by Gemma Weir
“But,” Zeke interrupts.
“No, let me finish,” I say. “You guys are my best friends and I realized that if I ran away and made myself into a whole new person that I’d end up just like Nova. I’d end up fighting a battle of who I am and who I think I need to be, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to pretend to be someone new, but I don’t just want to be Emmy, the Sinners kid either. Here I can try to be different, but still have you guys, my family, to make sure I don’t lose sight of who I really am. Does that make any sense?” I ask, my eyes blurred with emotion and unshed tears.
Zeke nods slowly before getting up and rounding the table. His strong arms wrap around me and he lifts me out of my chair and into a tight hug. “Love you, Em,” he whispers against my ear.
“Love you too,” I whisper, hugging him back just as tight.
When his arms loosen, he drops me into my seat and walks back around to his side of the table, sitting down in his chair. “I don’t want to lose you, but I understand, or at least I think I do. We’ll be here, when you need us, but just because you want to try new things and experiment with who you are, that doesn’t mean that you have to hide things. You don’t have to pretend; you never have to fucking pretend. Hell, if everything Nova’s been through has taught us anything, that should be it. Be you, meet new people, reinvent yourself, but don’t push us away; don’t move on without us because you’re part of us and we love you and we want to celebrate the good shit and help you when things are fucked up. We’re Sinners, Em. No matter if that’s not your future. Sinners look after their own.”
I nod, too choked up to speak and Zeke smiles and nods back at me, because nothing else needs to be said; we’re family and that’s it.
Finishing my coffee, I pop the last bite of my muffin into my mouth, leaning back in my chair and watching as Zeke drains the last dregs from his cup. He sighs, staring down at the mug as if he’s hoping that looking at it longingly will make it full again.
“You want another coffee?” I ask.
“I really do,” he nods.
“I’ll go.”
“Nah, it’s fine. You want another?”
Sighing, I fold my arms across my chest and glare at him. “I’m more than capable of waiting at a counter and ordering coffee, Zeke.”
An annoying smile spreads across his face as he pushes himself out of his chair. “I know you’re capable, but my dad raised me to treat a woman right, so stay put and let me take care of you.” With that he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head before walking to the counter and returning with two more coffees. “Okay, so explain to me what’s so bad about a guy being a gentleman?” He asks.
Rolling my eyes, I exhale. “There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just so antiquated. I don’t need a guy to look after me. I don’t need one to pay and maybe, just maybe I’d like to be looked at like an equal and not treated like I’m going to shatter to pieces at any moment.”
Zeke throws back his head and laughs. “You think we were taught to act this way because we don’t think you’re equal to us?” He laughs again, loud enough to draw the attention of the other people in the coffee shop. “Emmy Devereaux, for a smart girl, you’re an idiot.”
“I’m not an idiot,” I cry.
“Baby, you’re an idiot. Our daddies taught us to treat a woman right, so that’s how we act. But they behave that way because they’re so fucking grateful, so fucking obsessed with their old ladies that they literally worship the ground they walk on. My dad doesn’t exist without my mom. He knows that, so he protects her, shelters her, cossets her, because he knows that she’s the most important thing in the world to him. He pays for everything because all of their money is their money, so who cares if he’s the one who’s carrying the cash. He opens doors, because it’s respectful and she pays a fortune for her nails and she’d be upset if she chipped one. He orders at bars, because he knows how fucking beautiful his woman is and he doesn’t want other guys to hassle her. My dad knows how much of a lucky bastard he is to have convinced my mom to marry him and he shouldn’t ever forget that. But I’ll tell you what, Em. Never, not fucking ever, has my dad or any Sinner guy thought that a woman was less than him. It’s the complete fucking opposite. Sinners guys, hell, all fucking guys should know that women are so much more and that’s why we behave the way we do. It’s not us diminishing who you are, it’s us being so fucking aware of how amazing you are that we want to protect it.”
Zeke sits back in his chair and lifts his coffee cup to his lips and takes a sip, just like that, like he didn’t just blow my freaking mind.
“Do you get now why I don’t think that kid’s good enough for you? Him not opening your car door, not offering to pay, driving off the way he did without even making sure you were safe in the house. All of that says to me that he has no fucking clue of your value, that he is so fucking blind that he doesn’t deserve you. Because if he saw you, the real you, Em, he’d know that you’re a fucking gem, priceless and irreplaceable. A Sinner; he’d see that in you.”
Swallowing thickly, I stare at my best friend, shocked by his words and the passionate way he delivered them. This wasn’t him placating me. He feels and truly believes everything he just told me. Goose bumps pebble along my arm. All my life I’ve believed that the guys in our world behaved the way they do because they’re overprotective chauvinistic assholes but hearing what he just said somehow changes everything. Is everything I thought about the men I grew up with wrong?
Zeke’s laugh is low and full of smug amusement. “Em, the look on your face right now is priceless. Come on, we’re gonna be late if we don’t get a move on.”
Waving goodbye to Zeke, I take the path across campus to my next class as he heads in the opposite direction to his. Talking to him has left me rocked and off balance. What he told me somehow changes everything and I need time to process his words.
