Brimstone

by Rosemary Clement-Moore

  “Okay,” said Tara, opening her binder. “Let’s—”

  But Brittany wasn’t done. “I actually have some ideas for our class. Is it okay to do this now, Tara?”

  She blinked, her earth-mother calm taking a hit. “Actually …”

  “Thanks. It’ll only take a sec.” She whipped out a long, long checklist from the front of her own notebook. “First of all, everyone”—she glared at me—“should make a real effort to try and hang around the house more. Second, I think we should have mandatory checks of our pledge books at every meeting. We don’t want some people”—why didn’t she just say Maggie?—“waiting until the last minute.”

  Holly shot me the death eye, and I had to admit, I was really regretting my abstention just then.

  “Are you two listening to me? This is important stuff. Now. On to Homecoming. I expect everyone to really pitch in and show the actives what we can do.…”

  On Tuesday after history, someone called my name just as I was about to duck into Dad’s office. “Hey, Maggie! Wait up!”

  Will, the Gamma Phi Epsilon from class, loped down the hall toward me. I’d only seen him slumped in his desk, and he was taller than I’d realized. I had to tilt my head back to look at him as the rest of the class went on by. Including Ashley, who gave me a wink of great significance.

  “Maggie, right?” he asked.

  “That’s a good guess, since I’m the only one that stopped when you bellowed it down the hall.”

  He laughed. “I was just starting conversation. But I’ve been sitting behind you for weeks, and we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Will.” He stuck out his hand. I had gotten into the habit of steeling my defenses before shaking hands. Sometimes I felt like that guy in The Dead Zone, and look how crappy things had turned out for him.

  A slight tingle, as if I’d hit my funny bone, but no voyeur vision. I breathed in relief and surreptitiously brushed my palm on my jeans as he released it.

  “Are you going to be there Friday?”

  I drew a blank. “Friday?”

  “You know. At the Underground. Sigmas and Gamma Phi Eps are getting together for a mixer.”

  “Oh yeah. They talked about that in the chapter meeting on Monday. I thought it was a type of drink.”

  He laughed. “You’re cute.”

  “Uh. Thanks?” I assumed this was a compliment, but since I’d slipped into a parallel dimension where fraternity guys even talked to me, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Are you going to be there?”

  “I don’t know.” The Phantom Pledge would need material, I guess. “Maybe.”

  “You should go.” Will grinned, and it was cheeky and charming, darn it. “If you make up your mind, I’ll see you there.”

  “Great.” I smiled, a little too brightly.

  “See ya then.”

  “Yeah. See ya.”

  He jogged off. I watched him go, mentally composing the opening line for next week’s column: Would this guy even notice me if I was wearing my Darth Vader T-shirt instead of Greek letters?

  I swung into Dad’s office, then stopped, because Justin occupied a small desk in the corner, diligently typing notes into a laptop. He looked very industrious; maybe a little too much so. Justin couldn’t lie with silence, either. Had he heard my conversation with Will? Did I care? Of course I did. No point in lying to anyone about that, least of all myself.

  “Hey.” He looked good; he’d gotten a haircut, neatly trimmed, short enough on the top to stand up when he ran his hand through it, something he’d apparently done recently. It suited the clean-cut lines of his face. I hadn’t seen him since … when? My weeks were running together.

  He glanced up as if I’d surprised him. “Oh. Hi, Maggie.”

  Terrible liar. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  His attention returned to the screen and his fingers to the keys. “I’m your dad’s teaching assistant. Didn’t you wonder why I’m always hanging around?”

  “Just figured I was lucky.” I wondered if Dad had mentioned this fact. “I knew he was your academic adviser.”

  “Well, now he’s my boss, too.” He went back to typing.

  “Ah.” I watched, taking in the taut set of his shoulders, the clipped ends of his words. “You might as well say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Whatever has got you wound tighter than a Swiss watch.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Fine.” I turned to go, but his question stopped me.

