by Ginger Scott
“Also…” she says, her eyes scanning to her left and right, but coming back to me. She’s pretending this speech is for everyone else, but it’s not. “I wanted you all to hear this unfortunate news from me first. There are some…well…vicious rumors making the rounds about me, along with some photos that are absolutely false.”
I’m careful here, my energy focused on keeping my lips in a flat line, my eyes on hers, my blinking normal. Nothing about my outside can show the absolute chaos happening within.
“What’s worse? These rumors…they started with one of our own,” she says, sparing a few glances to either side, coming back to rest on me. “Someone fabricated some pretty terrible things.”
Talia is nodding next to her, eating up every word, aiding Chandra’s performance. Ashley is chewing her nails; she looks like she’s about to cry, concerned for her leader. I want to vomit.
“This is painful for me to even ask,” she says, feigning concern. She’s so fake! How did I not see this before? I had to have seen it. Maybe I just didn’t care.
“We’re going to begin our own interviews into this matter. I’m afraid we’re going to need to see everyone’s social media and the photos on your phones.” I pull my knees in and leverage myself so I can stand, lifting my bag over my shoulder—ready for whatever is about to come at me.
“Chandra?” I speak up, somehow finding my confidence. I need to keep this shit together; remember who I am. “You might need to get someone involved, like…legally. I’m pretty sure you can’t just ask to see someone’s personal information like that.”
When I’m done, I purposefully bend down and unzip my purse and reach for my mirror and lipstick, giving my hands something to do. Disinterested—I need to keep up the appearance as long as I can that I’m clueless to what this is about.
“If they want to remain a Delta sister, I can,” she says back fast. I notice my eyes grow a hint wider in my reflection. The entire room is aware of her tone; a few more heads have turned to look at me. She’s right. We all signed contracts when we joined, contracts that gave the executive board—a.k.a. Chandra—the right to examine things like our phones and social media to make sure we were representing the Delta House in the best light.
“Okay, well…I just wouldn’t want you to get sued,” I say, snapping my mirror shut and touching my finger to the corners of my mouth before pulling my lips into a tight smile. Chandra is looking back at me with the exact same expression.
While the rest of the sisters start their rounds of gossip about which one of us is the cause of all of this, I pull both straps of my backpack over my shoulders and move to the door. I’m almost to the porch when Ashley catches up to me.
“Oh my gosh, you don’t think they’re really going to look at everything…do you?” she asks, her eyes wide, the blueness framed by the spider legs of her eyelashes. If I’m still here next week, I should really pull her aside and do her makeup.
“I think Chandra is going to do whatever she wants to do. But I wouldn’t sweat it. Unless you have something on your phone you don’t want them to see,” I say, letting my eyes linger on hers for a few seconds, just enough to catch the gulp in her throat and the small glint of panic. I know I’m the only person being targeted for snapping a druggie pic of Chandra. I can’t help but smirk knowing Ashley has something on her phone too.
“They’re starting the interviews now. They can’t tell if I delete something…can they?” she asks.
I shrug. How the hell do I know what they know how to do? Maybe she has nude photos. I don’t know. I can guarantee that’s not what they’re interested in uncovering. I could tell her that right now—allay her fears—but I don’t, because as much as I think Ashley’s a nice girl, I know she’d sell me out in a heartbeat just to get into that inner circle. I know, because I did a lot of selling out to get there too.
Ashley is clutching her phone at her side, her thumb rubbing nervously over the edge. I open my mouth to almost erase her anxiety…almost. Instead, I curve it into a smile before turning and stepping down the porch to the front walkway.
“Where are you going?” she asks. “Chandra’s going to wonder where you are.”
“I just have an errand to run. They won’t even know I left,” I say over my shoulder, my cool face quickly growing hotter, more worried with every step I take toward the road. When I glance back, Ashley’s gone inside.