I don’t understand why I’ve never asked the guys about this before, and why it’s taken until now for one of them to speak to me about it either. Have I been wrong about the role women play in the Sinners world all along? And if I am wrong what does that mean? Balancing my past with my future has always felt like an impossible task, but maybe if I’d just talked to my friends and family about it, I’d have realized before now that it doesn’t have to be so hard.
So much has changed in the last year and right now my present looks nothing like I pictured it would, but that’s not a bad thing. Instead of being alone, I’m trying new things and experimenting, but I’ll never lose who I am, because my friends will always be my anchor, my roots, and now that I understand, it’s seems obvious that without them I’d be adrift.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I turn from side to side assessing myself from the different angles. Tonight’s the night of the sorority pre rush meet and greet. Honestly I still can’t believe that I let Avery talk me into attending with her, but she’s so much more persuasive than I expected and before I realized what I was doing I’d agreed to go with her.
Avery and I are going out to dinner before the mixer, so I’m hoping to be out of the house before the others get back from their last class. I know I shouldn’t be avoiding them, but I don’t know what to say to Griff about last night and I don’t want to explain what I’m doing tonight either.
Zeke met Avery back on the first day of school and they know I’m friends with Veronica too, but I haven’t exactly introduced my two groups to each other. I’m not sure why I’m so hesitant to let my two worlds meet, but I am.
The clothes I have on are much more conservative than I’d ever wear back home and I’d definitely stand out if I turned up dressed like this to the club. Looking down at my pastel green chiffon slip dress I bite at my bottom lip and cringe. I’m definitely not a fashionista, but this dress is much more country club than I’d normally wear. Most of my closet is full of cute fashionable comfort with a vintage twist and right now I feel a little weird.
Maybe college Emmy is a Sor
ority girl? This is what I wanted right? To experiment with new experiences and Greek life is definitely something new. Sliding my feet into nude pumps I run my fingers through my hair that I’ve flat ironed so its straight and glossy, then I grab my tiny purse and leave my room, feeling strange and uncomfortable.
It’s only a short walk to the restaurant we’re meeting at, but the heels on these shoes are too tall for me to want to walk in, so I call an Uber and greet it at the curb all before any of the others make it home.
“Oh wow, you look so cute,” Avery gushes when she sees me, rushing over to me and hugging me tightly.
“I feel ridiculous,” I say, grimacing. We’d gone shopping for outfits a few days earlier and I’d let her talk me into this dress.
“Don’t be silly, you look gorgeous,” she says. “How do I look?” she asks, doing a twirl in front of me, the hem of her white dress swirling around her thighs as she moves. The dress is fitted around her chest, then flares at her hips into a cute skater skirt that makes her look curvier than her slim frame actually is. Her blonde hair looks even blonder against the white and she looks stunning, like a beautiful, tanned angel.
“You look amazing,” I say sincerely.
“I’m so excited, the Sigma Gamma Phi’s are the best sorority on campus.”
I smile, trying to look at least a little enthusiastic but failing miserably. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”
She nods, then drags me into the bar.
Swallowing thickly, I lift my foot and place it on the first step that leads to the Sigma Gamma Phi house. The place is gorgeous: red brick, double-fronted with white windows, a huge dark wood front door and a beautifully landscaped front yard. A smiling brunette in white shorts with a pink t-shirt with the Sigma Gamma Phi logo on the front smiles brightly at us from beside the door, a clipboard clutched tightly to her chest.
“Welcome to Sigma Gamma Phi, ladies. My name is Cora-Lee, could I take your names and I’ll get you a name tag.”
“I’m Avery Richards and this is Emmy Devereaux,” Avery says excitedly.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both, could I just check how you spell Emmy. It’d be awful to send you in there with a typo on your tag,” Cora-Lee says, laughing brightly.
“E-M-M-Y,” I say spelling my name.
“Fantastic, here are your tags. If I could just take your room numbers too, so we can let you know about our other rush events.” Cora-Lee asks, her grin firmly fixed in place.
Avery quickly offers up her room number, then Cora-Lee turns to me.
“Oh, I live off-campus. You can just put me down at Avery’s room too, if that’s easier.”
“Oh, okay, well that’s fine for now. We don’t usually have many freshman who don’t live on campus. Why don’t you two head inside, our president Mallory and our vice president Alicia are both inside and they can tell you more about our little family. Have a great night and all us sisters are in pink shirts so feel free to say hi and I’m sure any of them can answer any of your questions.”
“Thank you so much, Cora-Lee,” Avery gushes, hooking her arm through mine and pulling me into the house.
The house is so beautiful I have to blink twice to make sure I’m not seeing things. The décor looks like it came straight from a homes and gardens magazine spread with whites, creams, and the odd pink highlight dotted here and there. There are probably twenty girls in pink shirts and white shorts, then maybe another thirty girls in dresses alarmingly similar to mine. In fact, all of the potential rushee’s look so much alike I could swear they all bought the same dress just in different colors.
