Dirty Disaster

by Addison Moore

  Just as the four of us are leaving, Jules pokes her head out the door.

  “Piper James?”

  I turn around.

  “Can you come back in?” Her crimson lips expand to reveal an entire picket fence of perfect white teeth. “I think you left your sweater in the commons room,” she says through a smile, and I can’t help but feel a sisterly warmth about her.

  “Sure!”

  Scarlett pulls me in. “You didn’t bring a sweater. You and I both know it feels like a dragon is breathing down our necks, it’s so hot out. Don’t go back there. This is the classic start to a horror movie.” Scarlett is clearly feeling a bit stabby about this whole sorority thing, but I’m not too worried about her psychoanalysis, emphasis on the psycho, since she’s just had her neck sawed on in the last few hours. Jet and his flesh hungry needle can make anyone a little psychotic.

  “Relax, would you?” I attempt to calm her by petting her forearm. “I’ll be right there!” I call to Jules, and she dips back into the house. “The only fire on anyone’s neck is yours, remember? And I might have brought a sweater,” I say coyly, knowing full well I didn’t. Everyone knows that a callback to the popular kids table is the inevitable Midas touch waiting to fall upon you, and I am very much ready for my world to start turning a lot less Owen and a lot more Alpha Chi gold.

  I make a beeline for the house.

  “We’ll wait for you!” Cassidy sings the words into the night like a country song as I practically skip my way back inside.

  In the foyer, Jules and Lucille stand off to the side with their arms folded across their chests, a white sweater in hand that clearly isn’t mine, and my heart drops. There is literally a cardigan at the bottom of this clandestine callback, and here I was gearing up to have a little fun. Isn’t rush supposed to be filled with covert meetings robed in secret? Spending the night in flocked white caskets? And eating grasshoppers for dinner for a solid week straight? In truth, that portion of sorority life took up a large fraction of my fantasy life. Not that I could stomach anything with eight tiny legs, but still, some traditions are not mine to break.

  “This wouldn’t be yours, would it?” Jules holds up the tiny cotton shell, and I reluctantly shake my head, wondering if I gave the right answer. Should I lay claim to the sweater? Is it code for something? Is the girl who claims it as her own going to land herself an automatic spot in the house without having to degrade herself in twenty different ways for the next three weeks? I hate trying to decode people. But mostly, I just hate people.

  “Sorry about that.” Jules and Lucille exchange devious grins. “We actually have something to give you.” They lead me to an office and shut the door while Jules hands me a sealed white envelope. “We like you, Piper.” Her eyes narrow in on me as if liking me were a grievance. “We like you a lot.”

  My heart thumps unnaturally. Swear to God, if things get sexual, I’ll be forced to throw shit and run. There are a lot of things I would do to get in, but making out with Jules and Lucille isn’t near the top of the list. Maybe, just maybe I would flash them my boobs, but for sure I’m not going to allow them to bark out sexual orders at me.

  “What’s this?” I start to unseal the envelope, and Lucille places her hand over mine.

  “We’ll leave you alone to look at it.”

  Jules gives a single nod as that manufactured smile of hers abandons her features. “Just know that you can never show that envelope to anyone. And if we learn that you’ve photographed it, copied it, or shared it with a friend, you will be forever disqualified from being a member at Alpha House.”

  She’s serious as a heart attack, and now I’m about to have one.

  “Not even my friends that are rushing alongside me?”

  “Especially not them. We get wind of that, and none of you get in.” Lucille leans in so far I’m afraid she might tip over. “What’s in your hands is the key to landing yourself a bed in Alpha Chi—this semester.”

  My mouth falls open.

  “That’s right.” That eerie grimace returns to Jules’ face. “You can score a bed in this house as soon as you knock off every item on that list. Just be sure to follow the instructions to a T.” She gives a solemn nod as if the security of our great nation were riding on my shoulders.

  “What if I finish before rush ends?”

  “Then know you have a bed, no matter what happens, but you’ll still be expected to go through the motions. There are only a handful of freshmen that received that letter. And remember—you can’t tell anyone, or we’ll know.”

