man, the basketball star, wouldn’t bear the responsibility, only Darlene, the slut, the man-thieving heifer, regardless of whatever credit she might have with her sisters. When it came to romantic betrayal, they’d give her no breaks.
Then just don’t tell, she begged Kenyatta. Forget I told you.
I’m sorry, these girls gon find out one way or another. Lord knows I can’t keep a secret, neither. Better if it happens sooner than later for all involved. Why you had to tell me, anyway?
No, Kenyatta, don’t. You can’t. Please.
Tau Taus can’t be beating other Tau Taus’ time. You know that.
Kenyatta would never have considered keeping the secret as an act of mercy. In choosing her as a confidante, Darlene had forgotten Kenyatta’s loyalty to the inflexible pecking order of the group, which required that the girls regularly submit their most fashionable clothes to April for approval before dances; though April’s motivation for this ritual remained unspoken, everybody said the reason was that she wanted to keep anyone from upstaging her. Often April would cherry-pick her entire outfit from the best of the lot.
Darlene, petrified, could only wait until someone passed the bad news to Hazel herself. Until then she tried to keep her distance—but not from Nat, with whom she frequently met in the evening on shady residential streets or in parks, where nobody would take note of two dark figures pressed against a tree trunk, their lips conjoined, their hands traveling ardently over each other’s bodies.
During that time, she remained on edge, constantly ready for the inevitable confrontation. She envisioned hair-pulling, so she got her hair cut a little shorter, tied it tightly behind her head in a tiny bun. But nothing happened. Kenyatta claimed not to have told, despite her declarations of allegiance to Sigma Tau Tau, and when Darlene crossed paths with Hazel, she couldn’t detect any signs of vengefulness—no eyes narrowed, no mouth corner raised, not a single oddly placed or ambiguous word in her conversation. Paradoxically, when they returned to campus after the winter break, Hazel’s conversations with Darlene seemed to take on a more familiar tone than usual, a crisp lightness like the very infrequent morning frost.
Hazel played on the women’s varsity basketball team. On the one hand it made her seem a good match for Nat; on the other it inflamed the rumors about her sexuality. One weekend when she had an away game, Darlene and Nat met at an expensive bed-and-breakfast an hour away, in Shreveport, intent on going all the way.
The place had a lush atmosphere, with antique, wallpapered rooms named for Renaissance painters and a deep, putty-colored Jacuzzi recessed into a wood-paneled alcove in the deluxe suites. Nat had requested the Botticelli Room, he told her, but only the Raphael was available.
Fifty more dollars per night, he said, but you’re worth much more than that.
Immediately on arrival, they made gasping, feverish, and clumsy love for the first time in the dry bowl of the Jacuzzi, then Nat playfully hosed the two of them down with the shower attachment and bathed their partially clothed bodies. The evaporating water tickled them as they air-dried, and flushed Darlene with a creamy sense of well-being. Lying exhausted on the comforter, they peeled off the rest of their clothing. They held each other’s faces and basked in the buttery warmth of skin against skin.
Once they tired of such luxury, they agreed to go to dinner. The thought seemed to Darlene almost as outrageous as their lovemaking. They had once run into one of Nat’s teammates at their off-campus diner and become paranoid about being seen together in public, creating the appearance of what happened to be true, but this far from campus they found an alternate universe in which their desires could thrive. Darlene started to find their increasing anxiety silly and frustrating. No one really belongs to anyone else, she thought as
Then just don’t tell, she begged Kenyatta. Forget I told you.
I’m sorry, these girls gon find out one way or another. Lord knows I can’t keep a secret, neither. Better if it happens sooner than later for all involved. Why you had to tell me, anyway?
No, Kenyatta, don’t. You can’t. Please.
Tau Taus can’t be beating other Tau Taus’ time. You know that.
Kenyatta would never have considered keeping the secret as an act of mercy. In choosing her as a confidante, Darlene had forgotten Kenyatta’s loyalty to the inflexible pecking order of the group, which required that the girls regularly submit their most fashionable clothes to April for approval before dances; though April’s motivation for this ritual remained unspoken, everybody said the reason was that she wanted to keep anyone from upstaging her. Often April would cherry-pick her entire outfit from the best of the lot.
Darlene, petrified, could only wait until someone passed the bad news to Hazel herself. Until then she tried to keep her distance—but not from Nat, with whom she frequently met in the evening on shady residential streets or in parks, where nobody would take note of two dark figures pressed against a tree trunk, their lips conjoined, their hands traveling ardently over each other’s bodies.
During that time, she remained on edge, constantly ready for the inevitable confrontation. She envisioned hair-pulling, so she got her hair cut a little shorter, tied it tightly behind her head in a tiny bun. But nothing happened. Kenyatta claimed not to have told, despite her declarations of allegiance to Sigma Tau Tau, and when Darlene crossed paths with Hazel, she couldn’t detect any signs of vengefulness—no eyes narrowed, no mouth corner raised, not a single oddly placed or ambiguous word in her conversation. Paradoxically, when they returned to campus after the winter break, Hazel’s conversations with Darlene seemed to take on a more familiar tone than usual, a crisp lightness like the very infrequent morning frost.
Hazel played on the women’s varsity basketball team. On the one hand it made her seem a good match for Nat; on the other it inflamed the rumors about her sexuality. One weekend when she had an away game, Darlene and Nat met at an expensive bed-and-breakfast an hour away, in Shreveport, intent on going all the way.
The place had a lush atmosphere, with antique, wallpapered rooms named for Renaissance painters and a deep, putty-colored Jacuzzi recessed into a wood-paneled alcove in the deluxe suites. Nat had requested the Botticelli Room, he told her, but only the Raphael was available.
Fifty more dollars per night, he said, but you’re worth much more than that.
Immediately on arrival, they made gasping, feverish, and clumsy love for the first time in the dry bowl of the Jacuzzi, then Nat playfully hosed the two of them down with the shower attachment and bathed their partially clothed bodies. The evaporating water tickled them as they air-dried, and flushed Darlene with a creamy sense of well-being. Lying exhausted on the comforter, they peeled off the rest of their clothing. They held each other’s faces and basked in the buttery warmth of skin against skin.
Once they tired of such luxury, they agreed to go to dinner. The thought seemed to Darlene almost as outrageous as their lovemaking. They had once run into one of Nat’s teammates at their off-campus diner and become paranoid about being seen together in public, creating the appearance of what happened to be true, but this far from campus they found an alternate universe in which their desires could thrive. Darlene started to find their increasing anxiety silly and frustrating. No one really belongs to anyone else, she thought as
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