by Rachel Shane
My heart thumped fast. I didn’t have a podcast scheduled for tonight and I certainly wasn’t working with Layla, but in the game of telephone, rumors spread fast and warped faster. One thing was clear, Layla’s Students Helping Students trick didn’t exactly do the trick she wanted. It was too vague. The freshman couldn’t figure out what it meant. So they were turning to me because for some reason they thought I was part of it. Maybe because I was publicly vying for the same house. Or maybe because I was in a position of power to disseminate information.
I rushed out of my room, clutching the laptop close to my chest, and stopped short at the kitchen table where Corey was scooping from a bowl of soggy Cheerios and Harrison was biting into what looked like a homemade breakfast burrito. They sat with two seats between them on opposite sides of the table, but still. They were sitting together. Without wringing their hands around each other’s necks. It was a sight I never thought I’d see.
They both glanced up at me with relieved looks as if to say Thank God someone else is here. I slid next to Corey and opened my laptop for him. Harrison leaped out of his seat and read over Corey’s shoulder because I guess he wouldn’t dare miss a potential bit of information.
“Holy crap.” Harrison snapped his fingers. “We can steal it all right from under Layla.”
“I can record a podcast right now before class, get the word out before Layla clues in. Though we’d have to distribute it secretly. Neither the school nor Cliff Rogers can find out about it.”
“Mackenzie showed me how to use the audio recording software on her computer. I may or may not remember what she said. Good enough?” Corey raised his brow, and I laughed.
“The question is…what do we want to tell people?”
“Let me see what Layla promised the other houses.” Harrison was already on his phone, banging out frantic texts. Corey followed suit.
“Ha!” Corey shouted a moment later in victory over beating Harrison for information. “All right, Nate and Dale say Layla promised Beta Chi recruitment at Quigley’s. They get a section of the bar next Wednesday night and the rushees are supposed to go around to all the bars and talk to the brothers.” Nate and Dale were Corey’s former fraternity brothers of Beta Chi, before Corey got kicked out and joined our house.
I wrinkled my nose. “But—the rushees are freshman. I bet most of them don’t even have fake IDs.”
Corey held up his phone to show me the screen. “Exactly Nate’s worry.”
Harrison’s face went white. “Hey, did you know there’s some random street a few miles off campus where each of the old frats and sororities has a house? They are all basically in a row. New Fraternity Row, apparently. Layla’s there too and—”
“Ugh. I know where it is.” My stomach sank. Last year, Bianca and I had staked out Layla’s new off campus housing, the one she purchased in addition to her other apartment closer to campus which she actually lived. The second one had been used as an illegal hazing den for the new members she’d stolen from other houses. It was in a dilapidated part of town that boasted more crime than booze. I hadn’t realized the other houses all moved there too, though I guess it made sense given the lack of options closer to campus this late in the year.
“My friend in Deke says a few of them were going to try to band together to hold rush there but didn’t get too far before Layla swooped in with her idea,” Harrison continued.
“Except her idea is shitty and confusing,” Corey added.
I bit my lip. We could organize recruitment for the frats. We could control the process and do everything fairly. No politics or the Greek System’s strict rules getting in the way. We’d match the members to the houses they wanted and vice versa. But there was just one problem. Our own house was now the only one not on New Fraternity Row.
“We could require the rushees to come here first—” Corey said, clearly thinking the same thing as me, but Harrison cut him off.
“And how are we going to enforce that?”
Both their faces sank.
I straightened, the idea hitting me with full force. “We throw a party. An epic one. One that’s more enticing than the entirety of Fraternity Row.”
“Well,” Harrison said. “Can’t argue with that logic.”
Twenty minutes later we’d gotten a hold of nearly all the presidents from the former sororities and frats. We were a go for this Sunday night. Three days before Layla’s recruitment bar crawl.
Corey flipped open Mackenzie’s laptop and my stomach squeezed with jealousy at how trusting they were of each other. Of course he knew her password and of course he would never do anything on her computer she wouldn’t approve of. And she’d definitely approve of this.
He opened her audio recording software and a little red dot blinked on the screen. We were a go. Without a microphone, I leaned close to the computer and spoke, trying to keep the giddiness out of my voice. “If you’re listening to this, you’re in on the secret. You’re one of the elite.”
We’d decided to spin it like this because, well, it was a secret now. These weren’t nationally recognized frats. These were secret societies operating under similar names as the old fraternities and sororities.
“This Sunday night at six o’clock, rush begins.” We’d chosen Sunday due to its lack of conflict with weekend plans and any other school sanctioned event. Sundays were usually dead on campus, which was why they were the perfect alibi. “Anyone is welcome, even juniors and seniors.” The upperclassmen were usually ineligible for rushing, but we decided to have an open door policy. “We want to build. But only in secret. Lips must be sealed on campus. Here’s how it works. On Sunday evening, prospective members will go from house to house and attend their parties. You’ll mingle. You’ll chat. You’ll have fun. And then at the end of the night, you’ll fill out an online form with your house preferences ranked in order from your top to your least. Any house you aren’t interested in, you shouldn’t list.”
