SMART TASS (The OHellNO Series Book 1)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Okay, Alvin,” he says with a long breath. “If you really want to play games, be my guest.”

  I’m not entirely sure what he’s talking about, so I simply chalk it up to his testosterone-saturated mind. “For the record, I’d be Simon—not Alvin—note the glasses.” I point to my face, and Hunter raises two dark brows.

  Idiot me. “Glasses that I normally wear. But are not tonight. Because I have in contacts. Which I’m fully aware of because I put them in.”

  He continues staring with an expression ranging between utter disgust and irritation, which is clearly not the desired outcome given my goal of wanting to seduce him. For the sake of my future, of course. Because it would be silly to want him for real just because he’s all built and big and has that deep voice.

  A warm shiver ripples down my spine. What? No. Not going there. Shivers mean nothing.

  “Look, Hunter baby,” I say in a sugary-sweet voice, determined to get back on track, “I’m just a college girl, free from parental restrictions for the first time in her life, looking to have some fun.” I bat my eyelashes. “Because fun is awesome. And I need me some.”

  God, I sound so ridiculous.

  “Fun. Right. Just make sure you tell the Tri-Kapps that sending a spy here will only provoke a retaliation from the guys.”

  I huff. “Tri-Kapps? They don’t have anything to do with me being here.”

  “Have fun at the party, Tassie.” He heads inside, leaving me on the porch.

  Dang. That went like crap. But I’m not giving up. I’ve come here on a mission, and as I’ve already said, I would rather make a jackass out of myself and win than go home a loser. So if my hypothesis on how to attract my Evil Lab Rat is incorrect, then I must go back inside and observe the animal in its natural habitat so I can formulate a new plan. Plus, I’ve never been to a real party, so I’m pretty curious to see what happens. Do people really swing from chandeliers, drink from beer bongs, and have sex in closets?

  I shrug to myself and return inside with my mental pencil sharpened, ready to take notes. I will win this challenge. And I will make Lainey and Jessica eat their words.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “So how’d it go last night?” Elle says as she comes into our room, where I’ve been since eight this morning, trying to decipher last night’s data.

  I take a sip of coffee that I’ve prepared in the microwave by boiling water in a glass measuring cup and then carefully pouring it into my Melitta filtering system. I cannot compromise when it comes to my vices, and good coffee feeds my dark side. After all, I have no sex life because school is my boyfriend and science is my lover. They are demanding, and between the two, they leave little room for anything but coffee. And occasionally shaving my legs. And shopping online late at night when my brain won’t rest. But coffee is definitely the all-star.

  Jesus, did I just think “all-star”? One night at the Alpha House has resulted in my using jock lingo.

  “I think I have a jock-over,” I mutter at my notebook, sitting at my desk, which is pushed against the foot of the bed just like Elle’s.

  “You got drunk?” Elle drops her red backpack and plops onto her orange bed.

  “No. But I spent so much time listening to Alphas talk about ‘the game, dude,’” I say in a deep dopey voice, “that it gave me a headache.”

  “And what about Hunter? Any luck?”

  “Nope. And I’m at a complete loss.” Basically, he ignored me all night, though I did catch him giving me side glances every time I spoke to one of his frat brothers. It was like he couldn’t help keeping an eye on me, but at the same time, he didn’t look worried one bit. “The weird part was that I saw girls hitting on him all night, but he wouldn’t give them the time of day. He stuck to his beer and playing pool.”

  “Hmmm…” Elle wiggles her puckered lips from side to side. “Maybe he’s not into girls?”

  I give that some thought. “Not likely. I mean, it’s possible, but he literally whored his way through high school.” Leave no pussy untouched! That was Hunter’s and his friend’s lame-ass motto.

  “So he’s probably not gay, and he showed no interest in you or any other girl. Hmmm…” She scratches the side of her head. “Maybe he’s in love.”

  “What?” I whip up my head, but my heart tumbles onto the floor and twitches in agony. It can’t be. It can’t be. Yet… “Oh my God. Maybe you’re right.” It’s the only explanation that fits.

