I let go of him. Gave him an annoyed look. “Stop it,” I said. “You’re being silly.”
“I wish I was,” he said. “You’ve led sort of a protected life, you know? The world out there ain’t as kind as you seem to think it is.”
I lifted my suitcase off my bed. “You better get going,” I said. “You’ll be late for work.”
“I love you, little sis.” It wasn’t like Buddy to say those three words, and his cheeks were pink. I never doubted for a minute that he loved me, but I didn’t think he’d ever actually told me before.
“I love you, too,” I said. “Now, skedaddle.”
He hesitated a moment longer as if he had more to say, but then he turned and I listened to him clump down the stairs.
I’d already said goodbye to my parents that morning. Mama only mumbled a goodbye before she left for her job at the library. Daddy had barely been talking to me ever since I’d told them I was definitely going, and he was gruff when he hugged me goodbye. I didn’t think he’d really expected me to go through with it. He said pretty much what Buddy’d just said. “You can come home any time. If you find this is a mistake, don’t feel like you have to stay there just to save face.”
I was frankly glad when all three of them were out of the house. Now all I had to do was wait for the New York students to come pick me up. I was told they’d arrive between nine and ten that morning and I had my suitcase, a backpack with the recommended books and my camera, and the sleeping bag we’d been told to bring “just in case” on our front porch by eight. I assumed the students would be tired from driving all night, so I’d made some lemonade and a pound cake. I was as nervous about meeting them as if they were some sort of alien creatures instead of college students just like me. UNC had plenty of Northerners, I reminded myself, though I couldn’t say any of them were among my close friends.
The blue and white Volkswagen van didn’t pull into my driveway until just after eleven. I’d worried they’d forgotten about me. I stood at the front door in my skirt and blouse and watched as the two guys and one girl climbed out of the van. The girl wore shorts and it occurred to me that, for the long drive to the orientation in Atlanta at least, I could have done the same. Too late now.
“Hey!” I waved as they crossed the yard toward the house. “I’m Ellie!”
“We got all turned around,” the girl called. She tried unsuccessfully to smooth her short auburn hair away from her face. The air was sticky as tar.
“You live out in the boonies,” one of the guys said.
“I guess,” I said with a shrug and a smile. “Probably compared to where y’all live. New York, right?”
“I’m from Connecticut,” the blond boy said. “But these guys are from the city.”
“Oh.” I knew “the city” meant New York, as if there were only one “city” in the world. Aunt Carol used to refer to it that way, too. I’d never been there. New York was like a foreign country to me, and I had the feeling Round Hill seemed that way to these students, too.
“You live in the middle of nowhere,” the girl said, looking around. “Oh man, check it out!” She pointed toward the kudzu across the street and the guys followed her gaze. “I’ve never seen anything like that. What is it?”
“Kudzu,” I said. “You don’t have that up north?”
“No, thank goodness.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I think it’s really cool,” said the dark-haired boy.
“It’s going to give me nightmares,” the girl said. “And it’s everywhere! How come you don’t have it in your yard?” she asked, frowning toward our mowed side yard.
“My father hires a neighbor’s goats a couple of times over the summer,” I said. “They take care of it.”
All three of them stared at me. “You’re kidding, right?” the dark-haired boy asked.
I laughed. “No, really. You’d be amazed how much kudzu a goat can eat in a day.” They went back to staring across the dirt road and I had the feeling they saw me as the hick they’d expected. The girl finally turned to me.
“Can we use your bathroom?” she asked. Her damp hair was sticking to her forehead.
“Oh, of course! I’m sorry. Come on in! Y’all must be exhausted and famished. When did you leave New York?” I asked.
“Last night around eight,” the blond guy said as they climbed the steps and followed me into the house. “We took turns sleeping and driving. Stopped at a truck stop for burgers in the middle of the night.”
My hostess skills were severely lacking. “Have you had any breakfast?” I asked.
“Nothing,” the girl said.
I pointed her in the direction of the bathroom and she was already unsnapping her shorts as she headed down the hall.
I had to reorganize my thinking. I’d figured we’d have a little cake and lemonade and then we’d be on the road, but these three needed a break and some real food. “I can make you sandwiches,” I said to the boys. “And coffee? Do you want coffee or lemonade?”
“Both,” the guys said in unison, and I laughed.
I fed them tomato-and-mayonnaise sandwiches and lemonade. I was too nervous to eat, myself; I felt like an outsider in my own home. The three of them seemed to know each other well from the ride down. The boys were from Columbia University and the girl from Drew University, a school in New Jersey. They were already telling inside jokes about things that had happened so far on their trip, and they made no effort to include me in their conversation. I thought back to what Reverend Filburn had said about me not being trusted. I felt shy, the way I often did in a new situation, and I wasn’t sure how to break into their tight little circle.
I gradually got their names. The girl was Peggy Greenberg, which I knew was a Jewish name. I’d never met a Jew before, nor an Italian, which David DeSimone turned out to be, despite his blond hair. The dark-haired boy with a sort of Beatles haircut was Chip Stein. Another Jewish name. Two Jews, an Italian, and me. I felt pretty plain vanilla sitting with them at my kitchen table. I was also annoyed with myself for automatically categorizing them. I was certain, though, that they were doing the same with me. They kept laughing about my father hiring goats to do our gardening and I had the feeling that would be the running joke for the ride to Atlanta.
“This is one of the counties SCOPE’ll be working in, right?” Chip asked, finally directing a question to me. He looked around the kitchen as though it represented all of Derby County.
“Yes,” I said, “though not here in Round Hill. It’s a really big county. I’m hoping I’ll be assigned back here after the orientation.”
“I think you’re the only Southerner in the whole program,” David said as he finished his sandwich.
“The only white Southerner,” Chip corrected him.
“Right,” David said. “I guess there’ll be lots of locals working with us, wherever we land.”
“What’s this little town like? Round Hill?” Peggy asked. “It looked cute when we drove through it, with all the little shops. Very quaint. Looks like it’s from another era. But it’s mostly farms out here, right?”