by Kata Čuić
I eye the nearly empty bottle of vodka on my coffee table. There must be something off about it if my daydreams are crossing over into the realm of Jason’s typical fantasies. Can vodka go bad? Does it have an expiration date? I think I bought it over a year ago…
“What would you say to a little revenge?” Kieran’s oddly excited delivery attracts my attention.
“I knew this was a set-up,” Rosie cries, trying unsuccessfully to pull Jason from his stone-like stance. “Are your brothers outside, waiting for a rematch?”
“No, but we can give them one they, and the holier-than-thou sororities on campus, won’t soon forget.” The smile that pulls across Kieran’s lips looks downright insane. There’s an animated gleam in his eyes I’ve never seen.
“Stop it.” Jason directs his order to Rosie, who immediately abandons her attempt to escape the madness. He fixes Kieran with a level gaze. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oh my God. You can’t be serious.” Rosie stomps across the room, flinging herself on the couch beside me, before pouring a glass of tequila. “Shit’s about to get ugly.”
Jason raises an eyebrow at her thoughtless murmur, but never takes his eyes off Kieran. “Shit’s already ugly. I’m listening.”
“Rosie isn’t wrong. My brothers won’t forget the embarrassment you delivered them with a fucking bow on top in our own house. But, you can’t hide forever.” Kieran shrugs, his mellowing demeanor more typical. “So, take the fight to them. Make it obvious they can’t win. Or, more appropriately, that you can’t lose.”
“Go on.” Jason hasn’t moved a muscle, but the tell-tale twitch in his jaw shows he’s seconds from walking away if he doesn’t like what he hears.
“Instead of being our enemy, work for us. Fight for us.”
Rosie lets loose a peal of laughter that doesn’t sound the least bit like actual happiness. “Like what? A hired gun? You want Jason to pound any other frat bro who makes Phi Kappa look bad? How is that a solution? He’ll just make more enemies.”
“Not if they come to him for a chance to get a little spoiled-brat bloodlust off their chests.”
Suddenly, Rosie, Jason, and I share something in common. Distrust. We exchange covert, curious glances.
I set my glass on the table, willing myself into sobriety, so I can understand what’s going on. “Are you talking about organized fighting? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
Kieran glances over his shoulder at me. “Yes.”
Jason breaks character. He snorts, then approaches the coffee table to pour himself a drink. “Fight Club. How original. Pass.”
I rub my forehead, trying to remember what brought us all to this time and place. “Wait. You said this was a solution to everyone’s problems. How would a fighting ring help Rosie?”
Kieran faces our trio, standing across the room with a broad stance as if he’s presenting to a classroom of his peers when he’s been tasked with the objective of swaying all ears to his position. “Jason’s right. Fighting for the sake of it has been done since the time of the gladiators. It doesn’t erase the modern man’s desire for violence, which is why copycat Fight Clubs sprung up all over the country after the book was published. Everyone needs to blow off steam and feel like a real man in the trappings of civil society.”
I bristle at the implication I’m one of the ways he’s blown off steam in the past.
Sex and fighting.
Kieran’s right about one thing. The male of the human species isn’t all that discerning.
He continues, not making eye contact with me. “The way this helps Rosie is the payoff when Jason wins the fight.”
Rosie and I exchange another glance. It hasn’t escaped our notice he said when not if.
“After every win Jason racks up for the Phi Sigma house, we reveal a skeleton from someone’s closet. Everyone has them. Unlike Rosie, no one wants to admit their dirty little secrets. Even the students who aren’t hungry for bloodshed won’t be able to resist the payoff.”
“Hey,” Jason whirls to face Kieran with a sharp tone of voice and fire in his eyes. “Being gay isn’t a dirty little secret, asshole. Watch your mouth.”
Kieran places his hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m not judging. Just pointing out the obvious.”
