by Kata Čuić
I nod, my eyes roaming over the other students in the house. “Right? Like, why is there a DJ tonight? Have you ever seen the guys decorate for a party before?”
“No way. That’s a serious violation of street cred. They could have their man cards revoked for such an infraction.”
Surprised laughter flows from me. Hayleigh actually has a sense of humor. Who knew?
She leans a bit closer, lowering her voice. “I’ve heard rumors something is supposed to happen tonight. I don’t know what, but the Phi Kappa brothers sent ‘special invitations’ to tonight’s party if you know what I mean.”
No. I have no idea what that means. I’ve never received a special invitation to anything other than initiation night for SST. And that’s probably only because the pledges are required to do so.
The alcohol I’ve consumed turns bitter in my stomach and not from being excluded. I know exactly what’s supposed to happen tonight. Apparently, my assumption from earlier is inaccurate. Rosie and Jason must be hiding until it’s time.
“Do a shot with me?” I offer in lieu of responding to Hayleigh’s statement. If I don’t change the subject, I’ll give myself away. Treating this like any other party is the only way I’m going to pass this test run.
“I don’t know.” Hayleigh frowns at the make-shift bar. “There aren’t many options. Most of those bottles are well drinks.”
“This is a frat party,” I laugh off her snooty undertone as much as possible with my hands shaking. “They’re not going to put out champagne for anyone who walks through the door.”
“I suppose you’re right. Which is why I prefer sorority events over fraternity parties. At least we ladies have classier taste in drinks.”
We also don’t open our houses to the entire campus, so we can afford to be choosier with our offerings. Of course, I don’t say that aloud to my sisterhood president.
“What are you making us?”
Finding vodka is easy in a frat house, but I’m also surprised to discover a bottle of Kahlua. There’s just enough left. “Mind erasers.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m not entirely certain I want my mind erased.”
Well, I do. Especially if what I think is going to happen will.
“How did you learn to make this?” Hayleigh stares suspiciously at the cup I hand her.
I shrug, trying to ignore the sting of rejection in the pit of my stomach. “Some friends taught me how to make a few different shots.”
Friends who never drank with me. Always separately, which explains why I know more than a few recipes. How different things might have been if they’d been open from the beginning. We could have had fun, the three of us. Drinking, laughing, playing cards. Being ourselves.
I guess being myself wasn’t good enough for them since I’m not in the same loser category they believe themselves to be.
“Well, cheers, then.” Hayleigh tosses back the shot like she’s done this before. Maybe she’s not so prim and proper beneath it all.
Wouldn’t it be fun to find out?
I don’t have time to savor the burn warming my chest. An overly excited, younger frat brother bursts into the kitchen.
“It’s time.”
Without any instruction, everyone rushes toward the door, carrying Hayleigh and me along on the wave.
“I hope this was worth it,” she shouts in my ear as we’re corralled down to the basement.
The scene already reeks of pandemonium. There are way too many people in this small space, crammed even tighter because the center of the basement has been essentially roped off by senior Phi Kappas. Everyone exchanges curious glances, completely unaware of what’s about to unfold. In all the pushing and shoving, Hayleigh and I are separated. I find myself floating in a sea of bodies as sweat breaks out over my skin.
As Kieran mentioned, a projection screen takes up one wall. No one else seems to notice the empty white light, but it draws my focus like a cat with a laser pointer. If Jason wins, what will it say? If he loses, is there a plan for that?
I let the swell of bodies carry me to a back wall, not caring if I have a front row seat. There’s not much more breathing room on the periphery, but at least I’m not getting an elbow to my stomach every couple of seconds.
Which is exactly why the hand that latches onto my shoulder with a Vulcan death grip makes me add a scream to the din of chaos in the air.
The other hand clamps over my mouth. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Rosie doesn’t usually drop f-bombs unless she’s drunk. As soon as she releases me from her prison hold, it’s obvious she’s wasted. She sways on her feet. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her clothes are askew.
