Dirty Disaster

by Addison Moore

  “Dinner!” she hisses. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, sweetheart.” She says that last word with a touch too much sarcasm. Great. Now she’s mocking me. Just what I’ve always wanted, a batshit “girlfriend” who likes to toss my balls in the air and catch them with her teeth just for the hell of it.

  “What?” I try my best to whisper. “Where is your head? He could be a fucking psycho.”

  “My head is right where it needs to be,” she hisses. “I’m taking some good advice and being my nice self!”

  “Next time someone gives you the advice to be yourself, don’t take it.”

  She swats me across the chest. “This is my treat. If you play nice, you can have a steak, too.” Her voice bounces over the deserted street so loud it comes back as an echo.

  The old guy stands, wild-eyed, as he collects his bloated pillowcase. “I’m in. I haven’t had a steak in six years. Do they still use cow?”

  Great. Just great.

  I drive “Pete” and Piper over to the Steak Shack, where upon her request we hit the drive-through.

  “We’ll be eating at a second location,” Piper says loud and staggeringly slow to the poor guy we’ve just hijacked off the mean streets of Jepson.

  “Oh, boy!” Pete rubs his fingerless gloved hands together as if warming himself by a fire. “Am I ever hungry for a nice-and-juicy!”

  A dull laugh rumbles through my chest. “You know what they say”—I whisper just loud enough for Piper to hear—“never let them take you to a second location.”

  We get our food, and I listen as Piper barks out orders—left, right, like a drill sergeant until we end up at familiar looking terrain.

  Good old Pete sits in the backseat mumbling, Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, over and over in an attempt to remember Piper’s name. She just might come out of this with a stalker yet.

  “Piper?” I sit a little straighter once I get a good look at our surroundings. “We’re at Briggs.”

  “Isn’t that cool? We’re going to eat in Founder’s Square!” she wails with a false sense of enthusiasm, and, in truth, I’m getting a little more than freaked out by her sudden need to perform a charitable act so publicly.

  I park, and we get out, and no matter how hard I try to wrap my mind around this, I can’t seem to grasp how “cool” this really is.

  She ushers Pete over toward the center of campus, to the exact locale where I saved her from getting pinned in the head by Rex’s long pass, and now I’m wondering if that was simply the universe trying to right a misstep it made about eighteen years ago.

  We find our seats on a bench, and half of the girls lying on the lawn take off once they get a whiff and look at good old hungry for a nice-and-juicy Pete. I was wrong. Pete stinks like shit—literally.

  Piper doles our meals before plucking out her phone and taking a few quick selfies with the poor dude. I was mildly amused and even a touch impressed with her desire to treat this man to dinner, but something about the selfie splurge doesn’t sit well with me.

  Just as I’m about to ask, a couple strolls by and stops abruptly, doing a double take.

  “Piper?”

  I glance up to find Wyatt and his fiancée, Marley.

  “Oh, hey.” Piper shoots me a nervous glance that screams get me out of this.

  “What’s going on?” Wyatt does a quick assessment of the situation. He’s a smart guy. I’ll bet he’ll get to the bottom of this in ten seconds flat.

  “This is Owen’s friend, Pete. We thought we’d treat him to dinner. I was going to see if there were any openings on the janitorial staff here at Briggs. He’s sort of in serious need of employment.”

  “Really?” Pete perks up with a mouthful of cheesesteak. It’s not top sirloin, but nobody is complaining.

  “Yes, really.” Piper scoots to the edge of the bench and nearly falls off. “So, what are you two up to?”

  “Just taking an after dinner stroll.” Marley shoots me a dirty look as if I’m the offensive one around here. “Hey—you’re not the same guy that dared her to wear that crazy wig the other day, are you?”

  Shit. I shoot a look to Piper. “Am I?”

  “He’s slow to admit to things,” she sings. “So, dinner next Saturday right?”

  “That’s right.” Now it’s Wyatt giving me the stink eye. Great. Piper’s shenanigans are about to cost me an internship, and, at the rate we’re snatching vagrants off the streets, most likely my life.