  Lucille gives a curt look that sears my tits right off. “We will know if you try to deceive us.” She points two fingers at her eyes then mine, and I struggle not to avert my gaze, or laugh, which is really what I want to do.

  I wait until the click of the door before I tear open the seal and pull out the letter.

  Congratulations! You are among the freshman select that we have chosen to participate as a Super Pledge—an elite group of less than five girls we feel would make an exceptional addition to our team. We wanted to reach out and make it clear that you are a shoo-in at Alpha Chi, so pat yourself on the back because you already have a bed with your name on it!

  I pause a moment to blink back tears. I hate that I want something so bad it has the power to reduce me to a ball of emotions, but I’m so freaking happy right now I don’t give a damn. Let the happy tears fall where they may—and a big fat tear does just that by splatting onto the letter in my hands.

  Simply check off all five things on this list, and be sure to follow instructions! As soon as you finish, you will become an official member. Team leaders will contact you to participate in a private candle lighting ceremony where you will receive a house-issued necklace.

  House-issued necklace? They told us tonight we have to provide our own pearls. This must be big.

  I scan down to the list.

  Hate Monday? Wear a clown wig! This is a MUST. The wig needs to be worn to all classes and activities. At Alpha Chi, we believe in bringing cheer wherever we go, no matter what day of the week. You will be sure to put a smile on everyone’s face, and you will also have the pleasure of knowing you are well on your way to achieving your goal! Upload a picture of yourself at the beginning and end of every class to all of your social media sites and send us the links. (Don’t worry, we’ll make this easy and friend you!)

  Find a homeless man (residentially-challenged for the PC crowd!) and bring him to Whitney Briggs, Founder’s Square. Be sure to take a picture of the two of you and upload to all of your social media sites! Remember to say cheese! And maybe give him a piece, too. Charity and the milk of human kindness are the cornerstones of our great organization.

  Pay a visit to Gamma Gamma Gamma and recite the alphabet to each of their three chapter leaders backward. (Becky and Laura are real bitches. If they accuse you of being affiliated with Alpha Chi in any way, deny, deny, deny!) (BTW, you can totally use a script if you need to. No points will be docked for your inadequacy to memorize 26 lousy letters!)

  Find a lowlife “player” and make your way into his proverbial bed. Tame that bad boy for a week and send us the provocative pictures. (Feel free to get coital or not!) Do NOT upload to social media sites. Here at Alpha Chi, we pride ourselves in landing gentlemen of a certain caliber. Consider this your final fling with the bad boys of WB. You’re welcome.

  Do, and we repeat, DO the deed with Winston Stanford. We’ll use our sources at Sigma Theta Tau to verify this task was completed in its entirety. (Obvs this one was hand-tailored just for you! Again, you’re welcome!)

  Please note that forgoing this assignment will cost you a spot on the Alpha Chi roster. Now that you are a Super Pledge, you no longer are afforded the rights that are inherently granted to PNMs. Without completing this list, you are officially and permanently disqualified from becoming a member.

  “What?” I stagger for a moment before stuffing the stupid letter into my purse. “This is ridiculous. I’m not sl
eeping with Winston.” Am I? A sick feeling coats me like lead from the inside as I head out into the cool night air and find my friends waiting for me.

  Cassidy comes at me, wide-eyed. “You look like they chopped off your left tit and pan fried it for you. You didn’t eat a little pink tit, did you?”

  “Gross—no.” I can’t even muster the right amount of annoyance toward her at the moment.

