Brimstone

by Rosemary Clement-Moore

  Will grabbed my hand and we threaded through the gyrating bodies until a space opened up. The pulse of the music filled my head, drove out spare thoughts, criticism, and commentary. In the small pocket of air, we danced close together, and I didn’t worry about looking like a dork, or if my legs were so pale they glowed in the blacklight. No talking, just motion and instinct.

  The beat was primal, spoke to parts of me that weren’t used to being included in the conversation. One song bled into another. I glimpsed the other SAXis on the dance floor. In groups and pairs, we came together for one song, then back into the mix and out the other side for the next.

  I lost track of partners, until suddenly I was facing Will again. He grinned down, and I smiled up in answer. My skin was damp and hot, and when Will put his hands on my waist the temperature spiked again. Add friction and stir. His jeans brushed my bare legs, my chest brushed his shirt. He smelled of a subtle, spicy cologne and sweat; this was good. But it wasn’t right.

  I stepped back, bumped into the girl behind me. “I need some air.”

  “Sure.” He blinked, seemed disoriented by the abrupt shift in mood, but let one hand fall from my waist. The other stayed there and steered me through the overheated crowd. The bouncer didn’t give us a second glance as we emerged into the cold night and relative quiet.

  The clean air swept through my brain and I felt immediately better. Leaning against the wall, I could feel the music pounding, muted, through my back and hips, and I closed my eyes.

  “You okay?” asked Will. “You’re not going to hurl or anything, are you?”

  “From one drink? God, no.” At least, I hoped not. My main exposure to alcohol up to this point was wine with Christmas dinner and a mostly-soda-and-not-much-whiskey Dad had let me try from his birthday bottle of Glenlivet.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

  I turned my head, brows knitting in confusion. “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged a shoulder, looked at me with that charming smile. “Anything.”

  “I think the second Aliens movie, the James Cameron one, may be my favorite movie ever. Definite top five.” Not sure why that was the “anything” that popped out. Maybe it was a test.

  “Is that the one with the space marines?” I nodded, and he grinned. “You’re a geek, but at least you like kick-ass movies.”

  I’m not sure if that qualified as a pass or not. While I was thinking about it, he bent his head and kissed me.

  Deflector shields! I put up my mental defenses as quickly as I could. I didn’t want any Dead Zone flashes now, while my head was fuzzy from drinking and dancing. And I didn’t want him to know that, as nice a kiss as it was … I really, really wished he was someone else.

  19

  When I dragged myself home after the game on Saturday, Mom and Dad were on the couch watching a movie. “Look, dear,” said my mother, elbowing Dad in the ribs and pointing at me. “Doesn’t that girl look like our daughter?”

  “I couldn’t say, Laura. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

  “Very funny.” I slumped in the recliner, too tired to even put up the leg rest. “And untrue. I saw you on Thursday in class.”

  “Was that you? I didn’t recognize you, sitting in the group of Greeks.”

  I groaned. “Not you, too. Justin gave me grief about that already, so no need to add to it.”

  “Is that what you two were arguing about?” Dad asked.

  “We weren’t arguing. Just sort of … discussing in really intense voices. Why don’t you guys realize, I’m just doing it for the paper.”

  “Ah.” He used his Father Knows Best voice. “And it has nothing to do with Mr. Alphabet sitting behind you?”

  “Wait.” Mom grabbed the remote and paused the movie. “I thought you and Justin were just friends now. And what’s this about a cute guy? Why don’t I know about this?”

  “Possibly because you have more important things to think about than my quasi-social life?”

  “I’m feeling great.” She laid a hand on her belly, where the bump seemed to have grown substantially all of a sudden. Just how long had it been since we’d done more than pass each other in the kitchen?

  “When am I going to find out if I’m getting a brother or a sister?” I asked.

  “Maybe you can read my palm and tell me.”

  I looked at her sharply. For Mom to even refer to my ability was huge. I guess she figured that if she didn’t acknowledge it, the weirdness would somehow just go back to being science fiction. So this was Mount Rushmore big.

