they’ve all learned to stay on that side to make steering her easier. At the rear of the group, Rebecca draws Ellie’s closer arm over her shoulders, firmly grasping the other one just over the elbow to keep her from launching herself at the catcalling, laughing boys loitering outside the bars they pass. Ellie loudly complains about chauvinism and patriarchy and damsels in distress and only succeeds in kicking someone once. The brawl has her in a good mood.
After the crosswalk, a grinning Det Corby gently extricates himself from Susanna and hands her off to Hafsah. “Ladies. You’re sure you’re good from here?”
“We’re always good,” Ellie retorts.
“We’ll be fine,” Rebecca says. “We’re not that far in.”
“All right. The UPD meeting should be letting out pretty soon, so if you need to call them for help back, please do so.” He holds a hand out to Rebecca, but both of hers are occupied with Ellie. With a grin, he gently tweaks the tip of her nose, making her eyes cross. He gives the rest of them a little wave and jogs back across the road before the light changes.
Nose twitching, Rebecca looks after him until he disappears into one of the bars. When she turns back around, she jumps at Ellie’s face nearly pressed up against her own. “Personal space. That’s still a thing, even when you can’t walk on your own.”
“You liiiiiike him,” crows Ellie. “You have a crush on Det Cooooorby.”
“Hush.”
“You really liiiiike him.”
“I can drop you.”
“I think it’s cute,” she announces. “I can be your wingman. Wingwoman. Person?”
Rebecca grits her teeth and tries not to blush. Again. Still? “Tell me the last time you flirted with someone that didn’t end with their getting stitches, and I’ll consider it.”
“Who needs boys? You don’t need boys. You’re good.”
Susanna and Delia cackle. Hafsah sighs. Hafsah sighs a lot when the others have been drinking.
“Let’s just go back to the dorms,” Rebecca says. “And keep an eye out for alligators, I guess. University is certainly worried.”
Ellie lurches forward, dragging Rebecca with her the first few feet until Ellie breaks away. “Heeeeere, alligators! Come eat all the stupid boys!”
Swearing, Rebecca chases after her suitemate so Ellie doesn’t crash headfirst into a sign. Or a tree. Or a building.
Again.
4
Rebecca scrolls slowly down the latest email from the university, one hand shading both her eyes and the phone screen. Her sunglasses, currently pushed up to keep her orange-red hair out of her eyes, would make it hard to read the screen, but the glare from the sun isn’t much better. On the increasingly rare occasions they can get Ellie to agree to drink in the dorm instead of going out, the usual snarls mellow out into silliness. On one such night, Ellie spent hours arguing that they were both redheads. Just to keep her arguing and laughing, Rebecca insisted that ginger was separate from redhead—because freckles—and ever since then it’s become a kind of shorthand within their suite for the kinds of conversation that can only happen when Ellie is surrounded by girls.