I pick up my pace until I hit campus, turning down one of the more-narrow paths behind the literature building, and ducking around a corner where a few picnic tables are lined up. My nose is running from the chill outside, and the corners of my eyes are watering. I’m not crying, but I’m so shell-shocked my eyes can’t seem to find the power to blink.
What the fuck have I done?
These are the kinds of things sisters go to each other for—but I don’t have that luxury. My real sister wouldn’t answer my call, and my sorority sisters aren’t really interested in helping me. Honestly, at this point, I’d be willing to call my sister’s friend and roommate, Rowe. We aren’t very close, but she’s surprisingly a really good listener. She left campus, though—something about a family emergency.
“I am actually, really, totally, and completely—alone,” I whisper aloud, my chest constricting with a single laugh over the fact that I could have screamed those same words, and nobody would have heard me.
There’s a text on my phone—I see the small icon of red lips and know it’s Chandra. I swipe her message open.
You’re going to have to deal with this eventually.
Yeah, I probably am. But I’m not in the mood for it right now. I pick up my things and push off the bench, dusting the dirt from the back of my pants. I walk through the empty walkways of campus. Today was the final day of classes, and a lot of them were cancelled in lieu of studying time for finals. I notice a few people sitting along the edge of the main fountain, which is really more of a statue now that they’ve turned the water off in preparation for winter. Sometimes, it snows here.
I let my feet take over, shuffling slowly along the walk to the library door, and I welcome the rush of heat on my face when I step inside. The library is empty too. Spectacular.
My legs keep going until I reach the grouping of chairs and couches to the left. Dropping my bag at my feet, I let myself fall into one of the lounge chairs. It’s not the same one Houston sat in, but it’s close. Of all places, I came here. I pull my biology book out and flip through a few of the pages, not really needing to study anything at all. Most of my classes feel like repeats of my senior year of high school, and if I don’t have the parts of the cell memorized after two straight years of charts and diagrams, then I don’t deserve to get a diploma.
I toss the book on the table in front of me, and shut my eyes, bringing my fingertips to my temple and rubbing.
“No book throwing in the library, ma’am,” a voice says, startling me. I blink my lids open, and when I realize Houston is standing in front of me, I feel a strange sense of relief.
“What are you doing here?” I sound bitchy. I immediately regret how that came out, and I regret it more when I see him jump back and grimace at me. “Sorry. I’ve had…am about to have…a really bad day.”
“It seems to me if you can predict it’s coming, then you can probably prevent it,” he says, taking the seat across from me, kicking his feet up on the block table in front of us, and resting his backpack on top of his knees.
“Not this one, I can’t,” I retort, laying my head to rest on the hard wood of the chair. I stare at the ceiling, waiting for another response from Houston. There isn’t one, and the longer we sit in silence, the more I wonder why the hell he’s still here in the first place.
“Do you need something?” I ask as I flip my head forward, my eyes on him wondering why he’s looking at me. Has he been staring at me this entire time? God, I hope my chin doesn’t look fat. Is that what he was looking at? And why do I care what he thinks about my chin? He’s…he’s deli gu
y. I mean, he’s hot deli guy, but he’s still the stupid deli guy.
“No, uh…no,” he says, pulling his feet back to the ground in front of him and moving his bag along his shoulder as he stands. He runs his hand forward through his hair, into his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just saw you and wanted to thank you. You know, for studying? Then you looked kind of sad…”
“I’m not sad,” I fire back. Am I sad? I’m worried, and I set off a chain reaction that is bound to ruin my social life, but…fuck. I’m sad.
“Oh, well I guess that’s good,” he says, and his eyes fall to his feet. He doesn’t believe me, and it’s irritating me. I don’t care if I am sad; I don’t need the guy who makes my sandwiches coming in and making things better.
Before I can open my mouth, my phone buzzes at my side. I pull it out to check who’s calling—it’s Carson. I let my phone rest on my leg long enough for Houston to notice. I can tell he does by the way his right cheek lifts with his slight smirk, just before he gestures for me to go ahead. I answer in front of him, smiling tightly and raising eyebrows so he’ll get the hint: we’re done here, and I’m not sad as far as he’s concerned.