“Two things aren’t obvious.” Rosie throws back the rest of her drink, then reaches to pour another as she speaks. “One: why are you so sure Jason won’t ever lose a fight? Two: how, exactly, are you going to get people to spill their secrets?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Suddenly acting like we’re all friends here, Kieran approaches the make-shift bar, then pours himself a drink. “Jason won’t lose. He’ll be going up against rich little shits who’ve never had to work out for anything other than vanity. None of the guys who have egos the size of New York will know how to actually fight the way he does. Sure, they’ll think they can take him, but my money would be on Jason every time. He has something to prove in ways they don’t.”
Jason doesn’t seem to take offense to Kieran’s predictions, nodding like he’s totally on board with this insane scheme.
After chugging an entire glass of Jameson and Coke, Kieran addresses Rosie’s second concern. “Getting someone to reveal their secrets is easy. Just make them think you’re a friend. Most people are dying for someone to confide in. Someone they believe they can trust with the deepest, darkest recesses of their soul.”
The tension in the room cranks up so high, sweat breaks out on my skin. I’m not sure Kieran would ever call out my so-called friends’ behavior on my behalf, but that certainly feels like what he’s doing. How odd my booty-call is the only person in this room to be straight with me? To finally admit he’s been using me for sex, with no intention of reciprocating the feelings I harbored for him. Frankly, Rosie and Jason could stand to take a page from his book. At least I’d know the truth.
Rosie breaks my inner monologue with another rueful laugh. “And who are you friends with, Kieran? Emma’s vagina aside, you’re not intimate with anyone on campus. How do you expect people to suddenly flock to you with the innermost struggles of their hearts?”
Jason jumps in on Rosie’s attack. “Agreed. Where are you going to come up with this information? I’m a loser. Rosie has been shunned from campus. You’re not friends with anyone. How is this supposed to work?”
Jason never questions whether he can win every fight.
“That’s why I said it was a solution to everyone’s problems.” Kieran smiles that creepy grin of his, leveling me with a direct stare. “You get to beat the shit out of people. Rosie gets to bring down everyone who thought they were better than she is, and Emma. Emma is going to be the lynchpin for it all. She’s still a sister with SST. She’s on Panhell this year, which gives her access to all the sororities, not just hers. With her eager-to-fit in attitude and being relatively no one in the grand scheme of things, all she has to do is work a little more charm for people to be willing to overshare. Being friends by association with you two will only help her cause. She’s obviously a champion of the underdog.”
The room goes silent as my mind spins into overdrive. Is that what he thinks of me? Is that what everyone thinks of me? That I’m only friends with Rosie and Jason because I can’t bear to see any person left behind? No one even knew about Rosie being gay until a week ago. We’ve been friends since freshman year. Jason barely acknowledges my existence in public, much like Kieran, so how could it be common knowledge we’re friends? Is my desire to fit in so obvious? I never thought of myself as one of those people who try too hard until now.
“Are you insane?” Jason practically growls. “You’ll paint a target on her back if she’s the one to reveal information at the end of every fight. No way. I won’t agree to that.”
My eyes widen at his visceral response. For not having a problem with cutting me out of his life for a week, Jason sure seems to care about my welfare more than I could have possibly imagined.
Rosie’s
response fits more with my current mental state. “No one is going to confide in Emma. She’s not part of the in-crowd.”
Again, Kieran gets that enthusiastic gleam to his countenance that makes him seem like a pod-person. “She won’t be the direct informant. At the end of every fight Jason wins, there will be a projector screen with the dirt. For those who can’t attend the fight, we’ll send out a campus-wide text, which will garner more interest.”
Jason returns to his crossed-arms stature. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“I have,” Kieran admits, nodding in a way that oversells this pyramid scheme. “Everyone wins.”
For the first time tonight, I find my voice. “And what about you? How do you win?”
He never said how his girlfriend died. Is this some convoluted vengeance plan of his own? A way to make amends with his past, so he can move forward with his life?
