Greek: Best Frenemies

by Marsha Warner

  “I’m sure that’s not her intention.”

  “Really? How could you know her intentions? Just because you’re—”

  “Whoa, guys,” Calvin said, interrupting Trip before he could finish his sentence and Evan could punch him for it. “Cool it. It’s a stupid competition. Stupid in the grand scheme of things, that is. We’re all just irritable because we don’t know who to pick…and we’re starving. Anyone for pizza?”

  Calvin held his breath, but the brothers started talking about toppings a moment later. It looked as if he’d defused the tension, but there were still four days left—hopefully not an impossibly long time to keep the peace.

  It took Calvin a while to get Evan alone after the meeting, especially with dinner and the guys still hotly contesting the sweetheart nominees. In fact, Evan’s opening shot to Calvin was, “I’ve already had this conversation.”

  “Trip is trying to trip you up, man. No pun intended.”

  “I know. It’s weird and I don’t know why he’s doing it. Over me losing my money? Or dating Rebecca? Because I have tried to be mostly impartial, and I think I’ve been doing a good job.”

  “You have been doing a good job.” Calvin supported Rebecca, too, both because of Evan and because he was friends with her. She’d certainly come to his aid when he needed her to pretend to be his girlfriend on a double date with a then-closeted Grant and his girlfriend from high school. Not just any friend was willing to do that, though Rebecca did like deceiving people. “This whole competition is just getting a little out of control.”

  “You’re telling me. For three years, ZBZ has been a shoo-in. We didn’t appreciate how easy this all was. Even when I was a pledge, we just soaked up the attention from the other houses then picked a ZBZ. Now Rebecca’s a dark horse because of this whole Gamma Psi thing.”

  “It wasn’t their fault their house burned down. And ZBZ’s not what it used to be, but don’t quote me on that.”

  “Yeah, I know. Don’t quote me on this either, but Rebecca doesn’t always come off looking like a sweetheart.” Evan sunk into the chair in his room. “And now the ZBZs are overcompensating for her, as if this race wasn’t crazy enough. Everyone has a chance. Even the Tri-Pi girl.”

  “Stephanie.”

  “I think Brandon will vote for her. Marco will go for Shelly, who is, to be fair, the most wholesome and sweetheartlike. Trip will go for Natalie. You and I are a voting bloc, assuming you’re voting for Rebecca.”

  “Depends.” He put up with Evan’s very critical expression. “She has to want it. So far the other candidates have put up way more of a fight, personally. It’s not fair to favor her in a sweetheart contest if she isn’t putting her back into it.”

  “The ceremony is still coming up. Could be a game-changer.”

  “And until then, we’re going to fight like animals.”

  “Maybe it’s all the red and pink. It’s affecting our senses. You never see hospitals painted pink. It’s always a neutral tone, like green or yellow.”

  “And aromatherapy candles?” Calvin said. “Thanks for coming to my defense, by the way. Not that it should have happened.”

  “We’re guys. You’re out. We rag on each other for anything. The gay thing is gonna come up and people are going to crack jokes when Grant leaves himself wide open, but it’s not going to mean anything.”

  “’The gay thing?’”

  “Okay, the wrong way to put it. But you know what I mean. It was toothless. Without teeth.”

  Calvin sighed, but he wasn’t satisfied. He sensed maybe he never would be. Besides, it seemed as though the house had other things to worry about, like getting to Saturday night without tearing out each other’s throats.

  Cappie arrived at KT house late, but not too late to find Rusty with a pile of bizarre piping and plastic devices in a Home Depot bag at his feet and blueprints in his notebook that he was more than eager to push in Cappie’s face. “This is it.”

  “Rock’em Sock’em Robots? You can buy those on eBay.” He didn’t mean to be totally dismissive outright, but he was tired and he still had a lot of homework to do.

  “No. These will be life-size!”

  “Spitter, that sounds like a bad episode of seaQuest DSV. No, wait, I think that was one of the good ones, from the first season. I can’t remember exactly—is this really doable?”

  “Remember what you said about a volcano that erupted with beer?”

  Cappie put his bag down and sunk into the couch. It was definitely worth it to hear Rusty out. “So what do we need?”