  “Do you really want to know?” I spoke cautiously, afraid to break the fragile moment.

  She seemed tentative, but intrigued. Dad, too, had picked up on the change, and he glanced between us. “You’ve always said you couldn’t see the future.”

  “It’s not the future. XX or XY—it’s already set.” Mom and Dad exchanged a look, and I picked up the DVD rental box, pretending I didn’t care what they decided. “I probably couldn’t tell anything anyway.”

  “What the heck.” Mom gave an embarrassed laugh. “Give it a try.”

  Grinning, I moved to the couch, nervous and excited—like a kind of stage fright. This was the first time I’d used my new superpower on purpose, but I’d been studying Gran’s meditation book diligently. Mostly I’d been concerned with keeping up my defenses, but there were other chapters, too. Breathing deeply, I visualized my deflector shields powering down. After weeks of putting them up, it felt weird and naked.

  Mom gave an anxious laugh, almost a giggle, and I shushed her sternly. “You are blocking the flow of positive energy.”

  “Really?”

  “No, not really. You’re just making me nervous.”

  I placed my hand on Mom’s gently rounded stomach. A flutter, not under my fingers, but in my heart.

  What a strange feeling—alone in the dark, but surrounded, buoyed, and loved. Our pulses meshed—Mom’s slow, the rhythm of the universe; mine, the steady pulse of a star; the baby’s quick, the turn of a day. A perfect ratio, divinely in proportion—infinitely big, and infinitely small.

  Something splashed against my skin, and I opened my eyes. My parents stared at me as I wiped tears from my face, too enthralled to be embarrassed.

  “Don’t paint her room pink, okay? It only reinforces gender stereotypes.”

  Mom laughed, and pulled me into a hug. I blinked away a strange dual vision, as if the connection between my sister and me still resonated. Dad wrapped us all up in his arms and right then, I couldn’t feel worried about anything—my professional good fortune, my sudden sex appeal, the Sigma Alpha Xis, or any of it. I felt just like my sister—surrounded, buoyed, and loved.

  20

  On Monday morning, the chill in the air caught me off guard. Flame-colored leaves chased each other across the ground. Fall had snuck up on me somehow. Midterms and Homecoming were closing in fast. September had slipped away, and October was hurrying on its heels.

  Ordinarily, I love autumn, but the obvious passage of time disturbed me; it fueled a nagging unease, as if I’d forgotten something important. The more I tried to grasp it, the more quickly it floated away, elusive as a dream.

  The thought brought me to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk between the communication building and the science hall, forcing a clump of Kappa Phis to break apart and go around me.

  The brisk air seemed to briefly blow a fog from my mind. How many times had I woken with the feeling that I had dreamed, but couldn’t recall any of it? I’d been dismissing this for—God, it must be weeks now.

  I pressed my fingers to my forehead. When was the last dream I could remember? It had to be over a month ago, during Rush maybe. That had to be significant. Didn’t it?

  A hand touched my shoulder and I whirled around with a shout. Cole stepped back, raising his hands in the universal sign for “Don’t beat my head in.”

  “Sorry! I just wante
d to see if you were okay.”

  “Yeah.” I put a hand over my thudding heart, to make sure it wasn’t actually coming out of my chest. And then I looked at him again, to make sure he wasn’t wearing a Halloween costume. He looked like a zombie. The shadows under his eyes were greenish purple, as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

  “Are you all right?” I didn’t mince words. “You look like crap.”

  He laughed and shrugged. “What can I say. The muse is a real bitch sometimes.”

  “Yeah, but …”

  “Don’t worry about it, Maggie.” He started walking toward the communication building, and I fell in beside him. “Mike loved the pictures from the game on Saturday, by the way.”

  “Great. Thanks for the assignment.”

  “I had nothing to do with it.”

  I glanced up at him; he’d said it honestly. “But I’m just a freshman. I figured you were throwing me a bone because I don’t get a byline on the column.”

