by Rachel Shane
I was about to nod when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I fumbled for it, welcoming any excuse to avoid the question. That was the thing about therapy. I came here to talk but always ended up talking myself out of what I really wanted to say. I froze when I saw the display, fingers going stiff, face going pale. My mother.
Ms. L must have accurately assessed my reaction because she said, “You can answer it.”
I shoved it back into my purse, still buzzing, and gasped for desperate breaths. I couldn’t answer it. Because then I’d have to face her. I may project fierceness on the outside, but deep down I was a coward.
Fifty-five folding chairs sat in neat rows in the danky basement. Despite all the perfume we’d sprayed, the place still reeked of mildew. A musty chill settled around me; nothing a little spilled beer couldn’t fix. Christmas lights wrapped around the exposed beams to brighten up the dreary concrete walls and scuffed gray floor. A lamp with a floral shade, a cozy purple velvet couch plucked from a graduation yard sale last year, and square patches of mismatched carpet rounded out the atmosphere. It was a far cry from homey, but we hadn’t rented this off campus house to be comfortable.
We rented it as a last resort.
I ran around readjusting every folding chair, swiping away every speck of dust. Anything to keep from dwelling on the voicemail my mother left, sitting on my phone waiting to be listened to. A text from her followed and I couldn’t swipe it away without seeing it first: úchale. Spanish for disgust.
It’s mutual, Mother.
I used to hate my deadbeat, absent father more than my mother, but she’d since surpassed him on the awful scale.
Even the therapy session sat like a hole in my gut thanks to the way I skirted around the real issues bothering me for the rest of the session and focused on trivial things. I sucked. I was spiting myself.
Now, my housemate Fallon Horowitz adjusted the ribbon bows she’d tied to the back of each folding chair. I placed my palm on top of hers. “It’s perfect. You did an amazing job.”
She pursed her lips and hopped back a step as if she couldn’t trust herself to be near the chairs and not mess with them. Her perky blond ponytail swayed. “I feel like it’s missing something.”
I laughed, a genuine one, and just like that the cloud clogging my airways lifted. “Yeah, people. Speaking of which…” I tilted my head at her. “You can still join if you want.”
She shook her head. “I’m about to head to the art studio.”
I pursed my lips. “We’re not going to kick you out of your own house.”
We lived in a rental house about fifty bazillion miles off-campus (okay, it was four long blocks) that had the perfect party basement and equally perfect bedrooms on the second floor far away from said party basement. It was a no brainer that Erin and I would take two of the bedrooms, and we recruited Mackenzie Shaffer and her package deal of a former roommate Fallon to join. Except the one weird part was Fallon refused to actually join us, even though we extended her an invitation into Underground Rho Sig every opportunity we got. Still, she seemed satisfied to help us set up and then flee to her boyfriend’s while we had fun without her.
Footsteps echoed down the rickety steps, and a redhead poked around the bend. “Wow, it looks gorgeous.”
“Holy fuck,” a voice said, complete with a raspy laugh. Corey Taft trailed after his girlfriend Mackenzie, their hands interlocked as if they couldn’t bear to be a minute apart. Though I guess a forced hiatus from each other due to that nasty bitch called summer would do that to a couple. Not that they broke up, they just couldn’t sleep curled around each other when those pesky things called miles separated them. “Much better than last year.”
Last semester we’d squeezed the entire roster of Yours into Corey’s shitty living room and called it acceptable. This basement was actually a step up. “Damn straight,” I said. “We even have snacks.” I flourished my hands at the bowls of M&Ms spread out on end tables throughout the rows. A few bowls held kale chips for the girls that preferred their calories to come in non-existent form.
The doorbell rang, and I jumped into action. “Let our first Chapter meeting of the semester commence!”
Ten minutes later, girls occupied nearly every chair, some chatting mildly, others exchanging hugs (because a few days apart was unbearable?) and a few looked around skeptically, their noses crinkled. Some shifted restlessly in their chairs.
Erin glanced at her fitness tracker, which blinked with a silent alert. “Should we start?”
My eyes zoomed to the two empty chairs in the back row. I mentally counted the roster to determine who was missing. “Where are Olivia Marquez and Aimee Hollander?”