  “Well, for starters, a lot more trips to the hardware store. It’s not going to be cheap, but you’re president. You can authorize it.”

  Cappie nodded. “There might be enough money in the budget, if it works. And if it doesn’t, we’ll have something to dump on the sidewalk in front of the Omega Chi house and get them cited for littering. So, win-win.” He took a closer look at the plans, but he couldn’t make out the finer details of the mechanics inside the robots themselves. “We had one of these at Camp Kitchiwawa. It lasted a whole two days before one of the fighter dudes lost a head, permanently. The red guy, I think.”

  “I found this website that teaches you how to cut up plastic barrels that they throw out at industrial parks. You just need a hot knife. The guy was using them to make armor for medieval reenactments.”

  “That’s not very medieval.”

  “They paint over it. We just have to wash the barrels really carefully before we get near the plastic, but they’re free if you know where to get them. And there’s that dumping site we sent Vesuvius to.”

  “I do love the smell of industrial waste in the morning,” Cappie said. He looked up as Dale entered, his hair flecked with white. “Someone had the shock of his life.”

  “Actually, a severe shock would cause new hair to grow in gray, not damage the old hair. And it’s cake flour.” Dale’s hair was long enough that he could shake it out, leaving a little cloud of flour around him. “You know that X-Files episode where the guy turned albino on the airplane? His hair should have stayed the same. Exposed hair is already dead. Huge mistake. Glad I caught it.”

  “Because X-Files was known for its medical accuracy,” Cappie said. “So there are sexy, sexy cake fights going on at ZBZ? Because I do like sexy fights. And cake.”

  “They’re not sexy so much as inept. Some people were not meant to bake. And I think you would be way more appreciative of my fine culinary craftsmanship than the actual recipients.” He brushed his hair out again. “I appreciate the overtime, but I was hired to cook for Zeta Beta Zeta, not Zeta Beta Zeta and Omega Chi.”

  “Is anyone not annoyed by this contest?” Rusty asked.

  “At this point, no.” Cappie glanced at his phone, which was full of messages from Casey. “But I appreciate your hard work, Dale, because if they lose, I’m going to have to steer clear of there for a while, and Casey does not like staying over here. She keeps complaining about some smell.”

  “Is it the dirty laundry? The rotting pizza boxes? The spilled beer?”

  “Maybe that whipped-cream smear we can’t get off the ceiling?” Rusty added helpfully.

  Cappie shrugged. He had no answers for them, though it could really be any one of them. “She says it’s in my room. I don’t know what it is in my room. I think it smells fine.”

  “It smells like you,” Rusty said.

  “Spitter, way to be supportive.”

  “I’m just saying, it does.” Rusty changed the topic. “So, this was actually sort of Dale’s idea. The robots. He bought a small set and creating the life-size version just came to me. And I know it’s a KT thing and everything, but he wants to help.”

  “I like building. I mean, I may not be a Gary Wyatt grant award winner, but—”

  “Still upset about that contest?” Cappie asked. “I get it. I’m not going to stop you from helping. If we have a little macho nerd competition going, it isn’t a bad thing. It’ll get things done f
aster. No objection here.” He grabbed his backpack. “I, on the other hand, have my education to attend to, which I assure you is important.” They didn’t look as if they believed him, so he opened his bag and held up a copy of Aristotle’s Metaphysics. “Paper. Due sooner rather than later. And yes, stop gawking, I can do schoolwork if I want to.”

  “He got Galileo killed,” Dale said. “Galileo proposed a heliocentric universe, where the earth revolved around the sun, and was put on trial for heresy because the Catholic Church had adopted Aristotle’s opinion that the universe was geocentric and everything revolved around the earth. The strain of house arrest and persecution probably killed him. I mean, not that Aristotle is all bad. How was he supposed to make accurate astrological observations without a telescope?”

  “I have to say something revolutionary about him by Monday because I have tapped out on Plato and I figured the professor’s name being Aristotle might get me points.”

  “You could do it about robots,” Rusty said. “I mean, I can’t back that up. I was more of a Pythagoras guy in high-school philosophy. But I’m sure there’s something you can say about man and false man and the meaning of life.”

  “Lifeless matter is form without essence,” Cappie said.

