Brimstone
Page 37
“I hope not.”
“Yeah.” But if Cole was miserable, then I’ll bet Devon was miserable, too. And miserable people like to talk about what’s at the root of their problems.
Justin climbed out of the booth. “Come on. Let’s see if I can get you home without your father shooting me.”
“That would be a shame. To get the punishment with none of the sin.”
I hadn’t meant to flirt, but he looked down at me with raised eyebrows anyway. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“Punishment or sin?” I asked as we waited to pay the cashier.
He shook his head, holding out. “I don’t think I can answer that without incriminating myself.”
I had out my wallet, but Justin glared until I put it back in my bag. “I’ll bet you were the model student when you were in college,” I said. “All studious, and home by ten when you had an early class.”
“I’m still in college.”
“I mean, when you were a normal freshman, before you decided to become a weird academic.”
“Actually.” His mouth turned up in rueful memory. “My friend Henry and I almost got kicked out of school.”
“For what?”
He paid for our coffees with a five and waved off the change. “Nothing that I’m going to admit to you.”
“Come on,” I cajoled. “I know almost nothing about you before we met.”
“It’s safer that way.”
“For who?”
“For me,” he said with a grin, and held open the door.
I used my extra time between morning classes to go over to the Sigma house. The first floor was the foyer, chapter room, dining hall, and kitchen. The floors above that were bedrooms, with two wings running out from the central hub of the staircase. The banister and balustrades were dark polished wood, the stairs creaky underfoot. The hallways were carpeted and wainscoted, like a stately home.
Devon was on the second floor. I didn’t know her schedule, but her door was ajar. I tapped on it and poked my head in. She was alone, lying on her bed, a thick art history book on her chest. “Got a minute?”
She laid the book aside and sat up. “Sure.”
I noticed that her eyes were puffy and her hair was less flippy than usual. “I’m working on my pledge book, and I was wondering if you had time to answer a few questions.”
“Sure,” she said again, and patted the end of the bed. “Have a seat.”
I couldn’t help staring at the walls of her tiny room. They’d been painted with a mural of the seaside, complete with sunbathing women checking out a buff lifeguard. “Nice,” I said.
“Thanks. Gotta do something with all the extra energy.”
Not sure what she meant by that—not sure I wanted to know—I let it go and pulled out a pen and my book. “Our pledge president has been riding us about these.”
“We all thought you were going to be pledge prez.” She folded her legs, Indian-style. “When Tara told us in board meeting you weren’t … Well, I thought smoke was going to come out of Victoria’s nostrils.”
“That wouldn’t have surprised me at all.” I poised my pen. “So you’re on the board?”
“Yeah. I’m the house committee liaison. I coordinate with the alumnae house board, tell them that the exterminator didn’t show up or the toilets are blocked again. Real glamorous, huh?”
I grinned. “Very sexy.”
“It’s a thankless job. And a pain, because I have a master key to all the locks, so somehow I’m always the one that gets called whenever someone needs to get in the initiation closet.”
“The initiation closet?” I chewed my pen and didn’t have to work very hard at looking nervous. “They don’t, um, lock pledges in there or anything, do they? I’ve heard stories about putting girls in coffins and stuff like that.”
“Lord, no.” She made a face. “The closet is just where we store all the ceremonial stuff. And the Christmas decorations. But there’s never enough storage in the rooms, so people are always wanting to stick their crap in there.”
And Justin wondered why I doubt there’s big bad magic here. They kept their cauldron in the broom closet.
She shifted on the bed; with her freckles and wan face, she looked young and vulnerable. “Don’t tell Kirby that I blabbed anything about initiation, okay?”
“No problem.” Whatever was up with her, Devon’s distress had appealed to my do-gooder nature, and I was firmly on her side. I looked down at the blank page of my book, and tried to think of a decent question. “So, where are you from?”
“Alabama.”
“If you were a flavor of ice cream, what would you be?”
She laughed. “Pistachio.”
I made up some more questions, something to fill up the page. What I really wanted to know, though, I saved until I closed the binder and capped my pen. “Can I ask you one more thing? Off the record?”
Her gaze turned wary, but she didn’t decline. “Okay.”
“Why are the other sisters—Kirby and Jenna, at least—so set against Cole?”
She hung her head in her hands, elbows on her knees. “Oh, Maggie. You’re just a pledge. You’ll understand soon.”
“Is it because he’s not a Greek?”
“No.”
“Because he’s not a Gamma Phi Epsilon?”
“No. Not exactly.” She folded her arms tightly. “I can’t talk about it with you, Maggie. Please believe me.”
“Then at least tell me why it was a secret that he’s writing a book?”
Her face crumpled, tears welling and slipping down her cheeks. “Because I’m his muse.” At least, that’s what I thought she said. It was a little hard to tell through the sniffling.
“Why is that bad? Is the book about you? The Sigmas?”
“No.” She dashed at her tears and struggled for calm.
“Okay.” I let it go, waited until she got herself together, then asked, as gently as I could, “Did you break up?”