  “Don’t you think you’re enjoying this a little too much?” He’d finally looked up, turned in his chair to give me his full attention.

  “Enjoying what?”

  He made a vague, encompassing gesture. “The whole Greek thing.”

  Casting a glance out the door to the crowded hallway, I lowered my voice. “You know why I’m doing this.”

  He rose, closed the distance, kept his voice at the same soft intensity. “I know why you think you’re doing this.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on, Maggie. You were flirting. With a fraternity guy.”

  My mouth worked in silent indignation. So he had heard me. Spied on me, even. “I was not!”

  “You thought a mixer was a kind of drink? Come on. The real Maggie wouldn’t give a guy like him the time of day.”

  “What do you know about the real Maggie? You seem to think I’m so high-maintenance that a relationship with me would suck up all your study time.”

  His jaw clenched. “That’s not what I said.”

  “That’s what you meant.”

  “I think I know better than you what I meant.”

  “You think so?”

  A cough from the doorway jolted me back to our surroundings, and I whirled toward the sound. Dad stood there, looking stern. “Should I come back later?”

  “No, sir.” Justin’s face had turned scarlet.

  “I have to get to my next class,” I muttered, certain my burning cheeks matched his. Ducking past him, I escaped into the hall.

  17

  I’d been assigned a desk in the journalism lab. I shared it with two sophomores, but still. As I entered the last of the edits to an article about the downtown Harvest Days festival, Mike, the senior who served as the sports editor, called across the room in a harried voice.

  “Hey, Quinn!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Bauer says you take decent sports pictures.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? “Well, I think so.”

  “I’ve got an article about how critical defense is going to be to Saturday’s football game, and no current pictures of the defense. Can you run down and snap something usable?”

  “Sure thing.” Somehow I managed not to jump up and down and shout “Photo credit! Score!” I still had to get something he considered “usable.”

  I uploaded the current article to the server, grabbed my stuff, and headed to the practice field.

  For a girl allergic to exercise, I do know my way around a football field. Two years of photographing our high school games had at least taught me defense from offense.

  “Twenty-three, thirty-two, hike!”

  I pressed the shutter button and caught the snap. My digital camera—a graduation gift from Gran—made a vintage film sound. Click, whir, snap! Click, whir, slam! Click whir, oof!

  A padded player walked into my shot; at my glare, he mumbled an unimpressed “Sorry” and continued to the bench, cup of Gatorade in hand.

  Getting creative, I took some pictures of the guys lined up on the bench, shoulder to tank-sized shoulder, knees sprawled wide, forest green helmets between their feet. And then someone walked into my shot again.

  This guy wore a T-shirt and track pants, which he filled out nicely without any padding. “Sorry about that.”

  “I’ll live,” I said with an exaggerated sigh.

  He looked at the badge I’d clipped to my shirt. The Bedivere R
angers weren’t exactly big conference football, but they didn’t let just anyone wander onto the sidelines and take pictures of drills. “Are you taking over for John?”

  John was the usual sports guy. I thumbed backward through the shots I’d taken so far. “Nah. Just filling in.”

  “Too bad.”

  I looked up, squinting in the afternoon light. The sun was behind him, and I couldn’t see his face. Please tell me a coach hadn’t just hit on a freshman. “Uh. Okay.”

  He took a step to the side, and I could see that he wasn’t so creepy after all. “I’m one of the trainers for the offensive unit. If you need anything for an article. Or anything.”

  Okay, that explained it. I’d had people suck up to me when I was on the Avalon High staff, mostly to get their pictures in the yearbook or a quote in the paper.

  “Just here to snap a few pics to go with John’s article,” I said, lifting my camera in what I hoped was a hint.

  “Sure. You’re a Sigma Alpha Xi pledge?”

  I looked down at my shirt and feigned surprise. “Wow. I guess I am.”

  The guy laughed in a want-to-make-points way. “I’m AD Phi. I think we have a mixer with you guys coming up soon.”

