by Taylor Bell
My phone buzzed again—a number I didn’t recognize.
(302) XXX-XXXX 2:30PM Taylor. It’s Jack. Hope it’s not weird that I’m texting you. Got your number from Meg.
(302) XXX-XXXX 2:30PM I wanted to apologize if I was a dick or whatever last night. Are you feeling better?
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that Jack had texted me. He was really hot, and although he had acted like an idiot after I fell, it made me feel good that he’d gone to the trouble of getting my number and checking up.
I found a sunny spot on the stairs outside of the big humanities building, waited a few minutes, and contemplated the perfect response.
Taylor 2:42PM Hey.
Jack Swanson 2:42PM Really happy you responded.
Taylor 2:42PM Did u think I wouldn’t?
Jack Swanson 2:42PM Honestly wasn’t sure. I was an idiot last night. Def had a few too many.
Taylor 2:43PM How are you?
Jack Swanson 2:43PM Great. You?
Taylor 2:43PM I’m good. A little sore. But good.
Jack Swanson 2:43PM I heard a rumor you’re pre-gaming with some BZs tomorrow night.
Taylor 2:43PM Wow. Word travels fast. I was invited but I can’t go.
Jack Swanson 2:43PM Boo. Does that mean you can’t make it to the party at our house as well?
Taylor 2:44PM I’m afraid it does. I’m very important. Many CDU students are vying for my attention and I have to keep my people happy.
Jack Swanson 2:44PM LOL! Totally see how that is possible.
Taylor 2:44PM Some other time then?
Jack Swanson 2:44PM Maybe we could get together just the 2 of us.
Taylor 2:44PM K
Jack Swanson 2:45PM Dinner? Movie? Walk? Museum? Carnival? Canoe trip? Ice skating? Yoga?
Taylor 2:45PM Yoga? Really?
Jack Swanson 2:45PM Not my first choice but I’d be down.
Taylor 2:45PM Haha let me think about it.
Jack Swanson 2:45PM Tell me what works.
Taylor 2:45PM Have fun at your party tonight.
Jack Swanson 2:45PM I’ll try.
I couldn’t help but smile. It’s amazing how a few good texts can improve your relationship with the entire world.
5.
“SICK” AS IN “FUN”
The following night I was finally feeling human again. I’d spent most of my Saturday reading/sleeping in bed and was starting to feel a little stir crazy. I was excited to go see Jonah compete. The plan was to go over to his swim buddy’s place afterward to play drinking games. I was midway through brushing my teeth in the girls’ bathroom, still in sweatshorts and a bra, when my phone buzzed on the edge of the sink. It was a text from another number I didn’t recognize.
302-XXX-XXXX 8:39PM Hi! It’s Olivia. Got your number from Meg. I’m coming to pick you up in like 10 minutes.
Taylor 8:40PM Wait, what? I can’t come. I have a thing.
302-XXX-XXXX 8:40PM K.
I continued to get ready, threw on one of my favorite dresses—a vintage baby-blue shirtdress with a tie around the waist, a navy cardigan, and a pair of white Chucks, and managed to sweep on some blush and mascara. I looked fine. Not amazing, but that was okay. As I was about to walk out, checking my hair once more in the mirror, I got another text.
302-XXX-XXXX 8:58PM Hey cute tits. It’s Stephanie, I’m here to pick you up instead because my sister is being a cunt so come down and get in the car. White Lexus.
I went downstairs to the front of my building and sure enough, there was Steph in the car, smiling.
“Hey! Did you get cuter or were you this cute the other night?” Steph asked as soon as I was in earshot.
“Hey, sorry. I actually have plans to go see my best friend swim tonight at Newman. I told Olivia I wasn’t gonna be able—”
“Well, it’s great that you want to go do that, but college is about having fun and you are coming with me. Your friend will understand.”
I had no idea what to do. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this was kind of a crossroads moment.
I got in.
“I feel weird about calling my sister a cunt just now via text,” Stephanie said.
“Oh, it’s okay,” I said, closing the passenger door. Her car smelled like Axe body spray.
“I don’t really think she’s a cunt,” she reassured me.
“Seriously, I don’t care. I won’t mention it.”