  I hang my head. “I’m screwed.” Yet it somehow bothers me more that Hunter has found love. Because…because… Well, I don’t really know why. I suppose because he doesn’t deserve it. Not when he ruined my social life and any chances of experiencing romance during my teen years. No guy would dare come near me, besides BO Jeremy, for fear of being picked on, too. Nerd by association. I haven’t even been kissed. Not once. And it’s worse than that movie.

  “Well,” says Elle, grabbing her backpack and fishing through its contents, “I don’t think you would’ve succeeded anyway. He already knows you’re smart, and he’s not into smart girls. None of those guys are.”

  I bob my head. “You’re probably right.” It was silly to think I could put on an act and convince Hunter that I’m some airhead bimbo. He knows me too well. And despite my hate for him, he’s not that stupid. I tutored him enough times to know he has a brain, but chooses to use it sparingly. He had no issue understanding algebraic formulas when he focused hard. That’s what always baffled me. He could’ve done better. He could’ve had good grades, but he chose to act like a dumb jock simply to fit in.

  “Well.” I sigh. “At least I learned what that big scene at the library was all about.”

  Elle pauses the search at the bottom of her backpack. “And?”

  “I heard a bunch of the guys talking about some stupid scavenger hunt they have going for rush week. The guys with the top twenty points get in.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. I snuck upstairs and found the scoreboard in one of the bedrooms. Did you know that breaking into the Tri-Kapp House and stealing their calculators was only worth two points?” Seems so little when they could’ve gotten arrested.

  “What morons. How much was sleeping with you worth?”

  “Oh. That. It was worth ten points, but the task was to get me to agree. Well, not me, exactly. It was ‘Get green light from virgin. Witnesses required. Penetration optional.’ Can you believe that?” I shake my head. “So disgusting.”

  Elle shrugs like she’s simply not surprised. I suppose I’m not either.

  “The irony is that Hunter’s twenty points away from the top twenty,” I add. “Looks like he’s not getting in.”

  “Seems like a nice way to blackmail him,” she mumbles absentmindedly, pulling out a pack of gum.

  “Wait. What did you say?”

  “What?” She opens the little box and holds it out, offering a piece.

  “No, thanks. Clashes with my coffee.” I flash a quick smile. “Can you repeat that part about the blackmail?”

  “Oh. That. Well, not that I advocate cheating, but if you were the cheating sort, it would only make sense for the two of you to enter into secret squirrel—that’s military lingo for an agreement on the down-low. Spy stuff.”

  I lift a brow.

  “Oh, I’ve been reading spy novels lately. I like guessing the endings.”

  “You have time to read?” Because I don’t. I barely have enough time to sleep.

  “Sure. Can’t spend your whole day studying.”

  I growl at her. “Must suck to be so smart.”

  “It does, actually. Nothing makes you feel lonelier than knowing only a handful of people on the planet have the capacity to understand you completely.”

  “Because everyone else is too dumb?” I ask.

  She nods.

  Ouch. “Exactly how smart are you?”

  “One sixty.”

  “Seriously?” I’m a dunce compared to her, and I scored one forty-one last time I checked
. That’s near genius, but not quite. Which reminds me, I should get tested again. For me, IQ tests are kind of like checking my credit score. Gotta do it at least once a year to remind me that I’m sexy in my own brainy kind of way. Sort of like when a hot girl looks in the mirror and says, “Yeah, I’m prettier than the rest. That’s why everyone hates me.”

  Of course, IQ is not the same as being educated. IQ measures the ability to learn, comprehend, and problem solve. Education is the process of acquiring knowledge. These are two separate things, although not entirely unrelated. For example, a person with a superior IQ learns at a faster pace, thus can acquire knowledge faster. However, a person with a superior education can easily outsmart someone with a genius IQ who’s lacking knowledge. Okay. I’m rambling. My apologies.

  I inhale deeply. “Not to insult you, my genius goddess, but if you’re a one sixty, why are you here?”

  She pops a piece of gum in her mouth and chews. “You’re smart, too. You tell me.”