“I’ll text Aimee.” Mackenzie wiggled her phone in the air.
I slipped my own phone out of my pocket and typed a message to Olivia: Chapter Meeting starts precisely at 6pm.
A second later my phone beeped with a reply. I’m out.
I squinted at the screen. Weird. Last year Olivia had been gung ho Rho Sig: the first to arrive to every party, the last to leave, the one to always offer snaps at chapter meetings when she agreed or her loud mouth when she didn’t. Hell, she’d gotten shitfaced at the Out House mixer only a few days ago.
Mackenzie shoved her phone in my face. Aimee’s reply used a similar line from the script. I’ve decided to deactivate.
A grimace tightened my lips.
“What’s going on?” asked Tara Easterly, a tall girl who blocked the view from the girls in the back.
“Nothing.” My voice wavered. “We’re all here.”
I dropped onto the purple couch and faced the members sitting on folding chairs. A shift erupted in the audience, heads swiveling, eyes landing on the two empty chairs like a beacon at the back of the room.
“But what about Olivia?” Tara shouted.
“And Aimee!” someone in the back said.
I gritted my teeth. “We’re all here.”
Mackenzie rushed in. “First agenda point…” She clicked something on her sleek gray laptop that balanced on her thighs. Her red hair spilled forward, obscuring the screen. She’d never been Secretary in old Rho Sig but nothing was the same anymore. She lived in the house, which made her an officer. Plus she typed fast. “What kind of party do we want to do next and who should we try to invite?”
I whipped my head toward her. That was most certainly not the first agenda point. In fact, I’d specifically put it last on the list, behind unpaid dues and establishing a Code of Conduct for parties—which they used to abide by because if they got caught, they’d be kicked out. We were already Underground, we couldn’t hold the same threat over their heads.
“Will anyone party with us?” Kiera Chan asked, pushing her dark hair behind her ears. “I mean, you said at Out House they were the only ones willing.”
My heart thumped in my chest. That was still the case and I was pretty sure if I suggested another party to Harrison, he’d break out the board games right then and there.
Corey cleared his throat and leaned forward. Most of the girls had been avoiding eye contact with him. After all, he was part of the reason we got kicked off campus in the first place. Harrison had orchestrated our demise but Corey was the one who had unknowingly carried out the asshole’s agenda. But now the girls all turned in his direction. He was a boy, one that lived off campus with actual frat guys who were part of a house that wasn’t our enemy. “Beta Chi said they’d be up for it.”
Whispers erupted. Beta Chi was where everything went down, after their After Hours party turned into a one way ticket to the hospital. A few heads shook like pompoms.
If they decided against Beta Chi, we’d be stuck partying with my enemy again. I’d heard through the grapevine that some of the girls—the ones who were allowed in the booze room—actually had a good time at Out House. I piped up before we spent all semester leaching onto our old house as if we were too scared to leave and embrace our rogue status. “Anyone else know of a house willing?”
“Then Beta Chi it is.” I leaned toward the audience, pulling the ace from my sleeve. “I know they aren’t on your A-list of who to hang out with, but here’s the thing. We’re Underground.”
Groans rang out from a few girls. This wasn’t exactly a selling point for them.
“Which means we don’t have to do the usual Greek Org sanctioned party with prison wardens and lame themes.” I paused to let that sink in for a few seconds. “So how about we do something we could never have done on campus? A wake and bake.”
Every hand went up in unified snaps.
THE SCENT OF EGGS and smoky bacon made my stomach gurgle. Four pans sizzled on the counter, and Erin and I maneuvered them in a complicated choreographed dance number: jiggle of pan one, yank pan two off the flame and dump the scrambled eggs into the silver tray, drop oil into pan three, pour an entire carton of Egg Beaters into pan four. I wiped sweat from my brow with my sleeve and bent underneath Erin’s extended arm to pull out the next tray of bacon from the oven.
Corey and Nate would be bringing the rest of the food, spaghetti, because that was apparently the only thing they knew how to cook.