“Easy.” He pours himself another drink. “I arrange the fights and make a shit-ton of money while helping to bring down the bourgeoisie. How doesn’t that count as winning?”
“No one said anything about money,” Rosie screeches. As if that makes a bit of difference.
Jason plucks the glass from Kieran’s grasp, then ushers him toward the door. “Get out. We’ll give you our answer by morning.”
He turns to us once Kieran leaves without any argument. “Well?”
“This is insane,” Rosie rushes. “I’m sure Kieran’s right, and you can beat anyone one-on-one in a fair fight, but this has disaster written all over it. It’s only going to make things worse. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy every second of it, but…”
They turn to me, waiting on my word, but I’m lost in a haze. In the span of twenty minutes, I went from being no one to being someone with real, actual power. Not just for myself, but to help anyone who’s ever gotten the short end of the stick.
Jason kneels in front of me, eye-to-eye, pinning me with his black-brown stare. “Emma?”
The slap of him finally speaking to me jars me from my reverie. “What?”
“You’re okay with this? Being the mole for our little operation?”
“A mole?” My mind jerks from its daydreams about being someone worthwhile. I’d never thought of it in the insidious way Jason’s implying.
“She can’t do it,” Rosie insists. “She’s too pure. She’s never played anyone a day in her life.”
And that brings me back to my cruel reality. My voice comes out in a whisper of pure anguish. “You’re right. I could never play anyone the way you two have played me.”
Jason rises to his full height, nodding like this is a done deal. “We’re on our own, then. You’ll have to find a way to be the source, Ro. After what you unleashed, I think Kieran’s right. Anyone on campus who’s been hiding something will flock to you for advice, understanding. We don’t need Emma to make this work.”
They flee to the door like my presence makes them physically ill.
As Rosie grabs the handle, she turns back toward Jason. “I guess it’s a good thing we live together now. We’ll be up all night, planning this out to the last detail. We can’t rely on Kieran to protect us.”
“No,” he agrees. “We can’t. I don’t know what his angle is, and that makes him dangerous at worst, unpredictable at best.”
The full weight of their exchange pins me to the couch more strongly than any male body, taking whatever they want from me. “You two live together now?”
Jason looks back, an unmistakable expression of sadness painted across his dark face. “They threw her out of the SST house. What was she supposed to do? Live on the streets? It’s not like you offered her a place to stay.”
The door closes behind them. Their judgment on my person reverberates in my ears long after their footsteps have faded from the hallway.
Lie: All’s well that ends well.
It’s not difficult to sneak into the party. As Kieran noted, I’m vague enough to be known but not so important as to be noticed.
On the surface, everything appears normal. People crowd around the keg in the kitchen. The countertop displays cheap bottles of alcohol for party-goers who don’t have a taste for beer, and the quintessential container of Jungle Juice is already half-drained. Phi Kappa has gone above and beyond for a seemingly random fall semester party. Streamers and balloons dot the ceilings. More students than usual crowd the house, gyrating to the latest songs which blare from the DJ in the living room.
Phi Kappa doesn’t typically have a DJ.
That, alone, is noteworthy.
I creep upstairs, bypassing the Jungle Juice in favor of recon. When I reach the president’s bedroom, where the last infamous poker game was held, all is dark and quiet. With the exception of the writhing bodies under the sheets—but I pretend I don’t see that. They certainly don’t notice me crack open the door between their moans of pleasure. I almost want to tape an anonymous note to the door, reminding them to lock it before fun time. Some things cannot be unheard.
Everywhere I look, nothing else seems terribly out of place. Rosie and Jason are nowhere to be seen, and though Kieran catches my eye once or twice, he doesn’t make any outward indication he’s noticed my presence.