  So he was sucking up because I was a SAXi? Interesting.

  “So, maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Sure,” I said, and started to turn away, my attention already back to my camera’s view screen. Then I thought of something he could help me with, and glanced back over my shoulder. “Actually …”

  Mr. Offensive Trainer snapped his eyes up to my face. “Yeah?”

  Holy crap. He’d been checking out my butt.

  “I, um …” I actually blathered, a blush heating my face. “Er … Can you point me to the defensive coordinator?”

  He blinked, as if he’d expected something different. “Sure. Over there. Tall, skinny guy.”

  “Great.” I was reluctant to leave until he did. Just in case the checking out hadn’t been positive. “See you around.”

  “Yeah.” A smile this time, and he turned away.

  Okay. Maybe I did check him out just a little bit. Fair is fair, after all.

  I showed off my photo in the paper at lunch on Friday. Holly and I were falling into a Monday-Wednesday-Friday habit, and often Jenna and Devon joined us. Brittany and Ashley did, too, which was less pleasant. Ashley, I’d discovered, was fine on her own, but tended to take on the other girl’s most annoying characteristics when they were together.

  “With your name under it and everything.” Holly stopped devouring her chicken salad sandwich long enough to grin at me. “Awesome.”

  “I don’t see what’s the big deal,” said Brittany, peering at the newspaper spread out on the table. “It’s on the back page.”

  Devon came to my defense. “Anywhere on the outside of the paper is better than the inside.”

  Art majors often took a layout class, which overlapped with print journalism majors. I wondered if that was where she met Cole.

  “Not only that,” I said, “Mike said I could take pictures of the game this weekend.”

  “Maggie, that’s huge!” Devon hugged me, nearly pulling me out of my chair. “And you’re only a freshman!”

  “Cool,” said Brittany, finally impressed. “Football players are hot.”

  “No, they’re not.” Ashley did not defer to her on the subject of hotness. “They’re all fat and stuff.”

  “That’s the padding.”

  “I know the difference between padding and padding.” She grabbed a nonexistent beer belly.

  “Okay,” Brittany conceded. “But the quarterback and the running guys are hot, especially in those white pants.”

  I stared at them in bemusement. Moments like this, I wondered if I had imagined the vibe I’d gotten from Victoria. No way were these girls tapped into some kind of sorcerous contract for power and world domination.

  “Are you coming out with us tonight, Maggie?” Jenna had obviously decided to ignore the other pledges.

  “No. I have a family thing.”

  “On a Friday?”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t want to tell them that my thing involved parking my brain in neutral and watching the Sci-Fi Channel with Dad. I seriously needed some downtime. It was hard juggling homework, undercover investigating, and doing your editor’s job for him, too.

  “Come on,” Holly said, with a glint of mischief. “Tell them it’s a required activity.”

  “I’m saving that for when it actually is.”

  “Speaking of,” said Jenna, “are you two keeping up with your pledge books and things?”

  “Well, I am,” said Brittany, even though Jenna hadn’t really been talking to her. “I have to set an example, since I’m pledge president.” She hadn’t reminded us of that yet today.

  “I’m good,” Holly said between potato chips.

  Jenna uncapped her Snapple. “Homecoming is in a couple of weeks, and we’ve got to work on the float. You really need to make time for that, Maggie.”

  “Me?” I already felt like I was spending all my time with the Sigmas.

  “Yes. We hardly ever see you at the house, except for pledge class and meetings.”

  “Blame Devon,” I said breezily. “She asked Cole if there was a place for me on the Report staff. How’s his book coming, by the way?”

  I’d only meant to change the subject, but the two actives reacted as if I’d asked about the thermonuclear bomb Cole was building in the basement. Jenna gave her sorority sister a look of blistering intensity and Devon paled, the blood draining from her face, leaving her freckles standing out like raisins in a bowl of oatmeal.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Maggie. Cole isn’t writing a book.”