  We pile into Scarlett’s Jeep as Alpha Chi and all of its happy-go-lucky twinkle lights melt behind us like a bad dream. And, as if entering an entirely new nightmare, I somehow resign to do it. The first three things on the list aren’t going to kill me. Number four is easy. Owen is the only lowlife player I know, well, maybe lowlife is pretty harsh, but the player condom certainly fits. I’m sure I’ll have no problem landing him in a week’s worth of compromising positions. But number five? I swill this around in my mind for a moment. Winston and I do make a lot of sense together. Jules and Lucille made it clear that they’ve masterminded this relationship, and they are batting a thousand! He’s not hard on the eyes. We’re both into finance. We’re practically the same person on paper. I have to lose my virginity sometime. Don’t I? He’s practically my boyfriend anyway. I’m sure by the time I whittle my list down to five, I’ll be more than ready to take that vaginal plunge, and if I’m not, I’ll just blow off the sorority.

  But something in me knows I won’t.

  I’m not blowing off this opportunity simply because I’m too chicken to sleep with my new boyfriend. A part of me is excited over the idea—not really, but if I say it long enough, I might start to believe it.

  I try to envision Winston grunting on top of me, but he keeps morphing into Owen, and that tender spot between my thighs goes off like a riot.

  Oh, hell. What have I gotten myself into?

  Owen will never know what hit him, and then once he’s crossed off my list, neither will I.

  Owen

  I’m not a psychologist, but I’m more than acutely aware of the fact there are different levels of crazy. You have happy insane, the relatively harmless people who like to skydive wearing nothing but a giant grin. I’d like to think I fall into that magical category, although I prefer to do all of my naked diving in the bedroom, but I digress. Then you have insane like my sister Aubree who saw nothing wrong with killing one girl and attempting to kill another in order to make her way into Bryson Edwards’ bed. I agree with the fact she needs many, many years of psychiatric rehabilitation, and even at that she needs to pay for her heartbreaking and heinous crimes. Then you have the gray middle.

  I squint hard in the direction of Founder’s Square, trying to make out the bizarre scenario playing out in front of me.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, trying to keep pace with a girl whose face looks suspiciously like gorgeous Piper James with the exception she’s planted a clown wig on top of her head.

  People crane their necks and point as she walks toward Union Hall with her backpack secured over both shoulders, her clothes very unassuming as if this were simply any other nutty day. She ducks into Carlson Lecture Hall, and I casually pass the door before peering back to see if it is indeed Piper.

  “Shit,” I whisper at first glance.

  There she is, pulling out her books, adjusting her laptop in front of her as if this was any ordinary multi-colored hair day.

  Rex comes stalking down the corridor as if he’s about to tackle me to the ground. “What’s up?”

  I take a step back out of view. “Are you in this class?”

  “Yup. Do you need something? You want to sit in?”

  “No—no. Piper’s in there. She’s got a fucking clown wig on.”

  He peers in and backs up with a look that says it all.

  “Is she rushing?”

  “She must be.” A flood of relief takes over. I hadn’t even considered that. Of course, she’s rushing. She’s rushing for that same batshit sorority that Aubree used to run with an iron fist. It makes perfect sense. “I bet we’ll see hundreds of those polyester snow cones all day long. Looking forward to it, man. It’s going to be a riot.”

  Rex shakes his head. “They’re going to take heat for that. That falls under humiliation, and that, my friend, falls under hazing.” He shoots at me with his finger before hustling inside.

  I take another quick look at poor Piper who has everyone seated behind her giggling in secrecy, and everyone seated in front of her twisting to get a better look.

  Why would she ever agree to that?

  All the livelong day, I spot her around campus bopping from one class to the other, in line at Hallowed Grounds looking like a rainbow took a crap on her head. Piper is happily out and about with her new look, and I don’t spot another single soul with that ridiculous wig on.

  I watch as her multi-colored self ducks into the library, and I follow her inside.

  “Hey.” I drop my backpack to the floor and take a seat in front of her.

  Piper looks up. A dull smile comes and goes. She looks tired, downright exhausted, and dare I say, more than a touch humiliated. My stomach wrenches for her. I wish she didn’t feel the need to humiliate herself for the sake of getting ahead in that fucked-up organization. It’s like the mob, only with lipstick instead of guns.

  “Go ahead.” She cracks a book and glances down. “Take your best shot.” Her voice wavers like she’s about to cry, and I can’t say I blame her.