  “And God is essence without form,” Dale chipped in.

  “So robots are the opposite of God?” Rusty replied, a bit lost.

  “I could work in Aristotle’s refutation of animism and I might have a paper,” Cappie mused. “And some fighting robots to go along with it. That doesn’t sound bad. Where do we start?”

  chapter six

  Evan Chambers did eventually manage to escape from the house and all of its troubles, though he didn’t entirely leave them behind, especially the problems that were sweetheart-related. He had a date with Rebecca, one set up ahead of her nomination, and he intended to keep it. It would be the one bright spot in this mess of a week. And a mess was what it was. Trip was at his throat, the pledges were intimidated in the wrong way and Calvin was still upset over the anti-gay vibe in the house. The contest would be over by Sunday, and Sunday was looking better and better all the time.

  “Hello.” He kissed her as she arrived at the restaurant. “It’s this or lots and lots of cookies shaped like hearts back at Omega Chi.”

  “I’ll take the fillet, though I appreciate the offer.” She took his arm as they headed into the restaurant. When she was alone with Evan her voice lost the sharp edge it usually had.

  The restaurant was in town, not too fancy for Evan’s already-stretched budget but far enough to be away from those who would be critical, or just watching. He did have his eyes open for ZBZ stalkers no matter how much he had shot down Trip over the concept, but he saw none. They were alone, and the restaurant was fairly empty because it was the middle of the week. It was peaceful.

  Not that it stopped him from talking. “I admit, I was tempted to get you a romantic present. I could have just picked one from the pile, but I thought you might be on to me.”

  “I would notice if the card said, ‘With love, from Gamma Psi,’” Rebecca said.

  “Give me a little credit. I would definitely remember to clip the card off the stuffed bunny,” he said. “So, are you having ZBZ girls shadow us?”

  “Way to start the perfect romantic evening,” Rebecca snapped back.

  “It was a joke! And also Trip claims that he’s being followed.”

  She groaned. “I wouldn’t put it past Abby and her flunkies.”

  “The pledge? Pledges get flunkies?”

  “Apparently. Where are my flunkies?”

  “I think they’re all your flunkies now. At least for the rest of the week.”

  “Wonderful.” Nothing could please her less, which was odd for Rebecca. She liked having people under her thumb. “Yes, maybe, there’s some weirdo stalking going on by some pledges with not enough to do since they got scared off by the baking-flour incident.”

  “The baking-flour incident?”

  “To which I am sworn to secrecy.”

  “So, you might blurt it out after sex?”

  “It’d have to be really good sex.” She winked before looking down at her menu. “I will try to call the sisters off, but they are crazy.”

  “Just tell them it’s definitely hurting your cause. I am getting all of this crap from Trip. Questioning my decisions—”

  “Aww! Insulting your manhood in front of the pack?”

  “—and insulting you to get a rise out of me. I have to support you—correction, I want to support you—without doing it too hard because the guys all know we’re going out, and there’s that whole thing with the ZBZ winning streak and the guys resenting it, and feeling bad for the Gamma Psis for not having a house and the other houses putting their best feet forward.”

  “With the Tri-Pis, I assume it’s not just their feet.”

  “I think they’re playing it a bit more subtle this year, with all the competition. Because, no offense, but your house is—”

  “Fourth. Ish.”

  “—a bit more suspect than previous years, perhaps, but still in good standing in my humble opinion. Sadly, my opinion doesn’t seem to go very far these days.”

  “And these are your sacred brothers until the end of time or something?”

  “Yeah, I thought so. Then I remembered even real brothers can be mean and unsupportive. Ever since I lost my trust fund, it’s like I’m not president, or I shouldn’t be president. I should just step down and let someone with a bigger savings account step up and be appointed. If that’s what they really want—”

  “Then give up the presidency. Or don’t. Ride out the year and sail into obscurity like Casey and Ashleigh will,” she said with unusual intensity, even for her. “Does it really matter in the end? In the last week, I can’t believe the crap I’ve had to put up with for the sake of the house. I have Abby and her pledge sweetheart squad stalking people and not letting me go to classes unescorted, lest I look unpopular and uncool and not worthy of being fawned over arbitrarily by a fraternity—”

  He was shocked by her sudden change in mood. “It’s not that arbitrary.”