  “Umm…” I like puzzles, so I take a moment to figure it out. “You’re secretly working with the CIA, studying the common folk, and coming up with a weapon of mass destruction?”

  “Yes.” She gives her index finger a shake. “I’m an evil genius.”

  “Okay, smarty-pants. Why are you here?”

  “Honestly? I didn’t want to be far from home. My parents are only a two-hour drive away.”

  “That’s so sweet.”

  Her expression wilts into something melancholy. “My mother has in inoperable brain tumor. My sister is only ten minutes from their house, but I want to spend as much time as I can at home.”

  Oh no. So this is why Elle said she’d be staying at her parents’ on weekends. And it breaks my heart to hear it. I literally want to cry. I cannot stand thinking of losing anyone, let alone watching my mother die.

  “I’m so sorry, Elle. Are you okay?”

  “Meh. As good as can be expected, but that’s why I wanted to room with you. I read your bio on the roommate finder site.”

  My bio said that my one goal was to eradicate cancer, and I meant it. I can’t imagine doing anything else with my life, and maybe it’s because I grew up listening to all the painful stories from my mother. People she couldn’t help. Families destroyed. All I know is that it feels like a war, and I want to fight.

  “I’m sorry that your mom is sick,” I say quietly. “I wish I were smarter and could build a time machine to the future because I know we’ll find a cure.” I flash a comforting smile, wanting to relieve her pain in some small way, but know I can’t.

  She smiles sadly and takes a deep breath.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help you,” I say, “anything at all. Just ask.”

  “Thank you. But you know what I’d really like?” She smiles pensively.

  “What?”

  “Food.” Elle pops up from her bed and heads for the door. “Gotta get to the cafeteria before they close for lunch.”

  She’s gone before I can offer to go with her, but it’s probably for the best. She seems to want to be alone right now, and I’m guessing it’s because that wasn’t easy for her to open up, which I completely understand. Sharing private, emotional things makes me uncomfortable, too. I don’t like feeling vulnerable. I don’t like telling people things they can use to hurt me. Of course, this makes acquiring new friends a little difficult, but I’ve managed. I simply need a lot of time to warm up to people and trust them.

  As I’m left sitting there with my thoughts, I look down at my notes and shake my head. Hunter is in love. The thought makes my stomach twist with uneasy emotions. It makes no sense that this would bother me so much. Well, other than the fact that if he’s in love, he’s not going to play ball with me and I’m not getting into the Tri-Kapps.

  But this sensation in my gut feels bigger. It feels like anger.

  All right, calm down. Maybe Elle is wrong. Hunter isn’t boyfriend material—he can’t even be loyal to one brand of beer. I know because I saw him drinking three different kinds last night. Philanderer. So could something else be going on with him?

  My mind flashes back through that last year of high school when he seemed so different—still part of his social circle and playing football, but lacking his exuberant display of douchebaggery. Come to think of it, I can’t recall him dating anyone either.

  There’s only one way to find out for certain what’s going on with Hunter. I’m going to go see him and ask. Simple. Logical. It’s the most efficient course of action, and I’m on the clock.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dressed in cutoffs and a white T-shirt, I ring the doorbell at the Alpha House, ready to cut to the chase.

  The door swings open and out pops a giant head. It’s Henry, the enormous tree trunk from last night. Actually, now that I’m seeing him in the daylight, he sort of looks like a really big version of Liam Hemsworth, but with green eyes.

  “Hi, I’m here to see Hunter.”

  He yawns and sniffles. “He’s not here. Did you check his dorm?”

  “You sound like you have a cold.” I step back.

  “Hangover.”

  “Hydration, hydration, hydration. Prevents your liver and bile production from frustration.”

  He gives me a look.

  Oops. I’ve let my geek out of the box again. “I checked the dorms, but his roommate says he’s always here.”

  “Hey, I recognize you from last night. You were that waaay stoned chick in the short skirt.”