So, that’s it, then. My former friends must have told him no. I relax a fraction, grab a cup of punch, and survey the scene for someone to talk to. Things have been strained at the SST house ever since Rosie’s bombshell. No one trusts me. I can see it in the looks in their eyes like they’re scanning me for potential to do them harm. They probably assume I knew all along. If I put myself in their shoes, I’d think the same thing. Rosie and I have been practically inseparable since we pledged. Which makes her lie of omission that much larger of a pill to swallow.
My first Panhellenic Council meeting went well, though. Instead of suspicious glares, I received hugs of support and camaraderie. The ladies of Wellbridge’s other sororities welcomed me with open arms and offers to talk it out if I needed to. It was like a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.
Talking about my problems isn’t on my agenda tonight, but I obviously need some new friends. People who won’t lie to me, stab me in the back, and use me for their own gains.
The thought of starting over from square one is exhausting. I barely had enough courage to come out of my shell freshman year. In a fit of righteous indignation, I march back to the kitchen, intent on a shot of something a little stronger to loosen me up. I’m a senior this year, damn it. I aced my MCATs; already gained admission to two medical schools and have plans for my future.
My so-called friends are liars. So, what? My sisters can’t stand the sight of me. Who cares?
Another cup of Jungle Juice and a shot of tequila down the gullet, and nothing else matters except the thrum of the bass in my stomach. Two more of these, and I’ll probably beg Kieran to take me to bed to blow off a little steam. Who needs self-respect, anyway? Not this girl.
“Tick tock, Emma. I’m not going to wait forever for your decision.”
I cut my gaze to the right to find Hayleigh daintily sipping her drink. She’s dressed in typical party attire for an SST sister—a cleavage-baring, glittery tank paired with a black mini skirt that hugs her hips like a second skin. I have no idea how she walks around in those four-inch heels when she’s buzzed, but I’m sure every guy in the house is only thinking about how those heels would feel digging into their asses while they fucked the prim and proper right out of her personality.
Ugh, again? Seriously? Why am I channeling my inner Jason so much these days?
“You never gave me a deadline.” My answer surprises even me. I’m not usually so bold. I guess a lot of things are changing these days.
She fixes me with a smile that would have sent goosebumps skittering down my arms at one time in my life. “Fine. I’ll give you a deadline. Tomorrow.”
Maybe it’s because of the alcohol, but her ultimatum is the last straw. I’m not going to invest another second of my time on lost causes. “Tel
l me something first, Hayleigh. Why have you treated me like a stranger all this time when we spent four years together in high school?”
In an uncharacteristic display of being flustered, she sputters on her mouthful of punch. “We most certainly did not!”
“Um, yes we did. You, Jason, and I all graduated from Sweet Valley High School in Sweet Valley, New York. The three of us were in the same class, even.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She smooths down her shirt, probably checking for stray droplets of spit. “I don’t even know anyone named Jason.”
Seriously? I get it if she doesn’t remember me, but who could possibly not remember Jason? Even the jackasses who threw food at him in the cafeteria knew his name.
“Okay,” I hedge. I’m not sure why she’s denying it except maybe acknowledging she’s familiar with the scariest guy on campus would be a blight on her otherwise picture-perfect life.
Great. Now I sound like Rosie.
I study Hayleigh. Really look. Beyond the glittering clothes, perfectly styled hair and makeup, I have no idea what makes this woman tick. She’s a business major, but I don’t know what her goals are in life. It’s jarring to think after four years of being in the same sorority, we’re as much strangers now as we ever were.
Could Rosie be right? In my own selfish desire to be like her, have I never really tried to understand her?
Maybe I’ve been the bad friend all along.
Well. No more of that. I can’t change how others treat me, but I certainly have control over myself. I’m definitely not going to judge Hayleigh as evil without knowing anything about her.
“How are you enjoying the party tonight? It seems like the guys went to a lot of trouble for a random drunk fest. It’s weird.”
As if confirming my suspicions since I’ve never allowed her to get close to me, Hayleigh’s eyes widen in shock. “It’s a nice party. Things feel off, though, I agree.”