“Hey, baby,” I say, laying it on a little thick. Houston holds up a hand and nods before turning and heading out the main door. I’m left to talk to Carson in privacy, and now that I’m alone, I wish I could hang up.
“Hey! Get the fuck off of my bike!” Carson yells at someone in the background. “Sorry, babe. Douchebags don’t know how to leave my shit alone.”
He rides a motorcycle, some Ninja something or another. It was sexy the first time he took me out on it. Now, it’s just one more thing he obsesses over.
“Right, so…you called me,” I say after a few long seconds of silence. He’s probably still death-staring someone for touching his bike.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah.” He says this a lot. Three yeahs. It’s so goddamned annoying. I bite my tongue and wait for him to find his rhythm again, remember his point. “Party, tonight at Smokey’s. Sigmas are buying, and I know how much you like their fruity drinks.”
“I do,” I smile, remembering the first time Carson took me to the cowboy bar at the edge of town. It’s this huge indoor-outdoor barn-looking thing, and there’s an enormous dance floor. I was glued to it for three hours, my body drenched with sweat by the time Carson took me home. He spent that entire night watching me, and I loved his attention. We’d only been seeing each other for a few days at that point, and everything was new and sexy. Maybe a trip to Smokey’s was all I needed.
“Cool, so I’ll pick you up at the house. Be ready at nine,” he says, before holding the phone away from his mouth and screaming more obscenities at whoever was still touching his bike. “I gotta go.”
He hangs up without another word, and I’m left right back where I started—alone in the library, brushed off by my boyfriend who makes me feel embarrassed sometimes, and regretful others. I might be pathetic.
My phone buzzes again; this time, with a text from Ashley.
You were right. They looked at my phone and Facebook page, but only for a few seconds. I think Chandra’s looking for you. Where’d you go?
I begin typing, but then delete quickly, turning my phone off, and zipping it away in the bottom of my purse. There’s no sense in putting this off any longer; I’m going to have to confront Chandra eventually. For a while, I thought I might lie. But she’d see right through that. I don’t want her thinking I’m afraid. I’m not. I feel sick about everything I know I’ll have to give up, but losing Chandra isn’t something I’ll regret. I’d regret lying more.
My pace back to the house is nearly as fast as it was when I ran away. As a kid, I used to hate getting shots or pulling off Band-Aids. My mom would make me count backward from ten, and after I got to seven, she’d always rip the bandage away or tell the nurse to proceed with the needle. My pain was always over quickly that way. I love my mom for giving me the false expectation that something painful would take longer than it really did. I’m thinking of this now—my steps coming quicker. By the time I count down to zero in my head, I’m at the front door of the Delta House, my hand rested on the ornate iron handle, and the only sound I hear is the blood rushing over my eardrums as my heart rate climbs.
When I step inside, Chandra is sitting right where I left her—waiting for me. She’s alone, not because she wants to give me privacy; this has nothing to do with her respect for me. This is about her, and wanting to make sure I don’t spread the poison. I won’t. It will spread on its own; it’s just a matter of time.
“Have second thoughts about running away, Paige?” she asks, her legs folded up in front of her, a pillow on her lap, her hands resting neatly on top. She’s anxious. I’ve learned some of her tells over the few months we’ve been friends, and when she’s sure of herself, she stands, lets her arms and hands be free—so she can make gestures and move with her speech. She’s compact right now, hiding under the chenille butterfly pillow. No matter what happens, I’ve won this round, because I intend on standing.
“I was gone for thirty minutes. I’d hardly call that running away,” I say, turning my back to her and taking my time to pull my bag from my arms, then removing the sweatshirt from over my head. I want her to think I’m making her wait, that I’m not nervous, but really…I’m just buying myself time until I can think of exactly what I’m going to say. I think it depends on what she asks.