That last item causes me to smirk at her. “Get a little pre-game action, did you?”
“If you call waking up twenty minutes ago, throwing some clothes on, and running here as fast as I could ‘action,’ then yeah.”
It strikes me as odd she hasn’t been holed up in the same location as Jason, helping him prep for the fight. Aren’t they thicker than thieves now, especially since they live together?
Rosie cranes her neck, trying to get a better view from our vantage point. “I still think this is a bad idea, but I’m kind of excited to see how it will turn out. Jason’s going to annihilate whoever goes against him, and then those bitches will have to pay the piper.”
The mention of Jason’s name raises my hackles, but I try to play it off. He lied, too. “I thought you were against money being involved?”
“I’m not talking about money.” Rosie rolls her eyes. “I’m talking about the big reveal at the end after Jason wins.”
“So, you found a way to be the source?” Strangely, it brings me a sense of comfort that she hasn’t been completely shunned on campus. I shouldn’t care after the way she lied to me, but…I do.
“No. But, I have three years’ worth of dirt stockpiled up here.” She taps her temple. “It might be out of date, though, so I don’t know if it’ll be worth anything. I’m banking on the show Jason puts on to carry this thing.”
For being against this circus from the beginning, she seems to expect it to be enough of a success to continue after tonight. It also scares me to think she’s remembered every confession anyone’s given her for the past three years. And then another terrifying thought hits me: what if she reveals something I said to her about Kieran? Many nights at the bar, I watered down my Irish Car Bomb as I confided in Rosie how much it hurt to be his dirty little secret.
“What-” I swallow down the ball of anxiety in my throat. “What are you going to reveal?”
I’m not stupid enough to think my name isn’t on Rosie’s hit list, too. She feels as slighted as I do, or she wouldn’t have called me selfish. Our stalemate reeks of a bitter break up.
“Don’t get your panties all in a bunch. You don’t have any secrets worth sharing.” She produces a flask out of nowhere and takes a hit before surprisingly handing it to me.
I’m not childish enough to turn down what she’s offering, especially since I need a distraction from knowing I’m not worth much. I’m not, however, mature enough to resist getting in my own jab. “If you want my lips to tangentially touch yours, you don’t have to trick me into drinking from the same container. You could always just kiss me and find out what you’ve been missing out on.”
Rosie’s sharp bark of laughter drips with as much sarcasm as I served up. “God. You sound like Hayleigh. I’d never make a move on a straight woman. That’s just wrong.”
My brain gives birth to a fabulous epiphany that steals my breath and obliterates my heart. “That’s what happened between you two, isn’t it? You came out to her during that winter break you spent together in the house. You thought she’d support you, but instead, she mistook your confession as coming onto her. She’s been disgusted by you, and you’ve hated her ever since.”
Had I known Rosie’s secret, I would’ve been able to put those puzzle pieces together much sooner. What really hu
rts is what comes after.
“And that’s why we became so close spring semester. I was your rebound after she rejected you.”
“That’s not true.” Her words might deny my accusation, but her inability to look me in the eyes confirms my suspicion.
Lies. Everywhere I turn, I’m surrounded by lies.
I’m not good enough to be Rosie’s first choice of friends. Sure, she took pity on me when we pledged, but it was clear I was a makeover project to her. At the time, I was grateful anyone cared enough to invest in me. Kieran says I’ll never replace his dead girlfriend in his heart, even though it’s completely acceptable for me to share his bed. And then, there’s Jason. He won’t talk to me unless he’s drunk.
Rosie’s right. What the fuck am I doing here?
Just as I turn to leave, Kieran’s voice booms through the crowded space. “Welcome to the first-ever Phi Kappa Fight Night!”
The volume of the spectators increases so drastically, I slap my hands over my ears to dull the racket. All I can see of Kieran is the top of his head in the middle of the makeshift ring. He has to wait several moments for the noise to die down enough to speak again.