  “A column that I loved, by the way.” I’d written about my suddenly elevated attraction, thanks to my Greek status. We climbed the steps to the building and Cole held the door for me. “But you shouldn’t sell yourself short, Maggie. I’m a GDI and I would totally go for you, if I were any less nuts about Devon.”

  GDI was how non-Greeks proudly referred to themselves. I think it started as an insult, but the “God Damn Independents” had adopted it like a banner.

  “Thanks,” I said, not mentioning that Devon was a Sigma, too, so he hadn’t exactly proven his point.

  “Anyway,” Cole continued as we headed for the journalism floor, “Mike thinks you’re his early Christmas present. Said you always seem to have your camera pointed at the right place at exactly the right moment. That takes some serious talent. Or luck.”

  With a grin, he waved and turned into his classroom. For the second time that morning, I was rooted to the spot by a thought hitting me like a slap across the face.

  Was I lucky? Or was something else at work, making things fall into place? Sigmas are successful, Victoria had said. Things would go my way if I took what SAXi had to offer.

  I’d been slacking. Nancy Drew would never lose track of time like this. And since I had to start somewhere, I’d start with the mystery of Devon and Cole.

  Spying was such an ugly word. But if you want to get technical, that was what I was doing outside Devon’s door. I’d brought my interview book to give me an excuse to talk to her, but she was not alone.

  “We know, Devon,” said Kirby. I’d always thought of her as Victoria Jr., but the edge in her voice was more overt. Mrs. Abbott was velvet-gloved steel. Kirby had less finesse, or wasn’t bothering with it now. “Did you think you could keep it a secret?”

  “No.” Devon sounded as though she was crying. “I just didn’t think it would matter so much.”

  I heard Jenna’s voice next, soothing and kind, good cop to Kirby’s bully. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. But you have to give him up.”

  Kirby spoke without pity. “We told you that Cole wasn’t right for you. No, I will not shush, Jenna. We told her! There are rules to how this works, and she ignored them.”

  “But I met him before initiation. I didn’t know,” Devon sobbed. “And by then I’d already fallen in love with him.”

  “I know, honey.” Jenna’s voice, full of sympathy. “But that’s why you have to let him go, now. It’ll only hurt him more if you wait.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” Devon had found some defiance. “You don’t know everything.”

  “I know enough not to break Victoria’s rules.”

  A tiny pause, enough for a horrified gulp. “Victoria knows?”

  “Not yet.” Kirby’s voice was heavy with implied threat.

  “And she doesn’t have to,” Jenna said, offering a way out.

  There was a longer silence now, then Devon spoke firmly. “I’ll give back my pin. I’ll quit the Sigmas.”

  Kirby’s laugh had razor edges. “Sure you will. Before or after that show in the university art gallery this December? Don’t act so holy, Dev. You want that showing as much as you want Cole.”

  The doorknob rattled, covering any answer to that. Maybe Devon didn’t have one. With no time to retreat, I raised my hand as if I’d just arrived and was about to knock. The door swung open, and I nearly hit Kirby in the forehead.

  “Oh!” I jerked my hand back. “I … Gosh, I’m sorry. I was looking for Devon to …” I held up my pledge book—an unadorned binder full of loose-leaf paper. “… you know. For my book.”

  Jenna brushed past Kirby and grabbed my arm, turning me away from the room and the president’s dagger stare. “Not right now, Maggie.” She sounded harried, maybe worried. “Maybe after chapter meeting.”

  I didn’t bother to pretend I didn’t know something was wrong. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Boyfriend troubles.”

  “You really are serious about that no-sex thing, huh?”

  “For pledges, yes.” We’d reached the top of the stairs. “For actives … well, it depends. You have to be very selective, Maggie. That’s why we don’t want pledges to get too involved with anyone before they know the rules.”

  “Of what? Who passes the test?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And Devon’s boyfriend doesn’t? Because he’s not Greek?”