She nodded, biting her lip. Then shook her head. “We’re on a break. I’m giving him some space.”
“He doesn’t look like he wants it.”
Devon nodded and stared at her interlaced fingers. “We need it.”
I didn’t bother to ask her to explain. “Can I do anything to help?”
Raising her head, she gave me a miserable smile. “No. Thank you. Cole told me you were helping him at the paper. You’re a good person, Maggie.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Not really. I’m just a sucker for star-crossed love.”
23
On Thursday, Will took the seat next to me in history class. Dad raised his eyebrows when he saw the new arrangement, and called on me several times during the discussion to make sure I was paying attention, especially since Ashley, on my other side, kept giggling like we were in junior high.
After dismissal, while everyone gathered their books and tromped down the steps to the door, Will turned to me with a smile. “So, I’ll see you tonight?”
“What’s tonight?” No wonder I’d never had a social life; I couldn’t keep track of it all.
“Working on the Homecoming float.” The Of course was implied.
“Oh yeah. I’ll be there. Mandatory for pledges.”
“Great.” He gestured for me to go ahead of him. I’m not sure how far he planned to accompany me, but I stopped by the front desk, making it clear I intended to linger. Dad nodded to Will, who said, “Professor” courteously back to him, then “See ya” to me before he left.
Dad did the eyebrow thing and I ignored it. Again. “Hey, Dad.”
“Greetings, offspring.” He closed his laptop and disconnected it from the video port on the podium.
I helped him gather the rest of his things. “Ironic that I stayed home to be with you guys while Mom experiences the miracle of childbirth, and I’m never home.”
Dad gave me a fond look. “I know perfectly well why you stayed home, Magpie. So does your mother.”
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“When am I ever?”
“What is it tonight? Mr. Alphabet?” Meaning Will.
“Homecoming float.” I rolled my eyes to show my school spirit.
“Ah.” He put his hands over his heart. “Your mother would be so proud.”
The float construction took place by the detached garage between the Sigma Alpha Xi and Gamma Phi Epsilon houses. Convenient. The place had once been a carriage house shared by the two homes, but now it was owned by the Gamma Phi Eps, and they stored, among things that did not bear investigating, the flatbed trailer that would serve as the base for the float.
A cold front had blown in. The guys worked on the float with their breath making clouds around their red faces. The girls stood in the shelter of the garage, wrapped in scarves, hands tucked in pockets.
The theme for the parade was “Ahead to the Future.” All the clubs on campus put forward an entry, except maybe the Young Republicans, but only because they were afraid of potshots. Each sorority teamed with a fraternity, and since it was a measure of social ranking, the pairings were vitally important. Except for the Sigmas and Gamma Phi Eps, who were always first in status, and always matched with each other.
Not that they always won the school prize. That was irrelevant. The real prize was intangible—the jealousy of your peers.
This year’s float, in keeping with the theme, was a spaceship. I was sure no one else would think of that.
“Well, ours will be better than everyone else’s,” said Brittany when I pointed this out. She was all over the place, directing the builders and chastising the observers. The rest of the Sigmas were happy to drink hot chocolate and let sexism work for them.
I had brought my pledge book, and put my time to good use. Four more pages filled before the boys had gotten the first of the framework put up.
“That’s cheating,” said Brittany. “You can’t do two mandatory things at once.”
Holly drawled, “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it.”
“Am not.” Her hands went to her hips. “And I did think of it, I just decided it would be cheating.”
“Here.” Jenna shoved a mug of hot chocolate at her. “Have a drink.”
“Please,” said Holly. “Put something in her mouth to shut her up.”
“I volunteer,” called one of the Gamma Phi Eps. Brittany’s cheeks darkened and she flounced off, finally robbed of speech.
Jenna laughed and handed the mug to me instead. The drink was steaming hot and tasted like it had peppermint mixed in. The warmth went straight to my toes.
“So,” she asked, “who’s the guy from the library?”
I didn’t quite choke. “The who?”
She gave me a don’t-be-coy look. “Will told David, who told me, that you were talking to someone in the library.”
“Is it normal for fraternity guys to gossip like old women?”
Her shoulder lifted in a shrug that didn’t deny the point. “Will likes you. He thinks this guy is why you’ve been playing hard to get.”
“Hand to God,” I swore with complete honesty. “Library Guy and I are just friends.”
“Good.” The wind pinked her cheeks; in her knit hat she looked like an impish five-year-old. “Because David also told me that Will really likes you.”
“Gosh! Did he pass you a note in gym class?”
She laughed. “Don’t you take anything seriously?”
“It’s part of my charm.”
Jenna glanced around, then gestured to the lowered tailgate of someone’s pickup. “Let’s sit over there.”
I followed her over, past where Devon was painting very realistic comets and nebulae on the panels that would go around the bottom, representing space, the final frontier. The hot chocolate—and whatever was in it—was making me mellow, so I settled beside her on the tailgate, the metal cold even through my jeans.