“Yeah, def don’t mention it to anyone, ever. Olivia loathes being called a cunt. It’s like her personal ‘n-word,’ ” she said, rolling her window down and lighting a cigarette.
“Okay, I won’t.” I could feel her smiling in my direction, but it felt like it would make things even more awkward to look at her.
“So . . .”
“Sorry we needed to pick you up so early. We wanted to grab you before my blood alcohol level became an issue.”
“I honestly had no idea that you were coming to get me, so it’s fine.”
“Anyways,” Stephanie said as she stepped on the gas and zoomed away from Lincoln Hall toward the River, “tonight should be sick.”
“Sick as in fun or sick as in gross?” I asked.
“Sick as in fun, obvi,” she said turning up the volume on the stereo. The song was either Chris Brown or Ne-Yo, I couldn’t tell which. Stephanie sped through the winding roads that lead off campus with the precision of a professional driver. She barely had her eyes on the road between talking to me and texting, and yet I felt completely safe with her behind the wheel. Maybe she was on Adderall. Probably.
The two of us fumbled through some pretty mundane yet varied topics of convo (e.g., sports bras, Kate Upton’s ass), until we got down the River and Steph said dryly, “Oh, balls. I forgot to offer you a drink, how very poor of me. Here, have some.” She pulled a baby bottle out of a huge purple Longchamp bag that sat between us.
“Hmmmm, okay . . .” I said, taking the bottle and examining it. “What’s in it?”
“Fun stuff.”
I didn’t know what else to do but giggle. “Can you be slightly more specific?” I asked.
“Just a little Red Bull.”
“That’s it? Why is it in this bottle?”
“. . . and a little crushed-up Xanax.” She smirked and lit another cigarette.
“Xanax?” Wow, she totally wasn’t on Adderall. I was way off.
“It’s just a little mood enhancer, it’s a nice base for whatever else may come your way tonight. No presh, my wholesome upbringing mandates that I at least offer you some, that’s all.” She smirked again, the same exact smirk. She must’ve practiced that a lot at some point in middle school. I wondered if the twins ever did pageants.
“I don’t know . . .” I hesitated. The only time I’d ever taken Xanax was when I had a little anxiety attack on a family trip to Spain and thought I’d lost my passport. I knew that a small amount wouldn’t do much and I also felt like I could trust Stephanie for some reason. Maybe her driving prowess convinced me that she knew how to handle extreme experiences and she wouldn’t lead me astray. I thought about what my mom would say if she was sitting in the backseat of the Lexus at that moment, then immediately wiped that visual from my mind because it was weirding me out.
“Fuck it,” I said, cautiously squirting a shot of the drink into my mouth. It tasted like Red Bull and NyQuil. “I guess there’s no harm in pre-gaming before the pre-game,” I said, putting the bottle in a cup holder in the dashboard.
“Cute,” said Stephanie as she handed me her cigarette, offering me a puff.
“Oh, I don’t smoke, but thanks.”
She threw the cigarette out of the cracked window. “Neither do I.”
Stephanie and Olivia’s place was the back apartment of a beautiful three-story, white-brick, ivy-covered building with an enormous front porch and awning. As we walked toward the front door Stephanie told me that their parents chose this particular apartment because it felt secure from “rapists and campus molesters.�
�� I just nodded and smiled. I also noticed that Stephanie was barefoot.
The decor of the apartment was shabby chic gone overboard. I have absolutely no right to judge anyone’s taste in interior decorating, but Jesus. I’d never seen so many tasseled lamps, floral patterns, and professional family photos in my life. The twins also had two pugs named Lolita and Lolito, whom they affectionately called “Lita” and “Lito,” which seemed super grown-up for two college girls.
As soon as we walked through the door, Steph beelined to the kitchen, and I heard someone scream “TAY!” from down the hallway.
It was Meg. She was wearing BZ sweatpants, a BZ hoodie, and a full face of makeup, and her hair had clearly been blown out professionally within the last two hours.
“Hey, Meg,” I said. It was actually nice to see her.
“Was Steph nice to you? She’s been in a weird mood because Olivia’s been in a weird mood. The two of them share a psyche, I swear.”