  She gave me a gentle push toward the stairs. “It’s complicated and it’s none of your business. Go to the TV room. There are a bunch of actives to interview there.”

  I could tell I’d reached the limit, pushed as far as I could under the guise of In Everyone’s Business Girl. With a last look over my shoulder, I headed down the stairs. Jenna returned to Devon’s room, where Kirby stood in the doorway, watching me leave.

  Holly had forgotten she was angry with me, until Brittany came into the TV room and started trying to organize the pledges for a slumber party. Then she remembered, and left me to go on to the meeting by myself.

  Following the others down, I stopped on the bottom stair when I saw Victoria and Kirby talking in the lobby. The chapter president saw me first, and the alumna turned a moment later. “Maggie!” Victoria smiled and gestured me closer. “Come tell me how it’s going with you.”

  Obediently, I closed the distance. She linked her arm with mine and drew me into the empty chapter room, which had been set up for the evening’s meeting—table for the officers at one end, chairs arranged in rows facing it.

  “I saw the photo you took in the Report. And your classes are going well? Are you finding some time to socialize?”

  Everything about her said that she knew—or at least had a very good idea—that things had been going stellar for me. “Yes, ma’am. A blast.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying the benefits of being a Sigma Alpha Xi.” Her tone was a study in ambiguity. She could have been talking about purely social benefits, but I didn’t think so.

  “I am a little disappointed,” she continued, “that you weren’t elected pledge president. It would have been yours if you hadn’t abstained.”

  I picked my answer carefully. “I didn’t feel that I could in good conscience vote either way.”

  She looked at me. I can’t read thoughts, but I didn’t have any trouble interpreting hers: A conscience. How quaint.

  Aloud she told me, “You’re already off to a great start, Maggie. Being a pledge officer could have been part of that.”

  I chose to misinterpret her. “Actually, at the Report—”

  She turned to me, a layer of her mask falling away. “How do you think you got your position at the paper, Maggie? Do you think they’d keep you on for a moment if you were unable to continue that column?”

  The chapter room seemed suddenly empty and isolated, the air stuffy and thick. Carpet covered the design on the floor, but I seemed to feel it pulsing with life beneath the soles of my feet, like a hibernating animal.

  What the Hell?

  No, wait. Let me rephrase that.
Something a lot like fear gripped my chest, made it hard to breathe.

  How had I forgotten this?

  Victoria took a maternal tone, which seemed even scarier with the stifling power trapped inside the room with us. “We discussed this, Maggie. I see potential in you. But you must assert your position over the others early. Every class has a leader, and it is important you take that role.”

  “Brittany seems to have her stuff together.”

  Victoria dismissed her with an irritated wave of her hand. “She’s not an alpha wolf, just a yapping bitch cub.”

  The velvet gloves were off. I could keep playing stupid; I could run away, forget about the Sigmas and whatever the Hell they had under the carpet; or I could man up. Get my Forces of Good game on.

  I visualized power flowing into my deflector shields, hiding my purpose. “Here’s the thing, Victoria. I’m not a front-of-the-pack sort of girl. I’d rather let Brittany be president than have her fighting me at every turn.”

  She considered me for a moment, then surprised me by laughing, shaking her head. The atmosphere immediately cleared, as though she’d released a spell. I’d fooled her, or she was pretending I had, and I couldn’t tell which.

  “I like you, Maggie.” Her hand rested gently on my shoulder. “You’re good for this group precisely because you have a mind of your own.” Her fingers tightened, not painfully, but in firm affection. “That you are at initiation is what matters.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “In the meantime, you do need to be more of a presence. Spend time with your sisters, go to the mixers. Have fun.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’ll be working on the Homecoming float with the Gamma Phi Epsilons.” She put her arm around me as we walked toward the door, where girls were queuing up for the meeting. “Gamma Phi Eps and SAXis make very good matches. Ask Jenna and Kirby.”

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to have boyfriends as pledges.”

  “Maggie, those rules are for the girls with no understanding of what’s going on here.”