“Anyone who wants to challenge our house stud has to put up the most money for the privilege. If you don’t have the funds, you’ll have to find sponsors. There will only be one fight per night. Once the opponent is announced, betting will begin. See any senior Phi Kappa to place your bets. All fighters must be cleared by me. Any questions?”
A burly guy I recognize from the football team shouts over the din, “I’m not putting in money until I see who I’ll be fighting. Wouldn’t wanna make one of you scrawny rich boys cry and have these people lose money on a waste of time.”
Though I can’t see him, I picture the same creepy smile on Kieran’s face as the night he announced this idea. “That’s fair. You can meet him now.”
The crowd parts as a lone figure stalks out from one of the side rooms. A non-descript gray hoodie covers his face, but from the few gasps of those closest to the action, they know who he is. When he makes it to the center of the ring to stand by Kieran, Rosie and I use each other as leverage to perch on our toes for a better view.
Slowly, almost as if he both dreads and relishes this part, Jason lowers the hood, exposing his face to the crowd. Just as jeers break out, he continues to disrobe until he’s wearing nothing but a pair of faded, ripped jeans.
Silence descends on the basement.
“Oh my God,” Rosie breathes. “I don’t even like dick but my panties are absolutely drenched right now.”
I can’t get my lungs working enough to respond, but I concur. All his time in the gym has paid off in dividends. Every inch of Jason’s torso is corded with thick muscle. He could give any of the football team, wrestling team, basketball team…hell, any team a run for their money.
It occurs to me I’ve never seen this side of him before. No matter how sweat-soaked after an hour on the weight machines, Jason always kept his shirt on. If Rosie lives with him, surely, she’s seen his glorious body before.
I don’t have time to grill her about it because all hell breaks loose. Suddenly, every guy in the room seems invested, pushing their way to the ring to front money for the chance to fight. Shouts and fists of bills rise over all the heads. Like in a dystopian novel about the patriarchy, the women are quickly shoved to the rear as the men charge for the front line.
It’s pure pandemonium.
Did Kieran plan for this? How is he supposed to figure out which guy has the biggest buy-in? There’s no order. Just a bunch of screaming and thrusting and money-throwing.
There’s too much jostling going on up front to have a clear view of either Jason or Kieran, so I turn to Rosie. “What’s the plan?”
“The plan?” She cocks her head to the side. “Jason kicks some ass, then we open the first circle of hell for the untouchables.”
Maybe she’s had more than enough from her flask. Her answer only remotely makes sense. “I mean, what’s the plan for keeping the crazy to a minimum? This is supposed to be a fair, one-on-one fight, remember? What if these testosterone-fueled gladiators don’t take no for an answer?”
She shrugs, obviously not worried about the chaos. “That’s what the senior Phi Kappas are for. They guard the ring.”
As if to prove my point, a brawl erupts. Ripples spread throughout the crowd as everyone gets pushed and pulled along with the punches being thrown. Just as quickly as it started, the brothers manage to end it. Two wrestlers are escorted up the stairs by a group of presumed enforcers.
The next voice booming over the din is too jovial to be Kieran. It’s the Phi Kappa president. “Ease up, folks. This is our first test run. We’ll get the kinks worked out if you’ll bear with us. For anyone not able to fight tonight, you’ll get your turn. A schedule will be texted to you at a later date.”
All my hopes for this to crash and burn before it gets started incinerate with the president’s promise. Judging by the number of guys vying for a spot, Jason will have to fight two or three times a week for the rest of the year. “How long does Kieran plan on making Jason do this? Do the Phi Kappas have anyone else lined up to take his place?”
Rosie tips her flask, then shakes it with a frown when she realizes it’s empty. “I guess Jason will do it as long as he wants. When he’s gotten all the pent-up aggression out of his system, he’ll quit.”
I blink at her, trying to guess if she’s serious or just too drunk to understand what’s happening. “Rosie.”
She jerks her attention to me, but it’s obvious whatever I say will float over her comprehension.