In regular rush, participants could only rank three houses, but since we wanted to get this done in only one round, we didn’t have that option.
“The houses will then do the same and pledge classes will be divided equally among the houses.” Well, except for Layla’s. We hadn’t told her about our version of rush yet but I had no doubt she’d find out. And try to hijack somehow. “You’ll be placed with your best match.”
I paused to let that sink in for a moment.
“So how does this all work? We’ve created a secret group on the campus social media site.” The groups worked like Facebook groups in that you couldn’t find them unless you were added by someone you know. “Simply send me a friend request and I’ll add you. If you’re already a friend but want in, message me with the one hundred emoji and I’ll add you. All the information including location of the houses and the link to the form is in that group. Remember, this won’t work unless we all uphold confidentiality.”
And then I emailed the audio clip to all 171 people who emailed me, giving them permission to forward to only trusted friends.
We’d created a viral podcast before with Trevor. Now it was time to see if we could create a secret one.
“YOU LOOK AMAZING!” HOLLY said as I came downstairs after spending far too long choosing my outfit—then re-choosing it approximately six thousand times. I’d had on jeans and a cute tank top for a casual look but then decided to go for something classic. So I ripped off the clothes and replaced them with an A-line dress with a twirly skirt and big roses patterned on the fabric. I paired the dress with a lace cardigan and knee high boots. I felt unnaturally girly, so different from my usual style of comfortable but put together, but it also felt right. I even went as far as swiping shimmery pink eyeshadow over my lids, which made me feel like I should be auditioning for a part in a music video, but then my eyes caught a glint of the light and I nodded.
I wanted to feel different than normal. I wanted Keane to make me forget myself. The girl who had a ridiculous crush on a guy who wanted her f
or nothing more than a stepping stone to his fame sequel.
“Thanks.” I tried hard to quell my blush to Holly but she saw it and squealed.
“Oh man, that love sick sigh tells me I’m getting the room to myself tonight?”
My stomach squeezed at that thought but I wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement. My God did I want to spend the night with Keane, learn all about him, everything I didn’t know, including his favorite position. It had been far too long since I’d gotten some. But another part of me wanted to take things slow with him. He was just getting off a big break up, and I wanted to be the girl he waited for.
So I gave Holly a simple: “we’ll see.” I took a deep breath as I pushed open the door to Keane’s waiting headlights.
Of course he drove a ritzy Lexus. It seemed parents at Throckmorton felt the tuition wasn’t high enough; they had to arm their kids with expensive cars and designer jeans as well. And yeah, before my dad lost his job, I fit into the stereotype. I’d never worn a pair of pants without a designer label slapped on the ass. Thank God jeans with holes in the knee were in style or I’d be screwed. I couldn’t afford a new wardrobe, no matter where I shopped.
Keane acknowledged me with a head nod and then a double take at my outfit before nodding again, the equivalent of a compliment from him. Spicy cologne wafted off him, filling the car with a manly scent that would haunt my dreams. Sometimes after Key & Lock rituals, I could still smell him several hours later on my clothes, even if I sat nowhere near him. He wore the outfit I’d decided against with designer jeans artfully slashed in the thighs and a crisp button down with a delicate swirl design at the collar. He’d trimmed his scruff down with precision that could only come from a skilled barber rather than his own hand. His hands squeezing the wheel were lotion soft and classical music blasted from the stereo with a rap track overlaid on top, the best of two worlds.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he told me. I popped a smile on my face. I was glad too.
“And where is here exactly?” I raised a brow. He hadn’t exactly told me where he was taking me.
“It’s a surprise. But I think you’ll like it.” He pulled the car onto the highway and coasted just above the speed limit, one hand strung over the wheel, the other resting at his thigh and tapping out the rap beat on the stereo.
I shifted in my seat, trying to think of something to say. Trying to think of a way to make my heart catch up to my brain. At rituals, we bantered with ease. He’d been my rock for the last three years. We had no secrets. So why was it so hard to think of a single word to say to him?
The warm front had swooped in this morning and melted the ice. Clear roads and an uptick in temps gave me the indication that the weather was starting to get the slightest hint of an idea of warming up. I’d even gone outside sans gloves today and my fingers remained alive and frost-bite free. Back in Atlanta, snow was more of a rare gem than something you could measure in feet. I fiddled with my fingers in my lap, trying to come up with a topic of conversation. An interviewer should never be without a question and I couldn’t even think of how to phrase simple small talk. Of course, I wanted to ask about why Key needed the old Rho Sigma house but I figured I should start small. Work up to that. Work on us first.
But Keane beat me to it. “Your podcast seems to be taking off.”
I sat up straighter, my whole body filling with a kind of elation that lifted me up and buoyed me like a balloon. “You’ve listened?”
“Of course. Who hasn’t? That Alexis Rae breaking news hit every source in existence, all credited to you.”
He was right. The story had been picked up by every national newspaper, retweeted over a million times, had been a sound bite on every news station and talk show. When you googled my name, fourteen thousand hits came up, rather than just the three from last week.
“How’d you manage it?” Keane went on. “To get her to spill like that.”