  “No, you were drunk, as you’ve pointed out, which only made it seem as though I was under the influence. By the way, you know it’s ridiculous to call yourself an athlete and be so unhealthy, right? Sooner or later, your bad habits will turn into addiction and then you’ll just be another statistic, sitting in a secondhand La-Z-Boy, wearing a wifebeater, reminiscing about the good old days, and wondering why you have to always choose between a case of Pabst or fixing your crappy car so you can collect your unemployment check.”

  “You’re still high, aren’t you? Because I can’t understand what you’re sayin’.”

  No, of course you don’t, you dumb jock. “Yes. I’m flying,” I say to appease him and get on with the conversation.

  “Thought so, man.”

  “And Hunter? Any idea where he’d be?” I ask.

  “Try the football stadium. He’s probably at practice.”

  “Thanks, Henry.” I turn to leave.

  “Wait. You’re also the virgin from the library.” Henry chuckles and yells over his shoulder, “Hey, guys! Look who’s here for Hunter! The virgin!”

  Oh, lord. I hang my head and scurry the hell out of there, but I can hear screaming inside the house. Something about getting the marker ready for some “ten-point action.”

  Jesus. I hate jocks.

  Thankful for having worn my comfy pink, low-top Converse, I head back to the campus five blocks away. It’s late in the afternoon, and the sticky heat makes my curls go wild. I give them a quick finger-comb, deciding it’s better to embrace the beast rather than fight it. Normally, I wear it in a ponytail or braid or something to keep it caged.

  As I hit the campus, it’s relatively quiet at first, not unusual for a Sunday, but the moment I’m within earshot of the stadium, I hear cheering.

  Strange. There aren’t any games today. I’m sure of it. Otherwise there’d be thousands of fans crowding sidewalks and clogging the streets.

  I enter the stadium through the side gate that leads straight to the bleachers. Immediately, I notice the cheerleading squad sitting down on the edge of the field, watching the team practice. All eyes seem to be on Hunter, or maybe it’s just my imagination. After all, he does have the ball.

  I watch as he makes a pass, but the cheerleaders—Gamma Nus—continue staring at him. Nope. They’re definitely watching Hunter. The guy has his own freaking personal harem to cheer him on during practice.

  For a moment, I’m kind of jealous. I mean…not because I want him. No, no. That�
�s ridiculous. It’s because, well, obviously I’m jealous of his harem. Who wouldn’t want one? Mine would be cheering while I crank through chemistry formulations. And they’d be dudes. Hot dudes in khakis and Polos because that’s how I like ’em. Built and preppy.

  Down on the field, the coach blows the whistle and the players stop running around like uniformly dressed chickens. I don’t like sports, so I know virtually nada about the rules. I just know the coach looks unhappy because he’s making Hunter repeat the play.

  “Hey, Hunt! Don’t worry. We still love you!” screams one of the girls—a blonde sitting toward the middle of the pack of about twenty women.

  Hunter seems focused on the ball and ignores her, but that doesn’t deter her or the others from whistling or catcalling.

  How rude. He’s not a piece of meat. He’s a human being.

  Wait. What? I practically slap myself for having such a compassionate thought for the guy who’s cost me so damned much that my life has been irrevocably damaged. Okay, yes. I know that I am partly to blame for allowing him to get to me, but I’m not Superwoman. I’m not impervious to public humiliation or ridicule, and considering what he put me through, I think I fared as well as anyone might. He never saw me sweat. I never gave him attention or took him seriously. Not really. Not as far as the world was concerned. My friends, parents and teachers never suspected that underneath my cool and indifferent exterior was a lot of pain.

  I sometimes wondered if even Hunter knew.

  Of course he did. How could he not? Asshole.

  “Hey, Hunter! Show us those moves, baby!” screams another girl.

  Hunter looks over at her and winks. He even flashes a little dimple.

  Oh yeah, aren’t you Mr. Charming with your ridiculous little fan club.

  The players break into two groups and face each other to do that whole lining up and bending over thing. Just as a guy in the middle passes the football to Hunter, and Hunter is poised to throw, a surge of bitterness overtakes me. I stand up and scream, “Hey, shrimp dick! How about not missing this time?”