  After some brief circular small talk, Wyatt and Marley take off. We finish up our meals, and Piper and I drive Pete back to the place we found him.

  “What about that job? I’m real good with a mop. A broom fits pretty good in my hand, too.” The whites of his eyes glow from the backseat with hope.

  Piper bites down over her lip nervously. “I’ll see about it.” She lowers her gaze to her lap. “I know where to find you.”

  He thanks us profusely before getting out, and I speed us the hell away from this bizarre nightmare we seem locked in.

  I drive back to Briggs and park in front of Cutler Tower before killing the engine.

  “So, are you really going to help Pete find a job?” It comes out more pissed than impressed.

  Piper lets out a heavy sigh that spans the width and girth of this miserable day. “I’ll help him apply. I can’t make any promises.”

  “I’ll go with you.” I shrug. “Keep you safe. That can be a pretty rough neighborhood.”

  “Thanks.” Her voice is soft, which only leads to me believe she’s winding up for a blowup. “I’d appreciate that. If there’s anything I can do to thank you, just let me know.” It comes from her sad, defeated.

  “Can I ask what tonight was about?” I gently lift her chin with my finger, and her watery Husky blue eyes melt me. Piper shakes her head. For a girl with such a strong bite, so headstrong and beautiful, she sure spends a lot of time anguished.

  “Okay—how about this—you and I have a real dinner together. Somewhere nice. A sit-down meal. Your choice. My treat.”

  She opens her mouth for a moment, her face smoothing out with promise before she closes it again, the promise sliding right off her features. “Do you run?”

  “Why? You have a bank heist in mind?”

  “No.” She pushes out a tiny laugh. “I just miss doing the things I used to do. There was a track at my old school, and I ran every single day. I guess I miss it.”

  “Okay. Dinner and a run. That sounds like a digestional issue, but I think we can make it work.”

  She shakes her head, just barely. “Just the run.”

  My heart sinks like a stone. I get it. She’s got Winston for those pricey sit-down dinners. It’s me she’s trying to get away from, thus the sprint.

  “Just a run it is.”

  Piper gets out. “Thanks again.”

  She disappears into the building, and I stay out in that parking lot a lot longer than I need to, trying to figure out the inner working of Piper James’ mind. Nope, can’t do it. I’m not sure anyone can make their way through that labyrinth.

  I start up the truck and slowly make my way to work.

  Piper might have her secrets, but I’ve got a few of my own.

  Chapter 3 * Loose Cannon

  Piper

  “P O N M L K J I H G F E D C B A!” I finish the bizarre chant to the third and final captain of Gamma Gamma Gamma, but to my chagrin and infinite horror, the rest of the chapter has decided to come out to the front lawn and ogle as well.

  Two of the three girls act as if I’ve just pulled down my pants and taken a giant shit on their well-manicured lawn. Jules was right. Becky and Laura are a couple of bitches. I turn to leave, and the cute one with a bob who aggressively masticated her gum like a cow chewing its cud throughout my entire alphabetically-inspired rap steps in front of me.

  “You do realize that at Gamma we would never ask you to do something so foolish.” She reaches over and gives my hair a gentle tug. “And really, Piper? A p
onytail every single day for the next four years? It’s a good look on you, but don’t you want to express a little individuality? As soon as you figure out Alpha Chi is the clone capital of this little Greek village, feel free to mosey on over here where real women pursue real goals, unlike that hook-up station you’re chaining yourself to.”

  I don’t say a word, just quickstep my way off their lawn and head back toward Whitney Briggs.

  That stupid letter. I wish I had never laid eyes on the damn thing. On an up note, the first three things have officially been crossed off the list. I sent Jules a text and told her I was down the street, so I know for a fact she and Lucille watched the whole alphabetically embarrassing episode that just transpired. This entire week has been one mortifying event after another. My classes seem okay, but I do need to study and write my own fair share of papers.

