[The Social Experiment 01.0] The Social Experiment

by Addison Moore

  “My God, did you open up the ticket counter again?” She glances down to my crotch with a look of disgust, and I cringe.

  “No. The ticket counter is closed. It’s just Sophie for me. Look, this involves her brother and some ancient history.”

  “The brother found out!” Her eyes widen as she reaches over to steal a chip from an open bag lying on her desk.

  “Yes, her brother found out. And do you want to know why? Because Dexter Soon-to-be-Dead Houston didn’t keep his word.” I drop my knuckles over the desk with a bang.

  “What word?” Her thick worm-like brows twitch in tandem.

  “I asked him not to air my segment, and he said he wouldn’t.”

  “Really?” Her mouth falls open as she reaches for another chip.

  “Yes, really.”

  “Oh!” Her entire face smooths out with an epiphany. “That must be why you and Sophie were so brazenly open. I mean, that Sugar Puss stuff was priceless, but I wouldn’t want the whole world in on that sugared tidbit. The fact her dad gifted her the nickname was totally twisted.” She shakes it off as if it were ridiculous. “But that is one of Dexter’s maxims—say whatever you need to say to relax the exhibits.”

  Exhibits. In the end that’s all we were to Dexter, something to be observed, to be bought and sold. We were nothing more than cheap commodities he could exploit to make a quick dime for himself. He didn’t care what it would cost Sophie and me.

  “Shit. He lied. Dexter never intended on cutting those scenes. We fell right into his wicked hands—which I will break once I find him.”

  “Not if you’re smart. He may have great ideas, but he’s got better lawyers.”

  “Figures. So, what’s tonight?” I glance out at the empty hall, and my heart wrenches at the thought that maybe Sophie isn’t coming.

  “An all cast mixer.” Petra gives a snooty nod as if it were totally acceptable to refer to Sophie and me as the cast. “Speed dating in the conference room. It’s designed to strengthen or destroy. Dexter says you need a little drama this close to the end. It’s good for—”

  “Ratings,” I finish it for her. “And what about this Saturday? It’s homecoming.”

  “We moved the event to Friday. Last week, Sophie let us know that wasn’t a good date for her. She’s taking her father out for his—”

  “Birthday,” I say with a heavy heart. I know all of the Meyer’s special occasions about as well as I do the ones in my own family.

  “We’re going to move it to Sunday if that’s okay with the two of you. We’ve moved up production times so it wouldn’t take up your night—it’s Halloween.”

  “Sounds scary all right. And next week the show is over.” That’s funny because in a way it feels very much that—over.

  “For the final show of the experiment, we have a little surprise in store for you. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

  “Sounds good.” I say good night and head back to my dorm. Sophie didn’t show up tonight. It looks like we failed Dexter’s little experiment. But I don’t really give a shit about Dexter. The only thing I care about is Sophie and healing that beating heart of hers that I keep on breaking.

  Sophie is taking her father out for his birthday Friday night. Maybe I’ll do a little party crashing. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve landed in the same eating establishment. Duke Meyer always said I was like a second son to him. Let’s see if he’d be willing to welcome me with open arms. Maybe it’ll take his parental guidance to patch up what’s broken. I shake my head at the idea.

  Sometimes there are just too many damn pieces.

  I shoot a text to Mindy. What are you doing Friday night?

  She texts right back. Are you that hard up for a date?

  Yes. Are you in?

  She waits a minute before answering. Let me guess. This will work out to be another teachable moment.

  A laugh bounces through me. I sat Mindy down for hours and lectured her on how manhandling someone like she did Sophie was not fucking okay. I told her to chalk it up as a teachable moment.

  Yes, this will be a stellar teachable moment.

  She texts right back. I’m in.

  Good. Let’s hope the lesson of the day is how to own up to what you’ve done on Braden’s part. Forgiveness on Sophie’s part. And please continue to keep your distance on Becca’s part. Sophie’s mom used to say all’s well that ends well, and if it’s not ending well, it isn’t the end.

  I sure hope she’s right.