Lustrous pearls and sparkling jewels adorn necks, and there’s a sea of nude heels. We look like clones. I wonder what these girls would say if they found out my dad wore leather every day and rode a Harley. A giggle bubbles up my throat but I swallow it down when a smiling girl glides toward us, a double row of pearls peeking out of the neck of her pink shirt. A pinbadge that says ‘President’ rests over her heart and when she reaches us she immediately reaches out and engulfs me in a hug.
“Hello, I’m Mallory Bryant and I’m the President of Sigma Gamma Phi. We are so delighted to welcome you into our home.”
“Hi,” I say a little awkwardly when she releases me. “I’m Emmy.”
“Emmy, that is such a pretty name.” She turns and pulls a delighted looking Avery in for a hug next. “And you are?”
“Avery Richards,” Avery says proudly.
Mallory tilts her head to the side, assessing Avery with a little more interest. “Any relation to Eliza Richards?” She asks.
Avery blushes a very pretty pink color. “She’s my mom.”
Mallory’s face light up. “A legacy,” she cries with so much excitement it’s a little unnerving.
Two more girls appear at Mallory’s side and one hooks her arm through Mallory’s. “Did I hear we have a legacy in the house?” the petite girl with a mane of black hair that’s shining beneath the room’s lighting asks.
“Elle, this is Avery, she’s Eliza Richards daughter,” Mallory introduces. “And this is Emmy,” she says, gesturing to me.
“It’s so lovely to meet you both. You guys are going to love Sigma Gamma Phi, we are the oldest and most prestigious sorority at Hayhurst.”
She proceeds to launch into the sales pitch and after a few minutes I zone her out, letting my attention move around the room to all the other girls in here. Everyone is so perfect, so polished. Nova would fit in perfectly, but me, this isn’t me. I might be trying to find myself, but I’m fairly sure I won’t be discovering anything new about myself here.
I force myself to rejoin the conversation, realizing that Elle has moved on from how old and important the sorority is, to how hot the guys are in their brother fraternity Omega Neu.
“Our brother fraternity my freshman year was Kappa Kappa Epsilon, but those guys were the worst. I went on a date with this guy called Ben and he took me a pizza place, then expected us to split the bill. God, he even turned up in a wrinkled shirt and ripped jeans. Yuck. The guys in the frats are great and all, but I want a guy like Jason Momoa, huge and ripped and super possessive,” she giggles.
The night is quite possibly the longest of my life and by the time my Uber parks outside our house I am just so ready to go back to living in books because this real-life stuff is not for me.
Pushing through the front door, I shout a hello, then go straight upstairs without even poking my head into the living room. I don’t want whoever’s here to see me in this dress, or ask me about my night, so instead I let cowardice rule my actions and rush to my room, pulling the dress over my head the moment I get inside.
Not considering my actions I head to the closet and pull out my Sinners tank top, pulling it on before I grab some pj shorts from my dresser and twist my hair up into a messy bun. The exhale that falls from my lips is pure relief. I like Avery a lot, so far she seems like a nice girl without a bitchy bone in her body and I’m lying to her.
She has no idea who I am. All she knows is what I’ve told her, this lie I’ve perpetuated about myself to allow me to reinvent myself into the person I think I’m supposed to be. Why is growing up so confusing? I don’t want to be high school me, the person who kept to a small circle, but the truth of the matter is that we kept to ourselves because we have so much in common.
Tonight I witnessed my first experience of Sorority life and it really isn’t that bad, but just like the Scions, the sorority girls stick together in a tight knit group, because they share common experiences and because they understand their ‘sisters’ lives in a way only people in the Greek system can.
Greek life isn’t for me, but it’s made me appreciate my friends a little more. Sighing wistfully, I let my body fall back to my comforter and close my eyes. I thought doing new things, finding myself would be easy. That moving away from home was the key to everything but changing myself is so much harder than I thought it would be.
Maybe you should stop trying
so hard, I think. My subconscious is obviously much smarter than I am, because when I think about it, it’s obvious. I need to stop trying so hard to be different and just see what happens. I can choose new experiences but it doesn’t have to be at the cost of who I am at my core. A smile drifts to my lips just as my cell beeps, then beeps again in my pocket. Grabbing it, I lift it up, sliding my fingertip across the screen to bring it to life.
Clicking into the message app, it opens on to the text I was reading from Kent this morning when I stepped in front of Van’s car. I click out of his slam poetry invitation and see that I have a new message from an unknown number and I select it, assuming it’ll be a promotional text or something.
Unknown: Hey, Little Red.
My heart skips a beat, then starts to thud a little too quickly. Van. Somehow, I’d almost forgotten that he’d called himself from my cell this morning. It feels like so much has happened since then, but a vision of his beautiful rugged face pops into my head and I feel a blush fill my cheeks. I don’t know anything about him, except that he’s part of a frat, gives girls SipChips at parties to keep them safe, and drives a sexy as sin car. So why is my skin alight with excitement just thinking about him?
My fingers move across my screen and I’m typing out a reply before I can consider how stupid engaging with him might be.
Me: Stealing girls’ cellphone numbers and then texting them is kind of stalkerish behavior.
I stare at my screen for a minute expecting him to reply, but nothing comes through. A pang of disappointment hits me, but I ignore it and click out of the message thread and into the message from Kent this morning.