  “And if I’m not enthusiastic enough about all of this crap, I have Casey yelling at me about my responsibilities as a ZBZ to the house and Ashleigh reminding me how this is a stepping stone to the presidency of ZBZ. Which, if it remains as lame a house as it currently is, and if it’s as unrewarding as it has been for you, I don’t think I want.”

  “Hey—”

  “But nobody stopped to ask whether I wanted to do this. In their minds I want to be sweetheart and president of ZBZ, and they would nominate me for CRU Whore of the Year if they thought it would help the house ranking. Which, I admit, isn’t entirely arbitrary since we had a president dethroned last year, had half our pledges walk out on us during the initiation ceremony to start a new sorority and a presidential battle that left everyone so disgusted they voted for the third party I nominated—though I have to admit, Ashleigh is great. So we’re stretching ourselves in these stupid Greek contests because we need blue-ribbon points to add up to some prize that means we’re the best house on the block again, even if it takes all our spare time and dignity. And speaking of dignity, if the Gamma Psis can walk out on our party and accuse us of bribing them to come, which may or may not be true but doesn’t make it any better to do it in public, we should have at least come up with some revenge. But now we can’t, because they’re in their own perpetual pity party over their house burning down. Thanks, ancient sprinkler systems. Isn’t the university supposed to mandate these things? Don’t they care at all about student safety?”

  “Did you—”

  “If the university had any sense, they would step in. It’s a blatant misuse of their power to try to stop us from having parties but let students embarrass themselves with ridiculous rituals which have no meaning beyond to be demeaning to the popular. Or one person, in particular.”

  Evan waited for the pause, then said. �
��Do you want to be sweetheart?”

  “Aw, that’s so sweet. You know why? Because you’re the first person to ask me! Except when you nominated me, but how could I say no in front of two houses? That’s like rejecting an offer of marriage while on the stadium JumboTron. You say yes because you have to, not because you’re making deep considerations. And since Monday, I’ve barely had two minutes to consider anything before being asked if I like the color of a gift-box wrapper or if I want to go hang out totally conspicuously in front of the hall where some Omegas are known to have classes. I didn’t actually make a decision here.”

  Evan swallowed. “Well, now I am asking you. Honestly, do you want to be sweetheart?”

  “You know what? I have no freaking idea.” Rebecca threw up her hands. “I know I should be grateful for the nomination and for all the support in the house, even if I could do without my eardrums bursting from the pledges screaming in excitement at the latest plan to win you guys over. But…” She shrugged helplessly.

  Evan stepped in. “But you’re annoyed. Because you don’t want the attention.” Though it didn’t sound like Rebecca, entirely. She did like attention, a certain kind. “When you were a pledge—and I know this because Casey talked about you constantly when we were still going out—you weren’t enthusiastic about ZBZ in the traditional way, but you were committed. You wanted to succeed there.”

  “More like I wanted to crush Casey’s hopes that I would drop out.”

  “It couldn’t have just been that. Nobody joins a sorority just to make someone else’s life temporarily miserable…right?”

  “Well, things were starting to look up since I’ve been leading the pledges. I don’t know. Why do people join fraternities?” she asked.

  “I wonder sometimes.” He thought about it. “Is this about your dad?”

  “Ew. You’re my boyfriend. You’re not allowed to get Freudian on me. Instant deal breaker.”

  “So I am your boyfriend?” He smiled at the admission. She rarely admitted to anything. “But seriously, about your dad. By your dad, I meant politics. Is it because it’s political? Campaigns and nominations and all that?” Senator Logan, before retiring from office and going on many self-awareness retreats, had been a corrupt philanderer, estranged from his wife and far less estranged from a prostitution ring. The scandal broke while Rebecca was at spring break, causing her to go on a drunken rampage while wearing a ZBZ T-shirt (or what was left of the wet T-shirt at that point). Her antics were captured by videophone and posted on the internet, making her a brief national scandal and a scandal for the house, particularly because of the letters on her shirt. If she’d chosen, say, a San Diego Zoo shirt to wear that morning, maybe things would have been different, but they were still bad. It was a hell of a freshman spring-break experience.