  Final Examination

  Sophie

  There are things that I have missed about Rowen over the years—his smooth skin, the shine over his ear as it catches the light. The perfectly straight bridge of his nose. The way his arms feel over my back when he hugs me. I missed his girth, the presence he had when he was in the room. Everything seemed to stop and shift toward Rowen when he was nearby. It’s still that way today, thus his colossal standing as the big man on campus, emphasis on the big. And now here we are, days without speaking—totally my own stubborn doing—and yet I miss those things and so much more all over again.

  The week drifts by, and both Vi and Ember have been losing their minds and their finances by way of purchasing copious amounts of ridiculous props and costumes for the wickedest Sunday of the year—Halloween. There is an entire array of sexy French maid costumes, cats’ ears and tails, a pirate sword in the event one of them decides to have a swashbuckling spree, and a plethora of Disney based costumes guaranteed to give anyone a magical good time. I pull a case of fake contacts forward labeled as dead eyes.

  “Last chance”—Vi says while putting in her earring—“Em and I will ditch the movies and head to your dad’s birthday bash instead.”

  “No, that’s okay.” As much as I wanted them to come, I asked them not to. It’s not fair to anyone to expose them to the disaster my family has become—at least Braden and me. I pull the dead eyes out and pick up the milky blue contact with my finger. It’s soft as wet paper. “It’s bad enough I have to endure an entire meal with Granny Panties. No use in ruining your Friday night as well.” I practically poke my left eye out as I pop in dead eye number one in. Impressive. The Marilyn Manson is actually a good look on me. “Not that spending the evening with my father qualifies as a ruined night, but there are so many other factors playing into this debacle, like the fact Braden and I haven’t spoken in days. Yes, he’s tried, but until he vomits out the truth, I won’t do much listening. And let’s not forget, Becca, too, will be at this family funfest. She texted me once again after watching the third episode in which Rowen and I went cliff diving. She called me a little shit for keeping this from the two of them. I hope I’m seated next to her. She is just so fucking lovely. So no, I can’t see dragging my friends into this nightmare.”

  “Wow.” Violent does a clean sweep over her lips with black cherry lipstick before she blows herself a kiss. “I guess Ember and I should pen you a thank you.”

  “I take gift cards and blank checks, too.”

  “Do you take free advice?” Vi lands in front of me and adjusts the sweater I’m wearing because it has a propensity to twist around as an accomplice to my right boob that keeps trying to escape. I suppose wearing a low-cut sweater to your father’s fiftieth birthday party is a bit impractical. I mean, what does it really say? Hey, Daddy—Happy birthday! And by the way, I have boobs! Damn right nipple keeps trying to cop a look at the world outside its borders. Probably looking for Rowen.

  “Yes, I take free advice. I love free advice. It’s right up there with unsolicited breath mints and backseat drivers.”

  “You’re a riot.” She dusts her face with highlighter until she gets that alien glow she’s after. “My advice to you is”—she spins into me and shakes her head ever so slightly—“don’t be so stubborn.”

  “I’m not stubborn. Stubborn is harboring a secret and being unwilling to unleash it when your sister-slash-girlfriend demands to have it.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that neither
party was ready to share this so-called secret? It was raining. They had just kidney punched the hell out of one another. One of them probably ruptured a spleen. They were shaken. It just wasn’t the right time.”

  “Nonsense. It’s always the right time to drop clandestine information in my world.” I do my best to remove the dead eye, but the damn contact turns into a giant plastic floater. Hey, this can’t roll back into my brain, can it?

  Vi shakes her head and offers an impromptu hug. “And we’re not all living in your world. Give that boy a second chance. He simply wants to talk to you. I really don’t think he wants to be your ex.”

  I fold my arms over my chest and spear her with a look. “Same can be said about your ex.”

  Her mouth goes slack. “You have no clue what you just said or I would be really pissed.” She collects her things and takes off with a wave. “You’re too stubborn to admit you’re stubborn!” she shouts as she makes her way down the hall. “Give people the room they need to breathe!”