“You’ll need to be out by tonight,” she says, speaking the second I’m done pulling the cloth over my head, trying to catch me off guard. And she has.
That is not what I thought she would lead with. Seems we’re not going to go through the pretense of checking my phone and social media. Just as I thought, that was all part of the performance. I’m sure she’ll tell everyone they did a thorough investigation, and everyone will believe it, because she’s checked everyone’s phone—but mine.
“Pretty sure you don’t have the right to kick me out,” I say. Benefit of being a lawyer’s daughter is a shallow understanding of the law. I know more than Chandra does, and that’s all that matters. Sticking to my promise to myself, I don’t move from my spot about twenty feet away from her. I stand there, in the open foyer, where my voice echoes. And I revel in how it makes her uncomfortable.
“How did you think this was going to go?” she asks, never fully admitting to anything—never really laying out what this is all about.
“Not sure what you mean?” I say, resisting the urge to fold my arms. I won’t close my body off to her. These might seem like tiny wins in the chess game of interpersonal communication, but I need every tiny win I can get.
Chandra looks down at the pillow, running her hands along it, pulling at the corners to make it even and straight. She lifts it from her lap and sets it to the side, then untangles her legs, walking over to me slowly. I hold my ground.
“You will be out by tonight, or I will make your life so fucking miserable, you will literally run home to California,” she says, each word coming out amid her steps, until her elbows are brushing my body and her breath is choking me she’s so close.
I don’t blink. Not once. Inside, I’m crumbling, because I didn’t expect Chandra to fight so hard. That picture; it will ruin her. But she’s acting as if she has it completely contained. I know how rumors spread. I’ve helped pass them along. I’ve watched my dad spend millions trying to stop them. And when there’s something as sexy as a photo of the campus it girl with a shitload of drugs—it’s only a matter of time.
“Do your worst,” I say, waiting for her to flinch. She doesn’t, and the only thing I have left is my sister. I think of my sister, and the shitty things I started, and the cruel things this girl standing across from me has done. I know I’m right, and good has to win. I’m not naïve enough to think it always wins, but this time, it has to. And I’m willing to be a relentless bitch just to get my way.
Chandra doesn’t respond. She let’s the half smile on her overly-red lip
s linger, and waits for me to back away, which I finally do, retreating to my purple room. I pull the small screwdriver from my desk drawer as soon as I step inside and take down the overpriced coat hanger I bought with my own money. I place it in the side pocket of my duffle bag.
One way or another, I’ll be out of this house soon. And I’ll be damned if I’m donating my good decorating taste to this place.
Chapter 3
Houston
“Remind me how much they’re paying you for this…and how much you’re giving me for being here?” I ask Casey while I lie under a table shielded by a black tablecloth. There are at least a dozen cords in my hands, and I’m trying to find a way to weave them through a one-inch space in the plywood, makeshift-stage we’re propped up on.
“Two K,” he says, “and I said I’d give you half. Of course, that was when I thought you would fix my shit, not lend me yours.”
“Way I see it, the fact that I’m spending the night here with you is worth way more,” I say, peering up at him with my back flat on the floor.
“Wow, is that your best pickup line? No wonder you haven’t been laid in…what, two years?” he says, feeding one more cord down to me from the back of his speakers.
“If you’re going to be a dickhead all night, I can leave…” I start to get up.
“You’re not leaving. I know how much a thousand bucks means to you,” he says quickly, holding the end of the cord out for me. I take it, because he’s right. That’s at least a week and a half of shifts and tips at the grocery store.
“And I’ll fix your hard drive. Let me take it home with me tonight. It’s easier for me to get things done at home,” I say, going back to work connecting the power.
Casey is an engineering student, but he’s sort of made a name for himself deejaying for some of the hotter bars around the college. His parents aren’t real hip over the idea of him moving into sound engineering, but it’s hard to argue with two thousand dollars for a night’s worth of work.