  “Oh. My mistake.” I brazened it out the best I could. “I must have misunderstood.”

  What was the big deal about the man’s literary ambitions? He was already a journalist. How big a stretch could it be? Yet I could feel waves of sick worry coming off Devon.

  I glanced at Jenna and found her watching not her sister, but me, and I wondered what I had given away.

  18

  “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Mags.” I hadn’t given Jenna’s roommate permission to call me Mags—only Lisa was allowed to do that—but she was driving the car, and I didn’t want to correct her. “You’d be cute even if you weren’t a SAXi.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I was in the backseat, keeping my eyes on the road so that I wouldn’t get carsick. Jenna had called shotgun, and Holly was beside me laughing just a little too loudly at that. Not because she was mean, but because she’d started the party early—I could smell it on her breath.

  “I’m so glad you decided to come,” she told me. “You can sleep when you’re dead.”

  “Great. Something to look forward to.”

  Alexa found an empty spot down the street from the Underground and I tried not to flash the world as I climbed out of the BMW. When I’d shown up at the SAXi house to get a ride with the other girls, Jenna and Alexa had pronounced my jeans and cutest T-shirt unacceptable, then proceeded to go up and down the halls until they’d found an outfit that wouldn’t shame the Sigma Alpha Xis’ reputation for hotness.

  “Stop that.” Jenna slapped my hand as I tugged down the skirt. “It covers everything. Do you think we don’t know the difference between hot and tacky?”

  I had no doubt they did. My eye was less trained, and had widened at the amount of leg showing in the mirror.

  “Here.” She handed me a Maryland driver’s license. “Tonight you’re Mavis Bucknell. At least long enough to get in the door.”

  “I don’t need this. It’s an eighteen-and-up club, right?”

  She wouldn’t take the card back. “Just in case you want to have a drink.”

  Mavis and I looked nothing alike. At least I hoped we didn’t. “This is never going to pass for me.”

  “Just trust me.”

  The music grew louder as we near
ed the club. When we reached the door, I could feel the bass beat against my sternum like an extra heart. An enormous guy, his bald head as shiny as an egg, sat on a stool outside. Elbowed by Jenna, I handed him Mavis’s license. He stared at it, stared at me, then handed it back, along with a wristband that identified me as legal.

  “It worked!” I shouted this at Jenna once we were inside, where the lights throbbed against my retinas the way the music did against my ears.

  “Of course it did!” She winked at me. “Like a charm.”

  Lisa and I had come here this summer, shortly after my birthday. We’d danced, guys had flirted with me to get introduced to my friend, and I’d had a good time—not everyone could dance with Lisa at the same time, so I had plenty of partners. But techno-pop wasn’t my thing.

  The dance floor was writhing with college kids. I didn’t see anyone who looked even close to thirty—though with the strobes and dim light, it was hard to tell.

  I looked around, but didn’t see Jenna until she appeared in front of me and pushed a drink into my hand. “Here.”

  “What is this?” I took a wary sip. The drink was sweet and fruity and didn’t taste like alcohol at all. The club was hot with pulsating music and sweaty bodies, and I took a deeper gulp.

  “Sex on the beach.” Jenna laughed at my grimace. “You’re such a prude.”

  “It’s not that.” It was because even I knew it was a total sorority-girl drink. I was standing in a club, dressed in a trendy hot outfit, and drinking a sex on the beach. I had become what I most feared: a cliché.

  “Hey!” someone yelled in my ear, the only way to get sufficient decibels over the music. I looked up and saw Will from history class. “You decided to come.”

  “Yeah!” He bent down so that he could hear me. “Jenna talked me into it.”

  “Excellent!” He pointed to the dance floor, his lips moving, but no sound reaching me through the din.

  “Sure!” I looked around for Jenna, to get her to hold my drink, but she had disappeared again. I finished the last sip and stuck it on a passing waiter’s tray.