  Breathing room. Rowen and Braden have had three long years to breathe. How much more time could they possibly need? I spend the next twenty minutes trying to extract the plastic disc from my eyeball only to come this close to having a genuine makeup malfunction on my hands. Watery eyes and the smoldering look will garner me the Goth princess crown for the evening. I don’t have time for this crap in my life.

  I pull on a jacket and head out to my father’s birthday party, dead eye and all.

  I’m not going to have a good time anyway.

  I’m way too stubborn for that.

  Dad and Rita decided on the Olive Press, a quasi-mediocre Italian restaurant that serves a little food with their garlic. Braden texted and offered his chauffeuring services, but I promptly declined. There is no way I would ever want to be trapped in a moving vehicle with Braden and Becca. I might push one or more of them out the door before we ever arrive.

  I head into the establishment and feel immediately transported to a cheesy Italian restaurant in the middle of Moon Ridge. The ambiance is about as breathtaking as the food with its florescent overhead lighting, the large hand-painted mural of an Italian countryside that looks as if it were colored in by third graders sugared up on cupcakes.

  I spot Dad et al. in the middle of the establishment and head over. Braden and Becca are present and accounted for. As soon as Becca spots me, her nose points in the air. Honestly, it’s like she thinks she’s too good for me. Or correction, that Rowen is too good for me. That may be so, but we were great together. Both me and my vagina agree.

  Dad leaps up to greet me with his heavy laugh and his familiar warm cologne. My father has always felt like a safe house. After my mother died, he was the immovable rock that Braden and I could lean on. He did his best to become both parents, and I’d say he did a damn good job. That duffel bag I had to sew for home ec would beg to differ, but I’ll defend his parenting skills to my dying breath.

  “Happy birthday! You’re at the halfway mark, Daddy! How does it feel?”

  “It felt great until just now.” He offers a sly wink before jumping backward and grabbing his chest. “Dear God, are you trying to kill me? What’s wrong with your eye?”

  “Oh, that.” I flick the strip lash I spent fifteen minutes adhering to my eyelid. “I forgot about that. Just something I was testing out for Halloween. I couldn’t get it out, so I’m sort of stuck with it. Just ignore it.” I give a casual wave to Braden and Becca, and they both look equally horrified at the glaucoma-inspired look I’m sporting.

  “Sophie, I’d like you to meet someone very, very special to me.” Dad steps aside to reveal Granny Panties herself—

  Holy hell.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I blink over at the pretty young thing sitting next to Becca, who I swear to God looks younger than the whore my brother is bedding. And I mean whore in a quasi-loving way. Becca sort of deserved the dig after calling me a little shit.

  “Sugar Puss, this is Rita. Rita, this is my sweet little Sugar Puss.”

  The stunning redhead with two matching bright blue eyes and dimples that dig into her cheeks like nobody’s business is far too adorable for words.

  “It’s so nice that Rita’s daughter took the time to show up.” I couldn’t stop myself. So help me God, I had better be right. “Your mother is in the restroom, I presume?”

  Braden and Becca groan at the same time, giving it a stereo effect.

  But the redhead simply bubbles with delight as she gives me the limp fish of a handshake. “I’m Rita. But no worries, I get that all the time! Everyone is forever accusing this beautiful man of being my father!” Wow. First of all, that high-pitched Minnie Mouse voice. That can’t be real, right? I mean, nobody talks like that in real life. She’s probably been sucking helium all day in honor of the old man. And second? Everyone is accusing him of being her father because he is old enough to be her father—grandfather even.

  We take our seats, and I can’t help but note there are two empty chairs next to me. I’m betting Rita invited a few of her sorority sisters to join us for the free glasses of vino her old man will undoubtedly be shelling the big bucks out for this evening.

  “So, Rita”—I lean in, and Braden gives me that be nice look and a light kick from under the table—“what is it that you do for a living?”

  “Oh, I just live.” She brays like a donkey that’s just been pinned to a boulder with a semi. “I do a little of this or that. But mostly I keep myself available for Daddy.”

  Oh my shit.