“She was great. Got me here safe and sound. But my best friend, Jonah, has a swim meet like right now. He’s gonna kill me.”
“That sexy little fucker will tooooootally understand. There will be a hundred swim meets to go to!” She grabbed me by the hand. “And just so you know, this outfit I’m wearing is only fine because I’m indoors, but you can’t walk outside with letters on your shirt and letters on your pants. It’s called ‘double lettering’ and makes you look like a tard. Also, stitched letters are basically seen as way more formal, so if you’re wearing a stitched letter shirt your makeup better be done and you better be wearing nice jeans or leggings that look good. No sweats. Plain PR shirts you can be more casual in, but you still shouldn’t look like shit. Got it?”
“I mean . . . no?”
“Cute. You’ll get a care package when you get your official bid. The girls are out back on the patio, I’m just going to go pee. I’ll meet you out there.”
“Okay . . .” I started walking down the hall, which was lined with photos from BZ events. It hit me that these girls one-hundred-percent thought I was planning on pledging.
“Just turn left at the end and follow the sweet sounds of sisterly love,” Meg called out just before shutting the bathroom door.
I muttered a quiet “Thanks . . .” and followed her directions. There were about five girls out back, sitting around a big table drinking from huge wineglasses. I had already met most of them (Olivia, Colette, and Sabrina), but the other two didn’t look familiar. I must’ve been standing awkwardly in the doorway because when Colette realized I was there, she started laughing, offering me a pout as if to say, “You look lost and pathetic.”
“Come here,” Colette said, beckoning me over to the group. As I got closer, I realized that there was another group of maybe five girls around the corner, sharing what looked like a blunt.
“That’s our pot-smoking contingent. I didn’t vote for them,” she said, standing and kissing me on the cheek as she handed me a wineglass. “Drink up, the Omega Sig boys want us there early tonight for some reason.”
They were going to Omega Sig. That’s right, Jack had mentioned there was another party tonight.
“Hey,” I said turning to Olivia, “thanks for having me over. Your place is really cute.”
Olivia smiled brightly. “Of course. Sorry I was a cunt and couldn’t get my shit together to pick you up.”
“Oh, no worries.” I smiled back. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
“I took a shower, drank some milk, and feel like a totally refreshed woman now. So, let’s fucking party because this week rode me hard . . . without a condom.”
“Oh, please,” Stephanie chimed, appearing behind me with wineglass in hand. “You had, like, one class. We didn’t do anything this week besides drink, go back home for Dad’s tennis tournament, and drink.”
Olivia made an “oops” face that slid effortlessly back into her perfect grin as she held up her glass for a toast. “Here’s to another year of craziness, boys, positive mental health, and negative STD tests!”
“What the fuck?!” Meg howled as she joined our four-way cheers, clinking with each of us. “You are so fucking bizarre, Olivia. I love it.”
We all sat down around the table and I was introduced to Kenadie, a really cute blond girl with a sparkling cross hanging from a small chain around her neck, and Lauren, a big girl with broad shoulders and her hair in a high pony. She reminded me of the field hockey goalie from my high school. I tend to like girls who inhabit larger bodies because they’re typically less prissy and less sensitive than the petite ones.
“Hi, I’m Taylor,” I announced with a friendly wave.
Meg, who’d pulled up the seat next to mine, put her arm around my shoulder. “Taylor is Kelly Bell’s sister and she will be a third-generation Beta Zeta, the fifth in her family. We’re lucky to have her, so be nice, lesbos.”
Colette’s eyes darted toward Meg. “She could be. I won’t have you sluts courting this poor girl, and there will be no dirty rushing. Cute?”
And then the entire table replied in unison: “Crystal cute.”
I nudged Meg and leaned in toward her. “What’s dirty rushing?”
“According to university/Greek law, we’re technically not allowed to express interest in you during rush because technically you’re supposed to meet every sorority before making your final decision, but technically I don’t really give a shit, and neither does Colette.”
“Oh . . .”
“She just acts that way to keep everyone’s status in line, I guess. It’s for the best. Anyway!”
“Anyway,” I took a sip of my drink, which despite its vessel, was definitely not white wine. “What is this?”
