by Kata Čuić
I honestly zone out.
Why do we have so many vice presidents?
At first, I loved these meetings. Not only are we a sisterhood, but we’re also a carefully oiled machine, rife with tradition, honor, and excellence. That’s literally our motto. We have a secret handshake, our own colors, mascot, and song. Sigma Sigma Theta represents not just a moral code of conduct, but also a higher ideal to constantly strive for.
It’s hard to feel like those standards are anything other than unattainable. Who can be perfect all the time? Not me, that’s for sure. I peek down at my stomach, trying to decide if I had two rolls last year or if they’re multiplying.
Rosie elbows me in the side, forcing my attention back to the here and now. “Do you still want to be nominated?”
“Huh? For what?”
She rolls her eyes. “Panhellenic Council.”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
As much as I love the girls surrounding me, I’m not sure any of them would offer me up as our house representative. Moreover, none of them know how badly I want it. Rosie seems to be able to pull my deepest desires out of me. Usually, by virtue of the Irish Car Bombs she’s so fond of having me drink with her.
She nearly deafens me as she shouts my name while raising her hand without waiting to be called on. “Emma Hastings! She’s a senior this year, has been with SST since she was a freshman and doesn’t have the added responsibility of being an officer!”
“Nice touch,” I mumble. Rosie also knows what a sore spot not being elected to an executive position is for me.
I’ve given this sisterhood everything for the past three years. To be sure, getting a bid was a dream come true, but I’ve earned it a thousand times over since. Every fundraiser, every charity event, every party—my enthusiasm for anything Sigma knows no bounds.
I practically bleed green and white.
Surprisingly, no competition is offered up by anyone else present. The suspicious silence grows until even Hayleigh can’t deny the setup. “I suppose we don’t need to vote this year, then. Emma Hastings will be the Sigma Sigma Theta Panhellenic Council representative.”
I look around me in bewilderment. Surely, it can’t be this easy.
The sisters smile at me, but there’s something behind it. Something I can’t quite place.
“How?” I whisper in Rosie’s ear.
She pastes on her best plastic smile. “I’ll never tell.”
Oh, yes, she will. Even if I have to use her Guinness truth serum against her.
The meeting adjourns, and everyone stretches their legs, chatting about the latest house gossip. Giving Rosie a quick squeeze of thanks for her miracle-working, I abandon my inquisition until later to seek out Hayleigh.
The dire need to erase any doubt in her mind over whether I can handle this position gnaws at my stomach, along with butterflies of excitement.
As usual, I have to wait my turn in line to speak with our sorority president. I can’t fathom what it must be like to constantly have throngs of admirers seeking your attention, even if only for a few brief glorious seconds. For her part, Hayleigh seems to wear the burden well—always smiling and benevolent, the picture of serenity even under pressure.
“Hayleigh, can I speak with you a moment?”
My last-second plea as she turns to leave nearly cracks her restraint. She must be eager to retreat to the privacy of her single room in the house. Only the president of the sisterhood is afforded such luxury, so I’m sure she wants to take advantage of it as much as possible this year. “What can I help you with, Emma?”
Hayleigh has never once mentioned the fact we went to high school together. Around three hundred students graduated in our class, so it might be possible she doesn’t remember me. I’ve certainly never had the guts to bring it up, especially since I’ve finally thrown off my awkward, gangly teen appearance and mannerisms. I’d like to revisit our shared past about as much as she probably would.
“I just wanted to thank you for this opportunity to represent the sisters of Sigma Sigma Theta on campus. I promise I won’t let you down.”
Her eyes narrow the slightest bit. The movement would be unnoticeable if we weren’t in such close proximity. “I don’t believe it’s me you should thank. Rosie obviously arranged your nomination with the rest of the girls.”
She doesn’t even address my vow to make our house look good, her hair nearly swishing in my face as she walks away.
I study her lithe form as she retreats down the hallway, her high-heeled boots clicking on the hardwood floor as she avoids any more conversation. Since high school, Hayleigh Adams has been effortlessly gorgeous, popular, and the star of every guy’s wet dreams. She’s never been without a boyfriend, has made honor roll or dean’s list as long as I’ve known her. All that being at the top of the food chain must be wearing her out, the same way always trying to be like her has become exhausting to me. Maybe this year will be the start of something different. For both of us.
Truth: A drunk woman’s words are a sober woman’s thoughts
“I bribed them all with wine! I even told them they could choose the bottle!” Rosie laughs, then tongues her empty beer bottle for one last drop. Her lingual movements are practically obscene. Any woman going through a dry spell would be jealous of the attention being laved on this inanimate object. “It was too easy! Especially since most of them are still underage and desperate for any alcohol they can get!”
I swipe the bottle from her grasp before she can chip one of her teeth against the glass. “How much is that going to cost me?”
There are currently forty sisters of the Xi Upsilon chapter. We’ll likely gain at least ten freshmen during Fall Rush. With my time being split between sorority activities and studying to maintain my GPA, I’ve never held down a job on campus.