A blush swept across my cheeks at how impressed he was. And I wished I could take the credit. But all I did was read the line handed to me on practically a silver platter. In the form of a handwritten note, anyway. “She wanted to spill the news. All I did was ask the right questions.” Because that part I could take credit for.
An hour and a half later, he pulled into a parking lot with bright lights twisting on the exterior of a chateau-style building, a squat gray place with a cobbled roof and an instant romantic ambiance that reminded me of Paris and Rome and everything that wasn’t Upstate New York. I gasped when I spotted the restaurant’s name on the small hand painted sign blowing in the wind. Chateau Margaux. This wasn’t just some random quaint restaurant off the beaten path. This was the place to go in Upstate New York. There weren’t many hot spots, but this place drew attention from all over the state…and out of it. Celebs sometimes flew in on private jets just to sample the adventurous amuse bouches Chef Maynard was famous for thanks to his ratings happy show on the Food Network. The wait for a table was at least six months long, which was about the time it would take to save up for the cost of a meal here on a minimum wage salary. My friends and I would always joke about going to dinner here when we wanted something nice, before we ended up at the Applebee’s on Eerie Boulevard instead of the one at the mall.
Keane cut the engine, and I blinked at him. “Where are you really taking me?” Because this couldn’t be real. This was a fairy tale. This was something only someone like Trevor might be capable of but even he was banned from the place after causing rowdy behavior several years ago that destroyed a sconce and a table scape display.
“I take that as you being impressed. Mission accomplished.” Keane pushed open his door.
My body thrummed in anticipation. I grabbed his hand and let him pull me to the door, forcing myself to take steady steps instead of skipping like a little kid. Suddenly I felt way underdressed in my skirt. I needed a ball gown.
His hand was warm in mine as he led me to the entrance, and I felt like I had to lean into him so he could hold me upright. My knees started to wobble despite my command of balance and posture.
Inside, soft music trilled in a way that was both soothing and invigorating. Beautiful fresh flowers in all colors lined the hostess podium and filled the waiting room, turning it into a jungle of spring to eliminate the last remnants of the drear of winter. Candlelight provided glow against the dim lighting in the dining hall where couples sat at white cloth covered tables, their backs rigid, and their plates full. The hostess took one look at Keane and nodded, not bothering to ask his name, just grabbing two leather-bound menus and leading us through the room to a prime spot near the window where our table overlooked an ice-covered pond.
A Maître D pulled out the chair for me and then unfurled my napkin, handing it to me to place over my lap. Another hurried over to fill our water glasses with sparkling ice water that came from expensive imported bottles rather than unfiltered sinks I drank back at the house. My mouth hung open as I stared at Keane and the way he pointed to one of the wine bottles and whispered something to the Sommelier, who nodded and swept away. But not before giving Keane a complicated bro handshake.
“Do you come here often?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice at the way everyone seemed to know him.
Keane pursed his lips. “Not as often as I’d like,” he said, in a vague sort of way, as if he’d prefer to eat every meal here rather than loading up a Styrofoam container in the dining hall. Who wouldn’t?
“So any job prospects lined up after graduation?” I asked, seemingly out of nowhere. But my future had been on my mind, and now his future was also on my mind.
The Sommelier poured a taste of wine in Keane’s glass. He swirled it, sniffed it, sipped it, and paused for several seconds, evaluating the flavor in his closed mouth before nodding. The Sommelier circled around to my side of the table and poured a hefty glass of red wine. I immediately lifted my glass but Keane shook his head, instructing me to set it down again. I felt like a little kid being reprimanded bu
t I followed his instruction.
“It has to breathe. And—I’ll become the CEO of an organization. Just like my dad. And my grandfather. And…” He paused, an anguished expression twisting his face. “My brother.”
Not want. Will. He was so confident, but never went into details because the way he said it, there was no alternative. As if his career had to match the effortless life style that currently allowed him to mosey through life with grace and confidence and the ease of never having to lift his finger.
“Any organization? Or one in particular,” I joked. I wanted to ask about his brother. I knew he had one but he rarely mentioned him and whenever he did, he would always go really quiet. But he answered my other question before I had a chance.
“I have one in mind, actually.” He lifted his eyes to mine. “My mom’s been helping me learn how to run a company. You know she let me plan the Met gala event over the holidays as a practice run?”
His mom was an event planner for a charity organization. “Wow, that’s so awesome. So what—”
“What about you?” He tilted his head at me, then picked up his wine, swirling it again. “Has the podcast changed your aspirations at all? Maybe radio instead of TV?” He winked. “I hope not, you’re way too pretty to be off the camera.”
A blush spread across my cheeks and I had to fan my hand in front of my face. “Nope, still aiming to be the next Ryan Seacrest.”
“You’re a lock. From the moment I saw you, you had me mesmerized. Imagine what you’ll do to an entire nation.”
I hid my smile behind my glass of wine before he noticed how big he’d made it. “Have you ever thought about not following in your parents’ footsteps?” We’d only toed these topics back at Key & Lock, purposefully avoiding any talk of those pesky things called parents. And our futures, the things that might rip us away from each other. But now I wanted to dig deeper, color inside the lines of the knowledge I already knew.