  A lone strand of glossy black hair peeks through, and I lean over and give it a quick tug.

  “What’s this about? You have beautiful hair. No need to hide it from the world. Your new hair sucks.”

  She grunts. That hurt look she was wearing a second ago morphs into disgust. “Have you considered a career in the greeting card industry?” She pretends to gag. “You don’t have to be nice. Give it another go.” She slinks down in her seat and pulls the book to her nose.

  “Okay.” I pluck the book from her hands and close it. “You look ridiculous. I don’t need a road map to tell me who talked you into this. But you know what I can’t figure out?” I wince, trying to read her face, but she’s not giving away any of her secrets. “Why just you? Are they doling out the humiliation incrementally this year?”

  Piper shudders as she stretches out in her seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  A group of girls walks by giggling shamelessly.

  “Deny it all you want.” My body shifts toward hers. “I refuse to believe you’re a sandwich short of a picnic.”

  A laugh bubbles from her, first genuine one since we’ve met.

  Piper is softening, lowering her defenses, and I want that for her. Not for the stupid bet, but for her wellbeing in general. She’s so pent up, so stuck on angry all the time, it’s painful to watch.

  An idea comes to me. “You want to blow off this place? We can grab a bite and work on trying to pin down a few corporations to contact. We can start a master list of potential hits. Ryder gave us a few leads.” I can really use a grand right about now. Last night wasn’t my best, and ninety percent of my income is based on tips. I couldn’t help the lousy performance, though. I kept thinking of Piper. I didn’t want anyone else touching me. For some sadistic reason, I just want her. That dull ache in my belly was hungry for her. It took me down a notch, and I hate to admit it.

  “I am starved.” She gives a nervous glance around. “But I’m sort of committed.” She touches her kinky manufactured curls and makes a face. “Hey, I know! We can go to your place. Do you live far?”

  An unexpected jolt blasts through me. As much as she stunned me with that slap the other night, she’s managed to do it again with her eagerness to land so close to my bed.

  “Yes—no. I mean, yes, we can go to my place. No, I don’t live far. I’m across the street at the Briggs Apartments.”

  She blinks with relief. “Nice.” She scoops up her things like the building were on fire and heads for the door.

  Piper and I walk across the street amid the sneers and jee
rs of the population at large.

  We head into the cool building and step into the elevator, just the two of us. I wait until the doors whoosh shut before I say anything.

  “I can’t imagine what kind of a shit day you’ve had. Did your professors ask about this?”

  Tears come to her eyes, turning them a watery shade of turquoise, and she’s quick to wipe them away. “Dr. Rosenthal asked if I was bipolar.”

  “I bet you had a brilliant comeback.”

  Her eyes widen as she looks right at me, serious as shit. “I lied and said yes.”

  My heart breaks just hearing her say it.

  The elevator yawns to life once again, and I lead her over to the door tucked in the corner. “This is my apartment. Try not to show fear, or it’ll bite.”

  It’s true. The place is a wreck, with clothes dumped in piles, the living room strewn with a week’s worth of fast-food wrappers. I’m too damn tired after work to do anything about it, and I’m too busy studying when I get out of class to care.

  “Nice.” Her voice cuts through with a sarcastic edge, and I’m glad about it. The last thing I want is for Piper to be upset. We head inside, and Piper is quick to shut and bolt the door.

  I’m more than amused. “Am I going to want to escape after the things you do to me?” It was either that, or Expecting angry villagers? But I went with the innuendo. Always go with the innuendo, I tell my boys, and the condom business is brisk because of it.

  “You wish.” She makes a face, pulling off her wig with one smooth motion, and her hair spills over her shoulders like black water. “Besides, I have it on good authority that you never initiate an escape once you have a female within a ten-foot radius of your bed.”

  “Touché.”

  Without thinking, my fingers glide over her back, riding her slick glossy hair like a wave. “You know there are less extreme ways to get guys not to hit on you.” I reach down and flick her wig. Piper is beautiful. It would shock me if every guy at Briggs weren’t into her.