How can I phone Mom, begging for an extra couple of hundred dollars at the beginning of the semester? They just dropped more money than they should have, helping me furnish my new apartment. I’m not fond of the idea of abusing their generosity. Paying off my sorority to gain a position I shouldn’t have had to purchase sours my stomach more than the Irish Car Bombs I’ve consumed.
“You don’t have to pay for it. I am.” Rosie wraps a strong arm around my shoulders, pulling me against her. “I’m happy to do this. You earned this position a thousand times over. It still riles me that a mean girl like Hayleigh is our sorority president instead of you.”
Rosie has never made any bones about her feelings for Hayleigh. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s some secret feud between them. But, that makes absolutely no sense. We pledged together. We’ve shared several classes every semester since freshman year. Sure, we’re not the three amigos or anything like that, but we’re all friends. More importantly, we’re sisters.
Since Rosie’s lips are already lubricated by copious amounts of alcohol, finally getting to the bottom of her distaste for Hayleigh seems like a smart idea. If I’m going to be SST’s Panhell representative, then I need to know the innermost workings of my sisterhood before taking on the rest of the sororities on campus.
“Did Hayleigh piss in your Guinness freshman year? I can’t imagine anything else she’s done that would incite your ire more than messing with your favorite drink.”
“She’s…she’s…she –” Between Rosie’s reddening face and her unusual sputtering, warning signs of stroke flash through my mind.
I place a calming hand on her shoulder. “Breathe.”
Surprisingly, she follows instructions, taking in a sharp gulp of air before spitting it all out in a rush. “She’s a sexist, racist, misogynist, snobby-ass bitch…”
I lose track somewhere around the twentieth insult.
When Rosie finally runs out of labels, she motions the bartender for another round. “And don’t even get me started on her fashion sense. It’s like she stalks Pinterest for the latest trends rather than even trying to be slightly unique. She’s practically a Barbie doll.”
Hayleigh doesn’t have blond hair, but Rosie certainly does. There’s a strange sort of truth to Rosie’s statement I can’t quite put my finger on, though. Both women are gorgeous, there’s no doubt. Yet, their carefully groomed appearances are anything but similar.
I sigh, a headache knocking at the door of my slightly inebriated, definitely exhausted brain. “I know you don’t like her. What I want to know is why.”
Rosie frowns even as the cute bartender winks at her before placing another bottle of light beer and a second Car Bomb on the bar in front of her. “We spent a lot of time together over winter break freshman year. I saw a side of her I never knew before and haven’t been able to ignore since.”
This admission rings somewhat true in my memory. Since Hayleigh and I come from the same hometown, I distinctly remember not seeing her at all during the month I was home. Which was odd since I ran into other former classmates every time I turned a corner. Hayleigh has never been one to hole up in solitude for any length of time, and her older sister still made frequent appearances in public. I knew the whole family wasn’t out of town for a holiday vacation.
“Why didn’t you and Hayleigh go home that year?”
Rosie shrugs, gliding her finger around the rim of the glass in front of her without making eye contact. “We both enjoyed the freedom of college too much to abandon it so quickly, I guess. Some of the SST girls who were going home for the holidays offered to let us bunk in their rooms at the sorority house since the dorms were closing for break. I thought it would be my first real bonding experience with another Sigma sister, but instead, it turned out to be a nightmare.”
I brush off the hint of resentment that bubbles under the surface of my skin at Rosie’s seeming dismissal of all our bonding time together. Now is not the time to complain. She’s giving me more than she ever has, even as she skirts the real issue.
Before I can open my mouth to engage in further interrogation, my shoulder jerks with the force of a body squeezing onto the stool at my other side.
Hot breath washes over my ear, prickling the skin on my neck. “Do you need an honorable escort back to campus?”
“Jesus, Kieran,” Rosie grumbles. “You’re not honorable, and we’re not off campus. If you wanna get laid, just say so.”
When he disclosed his reasons for not wanting a relationship last week, he left the ball in my court. I didn’t expect him to come to me. For anything. Was Jason right? Did Kieran lie or maybe play an awful, awful prank on me?
I turn to face him, a tiny part of me that refuses to surrender hoping for an out-of-place grin to show me he was joking.
He’s as stone-faced as ever.
Kieran doesn’t smile. He’s never outwardly displayed any emotion in all the time I’ve known him, even when he dropped his bombshell on me last week. The closest he gets to exhibiting any sort of feeling is a brief look of peace which settles on his face, post-orgasm.
And that makes me feel both exceptionally guilty and also a bit like I’m a small reprieve in his lonely, heartbroken world. Maybe that’s why he’s here.
“How about it, then, Emma? Since Rosie called my bluff, I’ll get straight to the point. Come back to the frat house with me for an hour. We can both let off a little pre-semester steam.”
“This girl deserves better than an hour from you, and I think you know it,” Rosie scoffs.
When I first met Kieran in a fall seminar class my sophomore year, he didn’t have to work very hard to pique my curiosity. A year younger than me, something about the heaviness of his eyes and his all-around moody demeanor made him seem older and more mature than his eighteen years. Much like my failure to gain the respect of my sisterhood, there’s something empty inside this man I’ve never been able to fill.
Now I know exactly what that is.