“Grey Goose and organic coconut water. It’s vitally important to hydrate before a night out. It can save you from a trip to Planned Parenthood in the morning, so drink up.”
As the words came out of Meg’s mouth, Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the U.S.A.” came on the stereo, causing an outbreak of squeals. Jonah would just die if he saw me right now.
“So,” Stephanie said to me, “what’s really going on with you and Mr. Swanson?”
“You mean Jack?”
“No, Jack’s dad. Yes, bitch, Jack!”
“Oh . . . I don’t know. He’s really hot, but I don’t know,” I confessed. This was about as honest an answer as I could think of.
“So, do you like him?”
I looked down. “I don’t know him yet. I guess he’s . . . interesting to me,” I said, then looked back up at her.
“And you think he’s hot?” Stephanie was not smiling. Not because she wasn’t happy, but because she seemed to be thinking really hard.
“Yeah, I guess. Yeah. Yes. He’s hot, but like . . .”
“What is there to know besides that?” Steph asked, cocking her head to one side.
“Besides Jack being hot?”
She nodded eagerly, “Right.”
“Well . . .”
As I took a sip of my drink and looked back into Steph’s purely optimistic gaze, I wondered if she’d ever been in love for real. Then, for the tiniest little second, I wondered if Jack had.
“Hello!” she said, waving a hand in my face. “Did you OD on that Xanax juice, or are you still with me?”
“I guess I just normally like to know if a guy is an asshole before falling for him. You know?”
“I guess,” she scrunched her face.
“Like, if I hadn’t stuck with The Carrie Diaries through the prom episode, I would’ve never known that George was actually kind of a pompous dick.”
Steph stared at me blankly.
“So . . . you’re smart,” she finally let out.
We both laughed. There was something about Steph that I genuinely liked. Yes, she seemed like the kind of girl who was just floating through life, but she wasn’t an idiot. The dumb girls I’d known in high school weren’t also sweet, they were just dumb. Steph was funny and caring and optimistic.
“Anyway,” I
continued vaguely, “I don’t really know if anything is going on, or will go on between us ever in the future.”
Meg turned toward us.
“You know that Jack and I used to date and I’m totally not over him, right? Like, what the fuck, Tay.” Meg stared at me like I was some sort of swamp monster for three full seconds. Before I could have a full-blown heart attack, she broke into a huge smile. “I’m just kidding!” she guffawed. “We never dated. We fucked once, though. I think I already told you that, right?”
She hadn’t.
“Yeah, I guess Jack’s a really nice, super-sweet guy,” Meg continued, “but I’m more into dumb jocks with massive shoulders that I can boss around twenty-four/seven.”
“Whereas Jack Swanson is an actual human being,” Steph stated flatly.
“Not a frombie,” Meg added.
“A what?”
“A frombie. Meaning frat zombie,” continued Steph. “There are tons of crazy-hot frat guys with good hair, big dicks, and nice smiles and whatever—”
“But most of them lack a soul and are total fromb-faces for suuuure,” finished Meg.
It was like they all shared one brain but used their own mouths.
“So what you’re saying is . . . Jack’s not a frat zombie?” I asked the group.
“Right,” they confirmed, in unison.
“It’s almost weird because he’s so hot you wouldn’t expect him to be cool,” said Olivia, who had just sat down next to us. “I almost want to say he’s the Ryan Gosling of CDU. Is that insane?” she asked, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.
“Yeah, it’s freakin’ insane, but it’s kinda true!” shouted a voice from behind me. It was Kenadie. She put her hands on my shoulders. “Tay-Tay, I wouldn’t know firsthand, but there are a bajillion reasons why you should date Jack. One, he’s not a frombie. Two, he has big ol’ friendly dimples. Three, he doesn’t have herpes. Four, I heard his dad was an early investor in Vita Coco . . .”
The list went on forever and all the while the other girls just gathered around me nodding, including the big girl Lauren, who came out from the apartment and sat herself directly across from me at the table and proceeded to shotgun a full can of beer in two seconds. It was actually amazing and no one batted an eye. The rest of them were really in their girly, gossipy element and I couldn’t help but take the bait and fall into the trap of totally gushing to them.