Mackenzie set six big cartons of Dunkin Donuts coffee on the tiny four-seater table and artfully arranged milk and cream around them. “Uh oh.” She pursed her plump lips as she scanned the display. “We forgot utensils.”
All three of us paused. I dropped the tray of bacon onto the counter and ripped off my oven mitt. The silverware drawer scraped open. I counted one, two, three… “We have four forks, two spoons, and one knife. Where the hell are the other knives?”
“I have them!” Fallon’s voice called from downstairs. “But they’re covered in glue.”
Mackenzie jiggled her keys in her hand. With a heavy sigh she announced, “I guess I’ll be right back. But, um…” She held out her palm. “I need more cash.”
Shit. We’d already used one-third of the member dues to pay for the crap ton of eggs and bacon—two things which were apparently expensive when purchased in bulk—plus the weed Erin scored from someone in her class. I plucked a twenty from my own stash and handed it to her. Too bad the PR position at the newspaper paid mostly in enemy dissatisfaction and only partly in actual dollars. Too bad my scholarship to Throckmorton didn’t cover drug dens.
Mackenzie swung open the front door, letting in a ray of sunshine. “Oh, hey,” she said, then louder, “the boys are here!” There was an exchange of kisses and laughter between her and Corey before she left. Nate waltzed in and started coughing immediately. He set down his massive gold hookah and lifted his shirt over his mouth. Corey waved his hand over his face and plopped a giant pot of spaghetti next to the coffee jugs. One of the jugs slid off the table and fell with a plop, spraying coffee like a geyser.
We all screamed. I swooped in to lift the coffee jug, but the damage was done. A river of brown liquid coated the expanse of the kitchen floor. I reached for a paper towel only to find the roll empty. With a sigh, I retreated to my bedroom and dropped one of my bath towels on the mess, the seafoam green turning an ugly muddy brown.
My throat tightened. Everything was going wrong. How would I ever be able to coordinate a kick ass PR campaign if I couldn’t even organize a college party?
When I finished cleaning up, I glanced up to find Nate chomping on a mouthful of eggs, his hands glistening with oil and specs of yellow.
I let out a growl of frustration. “You couldn’t wait five more seconds for the forks to arrive?”
He gave me a sheepish grin and wiped his hands on his plaid pajama bottoms.
I stifled a twinge in my chest. It had been six months since my crush on him ended with the news that I didn’t even make the short list of people he might be attracted to. I lacked certain assets he required, like a dick. There were times when my crush raged to unrequited levels…and days like today when I wondered what I ever saw in him.
I stalked into the living room and wrapped my fingers around the cold metal base of the hookah, squeezing it a little too tightly and violating Ms. L’s only suggestion from the other day: when I felt the urge to squeeze or punch something, I should back away. Instead I gripped tighter, feeling like I was in control for once. Several fabric tubes wobbled from the circular bottom like Medusa’s snakes, each with a gold cap at the end. I carried the damn thing into the basement, and my breath caught at the sight of the room. My anger dissipated.
Somehow, in only a few hours, Fallon had managed to wrap each of the stiff uncomfortable folding chairs with a plush cushion she handcrafted out of fabric from the local thrift store. Blankets and pillows covered the floor, making the room seem like someplace you’d want to relax. Not somewhere you worried would give you lead poisoning.
“Wow, this looks amazing.” I set the hookah on one of the end tables.
“I know,” she said, smoothing down her cute yoga pants that made her seem impossibly petite. “And surprise! I think I’m even going to stick around?”
I raised a brow. “And join Yours?”
She shook her head. “Nope, just get high. Liam’s got play auditions all day so I’m free.” Her boyfriend had the unfortunate luck of being an acting major.
Twenty minutes later, the place was hopping. The Beta Chi boys lounged in their pajamas, hair so messy, I was pretty sure they had actually just rolled out of bed. The skunky scent of pot replaced the eggs and bacon smell, which was good, because the boys had charged for the food and left nothing but grease at the bottom of the pans. The Underground Rho Sigma girls fluttered around the boys, snuggling close to take a hit from the four hookahs spread around the basement. None of the girls had come in pajamas like I’d instructed, but neither had I. Our hair and make-up and even some of our clothes seemed more appropriate for a night at the bars than a ten A.M. pot fest.