We watched the guys for a bit; I saw Will over by Jenna’s boyfriend, David, the yenta of Gamma Phi Epsilon, horsing around with their electric screwdrivers—which sounds like a metaphor for something, but it’s not. When Brittany told them to stop goofing off, they saluted her and went back to work.
“Gamma Phi Eps”—Jenna picked up where she had left off, and her tone was significant—“are good matches for Sigmas.”
“You mean they’re …” I tapped my forehead. I could mean psychic, or I could mean crazy. Or both, which is how I felt lately. “Like us?”
Jenna shook her head. “Not any more than any other random population of people.”
Dead end on that question. “Well, that’s a relief. I was worried there was a conspiracy.”
She looked at me sharply. “A what?”
“To breed a master race of television psychics.”
Jenna folded her arms and didn’t laugh, but looked as if she wanted to. “You have no idea how special you are, do you? Even among us. That’s why Kirby pushed for Brittany to be pledge prez. You could run laps around her when it comes to …”
“What?” I asked, when she didn’t go on.
“You’ll find out when the time is right.”
I let my irritation show. “I hate being in the dark.”
“I know.” She sounded honestly sympathetic. “But you shouldn’t be thinking about it so much. It’ll give you a headache.” Her hand squeezed mine where it rested on the tailgate, and her fingers were almost as cold as the metal. “Just wait until initiation. You’ll understand everything then.”
Initiation again. All roads led there, where I so did not want to go.
24
Two weeks slipped away in a circular blur of class, newspaper, homework, Homecoming, and Sigma Alpha Xi activities. I overheard two actives saying that since losing the election for pledge president, I really seemed to have discovered my Sigma spirit.
Whatever.
Ethan Douglas, editor of the Avalon Sentinel, called and asked me to do an article on the student art show in the campus gallery, and Will asked me to Homecoming. The more time I spent with the Sigmas, the more things went well.
Except, of course, that I didn’t want to go with Will to Homecoming.
I saw Justin on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but since Will walked with me from history to the arts building, we didn’t speak more than “Hey” and “How are you.” Which, as I had nothing to report, was enough. Theoretically.
On Thursday before the parade, I tried my best to corral the SAXis and Gamma Phi Eps into a picture with the not-quite-finished float. I’d gone around Greek Row to interview the other houses and had the same problem; getting them all to behave long enough to get a workable photo was like herding cats.
“Come on, guys! Squish in.” I framed the shot for my third attempt. “This is for the school paper, so maybe you could hide the liquor bottles this time?”
They did, finally, and when I was done, Devon, Holly, and Jenna crowded in to look at the camera’s view screen. “Can I have a copy of that?” Jenna asked.
“Sure. I can print you one after I upload them.” I checked my watch. “Which I need to do if there’s a hope of this running in tomorrow’s paper.”
“Can you use my computer, Maggie?” Devon asked. She was looking more like her perky self, so I suspected her “break” was over. “Cole has sent stuff in from there.”
“Probably. Do you mind?”
“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” She waved for me to follow her. “Come on.”
Since the front door of the sorority house required a key—only Sigmas and their pledges had one—a lot of the girls didn’t lock their rooms, especially if they were just going downstairs. Devon was one of them.
“Here you go.” She woke the desktop computer with a jiggle of the mouse. “We’re on the
school network, like a dorm.”
“Thanks.” I pulled the USB cable out of my camera bag and started hooking up.
“Do you need me? Otherwise I’ll go back outside.”
“I’m good. I’ll close the door when I leave.”
She took off, and I uploaded the photos, first to the computer and then through the Internet to the Report server. While I waited for them to finish loading, I browsed the bulletin board on Devon’s wall. It was full of pictures—of her and her pledge sisters, of Cole, of parties and vacations.
A set of keys hung from a hook. The fob was a woodcut cartoon octopus with indigo SAXi letters. Not the most convenient thing to tuck in your pocket on the way to class.
No way was it that easy. Keeping an eye on the open door, I plucked the ring from the hook. I got a muddled sense of a series of girls who had held them, but overwhelmingly, these belonged to the house. When I concentrated, I could distinguish each one: front door, chapter room, outside storage shed, and finally a musty, stuffy dark place. The closet.
I checked the hall: Grand Central Station. The whole chapter was here, mostly out working on the float, but also in and out of rooms to get coats and drinks, up and down the stairs. Okay, maybe not that easy.
Grabbing my own key ring from my camera bag, I flipped through it until I found one of the same standard industrial-shaped keys as the one for the closet. It was to my family’s rented storage unit, so hopefully if Devon did touch the ring, she wouldn’t sense anything out of the ordinary. The worry would be moot if she tried to actually use it, but the whole thing was a gamble in the first place.
Things work out for Sigmas. I said it over and over in my mind, like a mantra. I’m a Sigma. I might as well put it to use.
25
“I think I can get into the closet where they keep their supersecret stuff.”
Justin stared at me, his sandwich frozen halfway to his mouth. We were eating lunch in Dad’s office; he wouldn’t notice any extra crumbs and—privilege of tenure—he usually left at noon on Fridays anyway.
The sandwich went back down onto the wrapper. “How are you planning to do that?”