Self-respect aside, am I really heartless enough to refuse him solace? Even if it’s only physical?
“Okay. As long as I’m back at my apartment before midnight, which is when I revert to a ragamuffin instead of a princess.”
He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t assure me I’m always a princess. Or that I could even be royalty to someone else one day. He simply nods, then vacates his stool, knowing I’ll follow.
I turn around to wrap Rosie in a tight hug. “Will you be okay to get back to the house?”
She’s already three sheets to the wind, and the bartender has been not so subtly eyeing her all evening. Guilt pulls me in two different directions, and both choices feel wrong. Either way, I’ll be abandoning one of them.
She pats my shoulder, almost like she feels sorry for me, then switches gears and clings to me, whispering in my ear. “A friend is supposed to come meet up with me, anyway. I’ll be fine. And, you do deserve better, Emma Hastings. We both do.”
With that cryptic message crackling in the air between us, we part ways.
I have a feeling Rosie wasn’t just talking about romance or lack thereof. I’ll get to the bottom of her beef with Hayleigh this year if it’s the last thing I do.
Lie: What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.
Kieran’s chest heaves with ragged breaths as he closes his eyes. “You good to get back to your apartment alone?”
“Yeah.” If I could just find my bra. There’s already a chill in the late-summer air in New Hampshire, and I don’t particularly feel like high-beaming anyone I might pass on my walk of shame.
A scrap of pink lace hangs from the corner of Kieran’s full-size bed, partially obscured beneath his comforter. I snatch it up, wriggling back into the article as best I can with my skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat.
The discomfort is worth it for the bliss still humming through my veins after one of the best orgasms I’ve had in months, if I do say so myself. I’m handy with my vibrator, but there’s just something about skin-to-skin contact with another warm body that’s…more.
I scan the bedroom for one last check I’m not leaving anything behind. It’s not that Kieran’s frat brothers are ignorant of my visits here. I simply don’t want to leave them with any evidence to laugh at me about once I’m gone.
Sophomore year when I met Kieran, I fantasized we could be more. Junior year, I resented him for his lack of emotion and commitment. Hearing his frat brothers refer to me as his beck-and-call girl really messed with my head. When he never said a word to the contrary, I knew nothing more would ever happen between us.
And yet…I’m exactly what they accused me of being.
As I watch him drift to sleep, all the hurt that had piled on my chest last year is nowhere to be found. In its place is a deep sense of sorrow for the man sprawled out on his mattress. Bitterness lingers around the edges of my heart, sure, but I have it easier than he does in so many ways.
I’m not mourning a love that never existed in the first place the way he’s still grieving for his first.
I hold my breath as I unlock, then open his bedroom door, listening for the usually raucous sounds of the house that give away how many of the residents are still awake. All is suspiciously quiet, but they might be out at the bars, enjoying one last hurrah before the semester begins.
Instead of my usual post-romp thoughts about the nature of Kieran’s and my relationship consuming me, I muse over all the revelations Rosie dropped in my lap earlier. There’s more to the story but getting the rest out of her won’t come so easy. The next time we’ll be in a situation where her guard will be down enough to confide in me, Hayleigh will also be present. I doubt I’ll gain any more nuggets of wisdom before the Fall Opener Party next weekend.
Before I know it, I’m unlocking the door to my dark apartment. Even with the lights off, I’ve already become intimately familiar with my new space. The unmistakable form of a large body occupies my couch. His feet hang off one end, and the afghan which usually rests on the back drapes haphazardly over his body.
“Jason?”
He startles, then scrubs a hand over his face, groaning. “What time is it?”
<
br /> “A little after one in the morning.” I toe off my shoes by the door, then drop my purse and keys on the little entryway table. “What are you doing here?”
He aims an annoyed glare my way. “I was obviously sleeping.”
“Yeah. I can see that. Why are you on my couch? Why aren’t you sleeping in your apartment?”
He rolls over, punching the throw pillow under his head seemingly in an effort to beat it into submission. “Because I have to be up in three hours for work, and I was hoping to speed up the process of going back to sleep.”
I blink several times in confusion. Am I sex drunk? I’ve heard that’s a thing. Some people actually pass out during orgasm and don’t return to their normal faculties until hours later. My climax was powerful, yeah, but I dressed myself and walked back here.
I cross the small living room and sit on the coffee table, reaching out a hand to Jason’s shoulder. “Is something wrong?”
He cracks one eye open. “No. Why?”
“Why are you here?” My earlier feeling of peace abandoned, frustration laces my tone.
“I should’ve known this idea would backfire.” Jason buries his face against the pillow, lets out a grunt, then refocuses his pointed gaze on me. “You were with Kieran?”
“Yeah.” How does Jason know this?
He must read the question on my face. “Rosie took to texting me when you’d go off with him last year. She doesn’t like the way he treats you and worries about you getting home okay after he kicks you out.”
I nod slowly. He doesn’t exactly kick me out, he’s just never implied I’m welcome to stay. Which I now know is because he spends his nights with a ghost. “I’m aware of her feelings for him. I still don’t see how that explains you sleeping on my couch, though.”