“They own him now,” I sigh. “You both wanted revenge so badly, you didn’t realize you were making a deal with the devil.”
She laughs in my face. “You already had a deal with Kieran, and the worst you got out of it was sex. I don’t think it’ll be a problem. He’s got it all figured out.”
So much for her stance on thinking this is a bad idea. I hope she comes to her senses in the morning when she’s sober.
It’s too late for Jason to back out now. Kieran shouts over the crowd, “Bidding for the fight is closed. Jason Gould will fight for Phi Kappa against Brett Williams from Tri Sigma House. You have fifteen minutes to place your bets.”
“Do you know him?” I hiss to Rosie. I can’t see anyone in the ring, so I have no idea what Jason’s opponent looks like.
“Hmm.” She taps her finger against her chin in an uncoordinated rhythm. “Sounds familiar, but I can’t place a face with the name. Doesn’t matter. Jason will win.”
Fifteen minutes ticks by surprisingly slowly when you’re terrified of what happens when time’s up. I’m not sure whether to weep with relief or terror when Kieran announces the start of the fight.
Not being able to see is both a blessing and a curse. While I don’t have to watch the violence, every grunt, each sound of a bone-crunching hit makes me wince. The longer the fight drags on, the more nausea builds in my stomach.
Thankfully, or not, the fight doesn’t last nearly as long as the betting.
“Phi Kappa wins this round!” Kieran doesn’t mention Jason’s name. He doesn’t say how the fight was decided. I’ve never been a fan of MMA or boxing, but how are those of us who can’t see supposed to know if Jason’s opponent gave up or is unconscious on the floor?
“If you bet on the winner, see me for your payout. The rest of you—get out. You’ll be notified of the next fight.”
Surprisingly, everyone follows orders. People begin trickling up the stairs as a new set of whispers circulate. I’m not sure what Rosie’s distraction was worth, but the entire campus will be talking about this new development well after tonight. I just hope they know not to speak of it in the open where a professor or worse, campus security, might overhear.
Jason is still the center of it all, and now, he has far more to lose.
If he feels better about being in control of why they’re talking about him,
it doesn’t show as he stalks back into his holding cell. Rosie and I exchange a quick glance before swimming upstream to follow him.
I’m pretty sure I have bruised ribs by the time we clear the doorway, but my aches are nothing compared to Jason. A steady stream of blood flows down his cheek and drips from his chin, splattering against his bare, sweaty chest.
Rosie heaves. Seconds before she releases all the alcohol she’s consumed, I thrust a wastebasket at her. Thankfully, her aim is better than I would have expected for her intoxicated state. She crumples to the floor but contains the mess.
One down; one to go.
Jason frowns as I examine his face to determine where the source of the bleeding is. “Jesus. Do I look that bad?”
Bingo. A small cut, right above his eyebrow. I dig in my pocket for the supplies I brought just in case this scenario played out. “What did you think was going to happen if you sustained a wound to the mutant parts of your face? Do you even understand what a vascular malformation is?”
He winces at my harsh tone, then grins. His teeth are stained red. “I wasn’t going to let him get any hits in but figured I should make it look like an even fight if we want anyone to sign up for next weekend.”
I glance around the room, recognizing it as the Phi Kappa tutoring lounge. The irony almost makes me laugh. I tug Jason to the desk chair, then shove him down, so I can get to work.
“What is that stuff?” He gestures with his chin to my supplies on the desk.
“Butterfly bandages and skin glue. They’re as good as stitches without the trip to the hospital, which you obviously can’t do.”
“Why not? If you think it needs stitches, I can walk to the ER.”
It takes every ounce of willpower not to slap him. “You really don’t get the magnitude of what you’ve done, do you? Underground fighting rings are illegal, especially when there’s money involved. You could be expelled from Wellbridge, arrested, face a civil suit from your opponent. The list is endless. How are you going to explain your injuries in the ER without incriminating yourself?”