  I give a quick blink, trying to decipher what in the hell she’s talking about. “So, you’re not employed at the moment because you’re taking care of your father?” God, please let it be that.

  “Oh, heavens no!” More shrill high-pitched laughter. “I can’t work. Daddy’s schedule keeps me up at all hours.” She tucks her finger under my father’s chin and has a giggle-fest right in his face.

  Kill me.

  It’s just become as clear as hell who Daddy is and why she’s unable to keep normal working hours like most able-bodied Americans. She’s my father’s service whore. He has her on call twenty-four seven, and in all of the horrible ironies, he has this PYT who is young enough to qualify as his spawn calling him Daddy.

  I scowl over at my father a moment. Once the birthday boy here blows out his candles, I’ll have a few choice words to gift him.

  Braden gets my attention with a wave of his hand and mouths the words he’s happy.

  I bet he’s happy. And I bet my perverse brother is very, very happy for him. I bet he can’t wait to trade Becca in for a new floor model once he hits the big five-O.

  Regardless, I’m ready to switch gears. There are far too many people seated around me to be irritated with, I need to spread the love a little bit.

  “And how are you, Becca?” I blink a quiet smile, and that only seems to enrage her all the more.

  “I’m fine, Sophie,” she says it stiff, so not fine if you ask me. “Seen any good shows lately? I hear that The Social Experiment is catching on like wildfire. Heard of it?”

  I growl over at her while my father and his personal nitwit get lost in their shared menu. “Word to the wise, Becca—you are with my brother. It shouldn’t burden you to know that I have my sights on someone myself. You can’t have all the boys to yourself, so don’t waste my time by informing me you think I’m a little shit.”

  Braden inches away to get a better look at her, but Becca is undeterred by his silent reprimand. “I am like your sister, Sophie. You don’t get to have my sloppy seconds.”

  “Sloppy seconds?” a deep, utterly sexy baritone of a voice strums from behind, and we all look up to find a cuttingly handsome Rowen Garret and his equally stunning, determined to commit a homicide sister of his.

  “Rowen!” Dad jumps to his feet and hugs both Mindy and him. “For a second there, I didn’t think you kids would show.”

  He didn’t think they would show? As in they got the invite?

&
nbsp; “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Rowen takes a seat next to me, and Mindy lands opposite my father. Holy hell, first Rita, now this?

  “Hey, Soph.” Rowen leans in and bucks back just as quickly at the sight of me.

  Mindy lets out a muffled cry at the sight of me. “What the hell! Did I do that?” She looks terrified that her psychotic neck strangling antics could have starved all the blood vessels in my eye and turned me into a partial zombie.

  “That’s right. You got the ball rolling.” I offer a brief smile of satisfaction. “And when your brother squeezed the life from my beating heart, he finished me off.”

  Rowen chuckles at the thought, and I can’t help but twitch a tiny smile his way. Rowen didn’t squeeze anything from me, and he knows it. He’s just being stubborn with a few little secrets. Stubborn is a trait we seem to have in common.

  “You think that’s funny?” I glance over to my father and Rita arguing over the lasagna and the eggplant. “You should meet my father’s new main squeeze. She’s a riot.”

  Rowen’s eyes bug out, and so do his sister’s. I bet they forgot how colorful and charming the Meyer clan could be. Dead eyes, playmates, embittered exes, and brothers who harbor secrets at any cost—not that Rowen isn’t harboring one of his own. A thought comes to me. Maybe I should use my womanly wiles to drag it out of him? A vision of Rowen pressing my naked hips down over him hard as he penetrates me deeply comes to mind, and I blush severely for the next half hour.

  Once dinner arrives, I lean over and whisper, “What in the hell are you two doing here?”

  “Your father is a generous man.” He shakes his head in approval as he lands a buttery looking piece of glistening bovine into his mouth and moans. My father is also an oblivious man. He wasn’t as present as my mother. So, after Rowen and Braden had a falling out, my father never really questioned his absence or Mindy’s.

  “Yes, Sophie”—Mindy hisses, her face rearranged with anger—“he still appreciates good company.”