My eyes burned from the smoke that hovered around the basement like a thick fog. In the far corner, Corey huddled with Mackenzie, away from the rest of his former frat brothers. His hands planted on either side of her hips, staking his claim. They stuck to their straight edge mantra and traded laughter instead of bong hits.
Nate nudged me with the tube of a hookah. “Your turn.”
I shook my head. I had some standards to uphold as president. Alcohol? Sure. Drugs? Line crossed. Sex? That was another story entirely. “Not unless you tell me which one of these strapping young men you’re pining after.”
The flush in Nate’s cheeks deepened. Last year he’d been secretly hooking up with one of his frat brothers but since he wasn’t out yet, he’d kept that card close to his chest. Especially when they broke up in the middle of the semester. But Nate’s heart still refused to accept that message.
He was out now though. Over the summer, he’d finally told his parents with suitcases already packed in anticipation of being kicked out. But the staunch pro-life Catholic Republicans hadn’t kicked him out. They hadn’t entirely accepted him, but they were going to counseling every week in order to try, and that was more than he had expected from them.
Thankfully, his frat brothers hadn’t even batted an eye when he came out to them. They simply toasted his beer and that was that.
“Haven’t you heard?” Nate said. “I’m moving on.” He wrapped his thin lips around the mouth of the hookah and sucked, his chest puffing. Smoke curled toward the ceiling. “To distraction.”
I snorted a laugh. My eyes traced the room, noting the girls and boys who coupled off into separate floor cushions, the groups laughing or debating about intense philosophical discussions. And the lone guy in the corner fussing over a bong and continually flicking his eyes in our direction. Nate was doing the same to him.
“Corner. That’s him, right?” I vaguely remembered his name was Dale Coleman and he was Nate’s Big Brother despite the fact that I’d never spoken to him before. I used to hang out all the time at Beta Chi Lambda and he’d never once joined us. He was the type of frat guy
who looked out of place thanks to his wrinkle-free button down shirt and styled hair that belonged in an ad for men’s hair products. His dark skin and chiseled face only made him sexier.
Point proven by the little sigh of happiness that rattled out of Nate’s mouth. Followed immediately by pure panic. His eyes widened. “You can’t say anything. We broke up months ago. I should be over him.”
But he wasn’t. And I suspected neither was Dale. With a nod to no one but myself, I added another mission to my resurrection to do list right behind Reinstate Rho Sigma: Get These Two Love Birds Back in the Sack.
Nate nudged me with the pipe. “Last chance before I pass it on.”
All the girls seemed relaxed, draping over the cushions and the boys. Several raised their hands in cheer as Fallon sucked in a huge hit of smoke and held it in her lungs an impressive amount of time. Chatter and laughter—and paranoia—streamed through the room like a musical soundtrack. Everyone was having fun. Except me.
And I needed to relax.
“Fine.” I ripped the pipe out of his hands. “But I’m blaming you if I giggle even once.” I eyed the gold mouth warily. Smoke leaked out of the tip like an overeager naked guy in bed. I’d never smoked before—my sins were of an entirely different nature—and my pulse amped as I wrapped my lips around the tube. For a moment, I considered faking it the way I faked everything: orgasms, my V card, my confidence. But I no longer wanted to be the girl who always had something to hide. I sucked in a large gulp of smoke.
An itch started at the base of my throat, threatening to rip a cough from my mouth and expel tendrils in the process. But I never did anything half-assed. I clamped my mouth shut and beat that smoke into submission. It tasted tangy and herbal and a little dangerous. Marijuana wasn’t yet legal in Upstate New York and the sorority wasn’t legal on campus; we were comrades. I closed my eyes, lifted my lower lip, and let the vapor flow into the air.
Next to me, Kiera Chan clapped at my performance. But it was the smile I earned from that Nate sent my stomach flipping. Stop it, Bianca. I took another hit to calm myself. Even paranoia would be better than falling back in crush with someone I could never have. My throat burned as I shoved the pipe into Nate’s hands and forced myself out of a situation that would break my heart all over again.