  Owen and I finally sat down yesterday and wrote an entire master list of corporations we can hit up to try to garner Wyatt’s company a few more clients. But on this Friday night, Owen and I are finally taking that run we talked about. I’ve been dying to get out into the hillsides and onto some of these evergreen-lined trails.

  That euphoric feeling that I get when I’m gliding through the air infiltrates me—the sharp bite of nature filling my nostrils, the way my muscles feel so heavy I can hardly lift them after a few good hours. My entire body begs for me to get feet-to-asphalt, or in this case, dirt.

  My phone buzzes, and it’s a mass text from Jules.

  Mixer tonight at Alpha House! Our matchups will be there, so no excessive drinking. Even though other Greeks and GPSs will be joining us, we will award points to those who engage with our matchups! See the makeup and style guide posted on our website. This is not a free dress event! We spent a lot of time putting those looks together for you guys. Use them! Party starts at 8 and ends at midnight. All PNMs are required to stay the entire length of the evening. Remember to participate! You will be watched. Sparkling conversations with cute boys are a must! Toodles!

  Shit. I stare at the text an inordinate amount of time. Just when I was actually looking forward to seeing Owen. Wait a minute… GPS—that’s general population students. If they’re invited, then Owen is invited, too.

  I shoot a quick text letting him know the change of plans.

  He shoots one right back. Cool. See you there.

  My insides roll with nausea when I see his response. I completely forgot that I’m supposed to be with Winston tonight. Owen is going to see me all right—fake drooling over some other guy. Well, that sucks. Not that I want Owen in any capacity. A visual of me drooling right onto that rock hard chest of his bounces through my mind, and I brush the thought away.

  The stupid list comes back to me. I still need to get a few provocative pictures of me with my favorite bad boy. I figure I’ll need at least five to seven since our faux relationship is supposed to span a week. I feel close enough to him now that I can shoot off a few pictures of the two of us, but the letter specifically stated they needed to be provocative. If he was a better friend, I could let him in on this debauchery, and he’d simply pose for a few risqué shots with me, but I don’t want him to think I’m simply using him—which I’m totally not. I actually kind of like hanging out with Owen. So what if he’s a big, bad manwhore who houses a supposed “Big Bad Beast” in his boxers? It’s not like I’m jumping into bed with him. He’s smart, and funny, and he’s not hard to stare at for hours on end, so it’s sort of a win all the way around.

  It takes fifteen minutes before I make it back to my dorm. I’m dead tired, not really in the mood to delve into my wardrobe in search of any Alpha Chi approved “looks,” but I still want this. If my mother has drilled anything in my brain about college, it was that a sorority is a must. She did talk my ears off once about her days as a Beta girl. All I’ve ever heard was my sisters this and my sisters that. They were rebel rousers, a wild bunch of future republicans, second and third wives in training, and they enjoyed every conservative minute of it, damn it. For some reason, I can’t imagine my polished cosmopolitan mother donning a polyester wig in any color, nor can I see her hauling a homeless man onto campus—sweet as he was—or reciting the alphabet forward to a rival house let alone backward. And taking provocative pictures? Well, maybe on that one. She is a spitfire, and my dad has always touted what a lovely trophy wife she’s been. My mother knows her way around a provocative gown or two—after all, that’s how she seduced him away from wife number two.

  But the last thing on my list—that’s the kicker. Would she sleep with someone she was only mildly interested in? Would I?

  I twist the knob to my room, and thankfully it’s unlocked. I’m just about to plop myself onto the bed when Cassidy steps in front of me with her eyes squinted. Her lips pruned white with anger.

  “What the hail is this?” She waves a wrinkled white envelope in my face, and I freeze.

  Shit!

  I snatch it out of her grasp. “Where did you find that?”

  “Underneath my desk.” Her head twitches side to side with every other word.

  Crap. I had tucked it under my Abnormal Psych book.

  I glance up and find the particularly bloated volume missing. The letter must have sailed to the floor when she picked up the book. I knew I should have chosen something far less interesting to plant it under like that calculus doorstop the size of a phone book. Not even I want to pick that thing up, and I happen to like numbers.

  “That’s why you’ve been acting like a loon all week!” She squats and points her finger at me like she’s got me—and she does.

  “Look, I’m sorry you didn’t get one, but you can’t say anything.”

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” Kidding sounds like kitten. “Oh, hon, I don’t want anything to do with one of those love letters. Bless your heart.”

  My eyes widen at her peculiar country dig. “Are you saying the letter is a bad thing?”

  “Sweetheart, can you read?” She leans in sweetly like only Cassidy can do. “That nasty-gram has I’m going to make a cheap hooker out of you written all over it—pun intended. You didn’t get to five yet, did you?”

  “No.” I toss my hands over my ears. “God, no. I’m still trying to make number four happen.”

  Cassidy comes up alongside me, and we stare at ourselves in the mirror above the dresser as if seeing our despondent faces for the very first time.

  “Hon, I think both you and I know where you need to stall for a while. You get to number five, and you’ll lose all respect for yourself. These people aren’t worth it.”

  I sniff back a rush of anger at Jules and Lucille for putting me in this crappy situation. “I still want in.”

  She tosses up a hand. “Okay. Let’s get dressed, girl. We’ve got some lipstick to put on.”

  Cassidy and I don our matching little black dresses, our ponies, and our garish red lips and meet up with Scarlett and Daisy in front of Alpha Chi.

  I made Cassidy swear on her life that she’d take all knowledge of that ridiculous letter to the grave. I didn’t court Homeless Pete with the best cheesesteak in Hollow Brook! just to call it quits now. Besides, I’ve taken measures in speaking with the faculty and even obtained a link to an online application to help him fill out. So already something good is coming out of this. Alpha Chi is already spilling forth their milk of human kindness.

  I want in on a sorority, and I want in on the best. Alpha Chi is the best at Whitney Briggs, and I won’t settle for less.

  After shoving a series of outlandish pep talks down my throat, we storm into the building as if conducting a stiletto invasion. Alpha House is packed with bodies. I do a quick scan of the room for Owen but come up empty.

  “Piper?” A familiar male voice strums from behind, and I pivot on my heels.

  “Cade!” I shriek, but thankfully the music is so loud my nervous squeak was drowned out.

  Oh my shit! Cade is not supposed to be here. It’s like my worst nightmare to have my big brother
see me trying to juggle a guy let alone two.

  His brows furrow as he inspects me head to foot. “I’d ask what you were doing here, but the hair and the vampire lips give it away. Really, Pipe? A sorority?”

  “Oh, stop.” I give him a quick slap to the chest while pushing him to the entry. Cassidy and the girls have already melted into the crowd. I know for a fact they went to say hello to Jules and Lucille because that’s standard requirement for all PNMs as soon as we arrive at a mixer—checking in. “Mom was in a sorority, and it did her a lot of good.”

  “Says no one.” He frowns, taking in my too short, too low cut dress. “Shit.” He winces. “I’m going to take off. I don’t think my stomach is strong enough to witness the spectacle. You sure this is what you want?”

  “Yes.” I dip on my knees a bit when I say it. “I promise you it is. I really would like nothing more than a bed in this house. Have I mentioned the five-star chef? That means no more barfeteria. Be happy for me. All of my culinary dreams are about to come true. You know how nice I am after a good Crème Brulee.”

  “If you say so.” Cade pulls his shoulders back a moment with a look that says I’ll kick every guys ass in this room. “Be careful. I know what these idiots are thinking.”

  “I will be, I promise!” I give him a quick peck to the cheek. “Now scoot, so I can do my thing!”

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” He glowers at me a second before backtracking. “Is this why you wore that silly wig last week?”

  “Shh!” I press my finger to my lips.

  “I follow you on Insta-Chat. Who was that guy you were eating dinner with the other night?”

  “My new friend, Pete. He’s sort of having a tough time right now.” I help usher my brother out into the cool night air. “So, where is it you think you’ll be going?”