by Kata Čuić
“If I was gay, someone deciding they were bi-curious wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me, but who am I to judge? Ro seemed happy, so we should be happy for her.” A muscle in his jaw twitches as he nods. His glazed-over eyes convey he’s really putting a lot of thought into the intricacies of sexual discovery.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fend off mental images of Rosie’s threesome. Nor do I want to imagine Jason receiving multiple blow jobs. Just because he claims he didn’t get laid doesn’t mean he didn’t get any action.
“Seriously?” The frustration in his voice prompts me to open my eyes only to find him glaring at me. “Five minutes ago, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, and now you have nothing to say?”
“There’s nothing left to say,” I grind out. I refuse to let him see me cry. That’s not part of saving myself.
“Fine.” He rises, stretches his powerful limbs, then paces the small space of my kitchen. “I’ll talk, and you listen for a change.”
He pauses long enough to direct a leveling scowl at me, but I don’t move a muscle. My lack of response only seems to irritate him further.
“What the fuck are you thinking? Huh? You’re jeopardizing your entire future, and for what? This isn’t even your fight! I tried to handle it, but no. That wasn’t good enough for you. What if you didn’t cover your tracks as well as you think? Did you ever stop to consider you could lose your spot at medical school if this goes haywire? If you are linked to this in any way, you could lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
Everyone has something to lose. Kieran’s words echo in my mind.
“Are you even listening to me, Emma Jo Hastings? This is not the time for your girlish daydreams! What you’ve gotten yourself involved in has real-life consequences! This isn’t a game!”
I blink several times. Who is this guy? I’m well aware Jason doesn’t usually say much, but he sounds more like…
“You’re not my father. You don’t get to use my full name and tell me what to do. You sure as hell don’t get to lecture me.”
A thread of hope brightens his nearly black eyes. “You’re right. I’m not. I will call your parents and rat you out if that’s what I have to do to keep you out of this, though.”
Shit. He totally could, too. We have our mother’s numbers programmed into our cells since we usually drive home together for long weekends and winter breaks. They insisted upon it for safety’s sake when we first hatched the idea, freshman year. Saving our parents extra trips and gas money suddenly seems like a trap I never expected. Then again, I never expected any of this.
I pull a page from my co-conspirators’ books. If everyone else can use blackmail to leverage their advantage, then I can, too. “If you call my parents, I call yours.”
Jason hesitates just long enough to study me, then promptly calls my bluff. “No, you won’t. You don’t even know my mom’s name. You wouldn’t want to shatter her belief I’m her little angel. You’re too much of a people pleaser.”
He makes a fair point. We share rides, not lives. I’ve never met his family, just as he’s never met mine.
His last comment rubs my already blistered skin raw enough to fight back, though. “My mom wouldn’t believe you, either. Because I’m a people pleaser, she calls me her little ray of sunshine. Why would she take your word over mine? She doesn’t even know you.”
A sinister smile spreads over his lips. His expression makes me feel caged more than if he physically did so with his body. “Apparently, she does. You talk to her about me all the time.”
His smug tone shatters my restraint. “Why do you even care? If I’m such a selfish bitch, then why aren’t I just another pawn in your revenge scheme? You should be ecstatic at the prospect of me risking my future for your stupid fights. Why not let me get what’s coming to me?”
He hauls me up from the floor, shaking me in his grasp like he did the night he admitted what he really thinks of me. “Because you’re supposed to be better than the rest of us, damn it! Because you keep trying when others retreat with their tails tucked between their legs! Because you don’t belong in this world of misfits!”
There it is again. That implication I don’t belong. For whatever reason, he’s set me on a pedestal I’ve never been able to attain. Whether with my sisters or with my so-called friends, I’m nothing more than a leaf on the wind, unable to find purchase anywhere unless someone takes pity on me, anchoring me to their sides until they’ve had their turn with me only to release me back into the storm.
No. More.
I shake free of his hold, my chest heaving like a windblown shard of glass should. “I’d rather freeze with the misfits than burn with fake friends. But, you wouldn’t know anything about that.” I position my face as close as I dare to his, breathing every word like a reign of fire. “You. Don’t. Know. Me.”
“No.” He steps back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I guess I don’t.”
Finally. Something we can agree on.
Lie: There’s no such thing as bad luck.
“I thought you weren’t interested in amateur boxing?” Lisa ropes me into a hug, sloshing a bit of her punch on my shoulder.
I’m aware enough to realize I’m damp but drunk enough not to care. “You know how it goes. I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
Her eyes light up as she glances at the equally inebriated party goers around us. “Oh? Who’s the lucky man?”
I thumb over my shoulder to where I’m sure Kieran has eyes trained on me. In the interests of forcing Jason’s hand, I’ve been brought here against my will. Extra leverage, I assume. If Jason doesn’t show up, refuses to fight, or worse—purposely loses—my presence will make the news of my loose lips that much more tangible. Kieran will have a fight and make money tonight, one way or another.
I don’t know which scenario I’m hoping for, but I am completely certain I don’t want to be sober for whatever happens. Hayleigh didn’t get an invite for tonight’s main event, so at least I don’t have to worry about her wrath if my behavior strays outside acceptable limits.
“Hmm.” Lisa’s lusty gaze roves over Kieran’s sulking form. “As easy on the eyes as he is, I thought Kieran King didn’t date. He’s never been seen with a female friend in all his time on campus.”
“Oh, trust me. He doesn’t. A little romp in the sack isn’t against his personal code of conduct, though.”
She snickers, giving me her full attention once more. “My, my, my, Emma. You are a much naughtier girl than I first assumed.”
Yep. That’s me. Naughty is my middle name.
Since I’m here and feeling particularly loose, might as well work with what I’ve got. But first, more punch. I refill my cup, then return to Lisa’s side. “Did any of the other girls try to get in?”
She snickers into her cup. “Tara from Tri Sig house did. Even offered to blow the doorman in exchange for entry. I was actually surprised when he refused.”
That amount of loyalty must cost Kieran a pretty penny. If he’s divvying up his profits in so many directions, it shouldn’t be a surprise he’s desperate to make more.
“I’m just getting a drink! For fuck’s sake, lay off!”
Like the Pied Piper of Wellbridge, a trail of giggles follows in Jason’s wake as he wends his way toward the kitchen.
“Ooh,” Lisa moans as she surveys the scene. “Sexy and surly. Just the way I like ‘em.”
I don’t blame any of the panting women for falling at his feet. If Jason wants to keep them at bay, he should put a shirt on. Then again, his near nakedness is a great ploy to keep the testosterone from spiking too early. The pheromones in the air drown out any potential for violence. I couldn’t have planned the pre-game festivities better myself.
His eyes widen when he sees me, chugging my Jungle Juice. “You,” he mouths while beckoning with his finger. “With me.”
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” Lisa squeezes my arm so hard there will undoubtedly be bruises tomorrow.
“Mama’s gonna get spanked tonight!”
I don’t bother telling her he’s ordering me to his dungeon. It’s far funnier to watch the train wreck. The rest of Jason’s face turns red enough to match his port wine stain when Lisa sidles up to him, then runs a hand over his bare chest.
She’s not kidding. She really does want him, and she doesn’t even care how, when, or who might watch. I’d say her behavior is pathetic, except that was me once upon a time.
Kieran hands me another drink. “I’d tell you to stop poking the bear but making him angry is a smart move. He’ll take it out on his opponent like he always does. You’re turning out to be more useful than I ever imagined.”
Naughty. Useful. Incapable.
Pretty soon, I’ll have enough adjectives attached to my name to fill a resume.
I can see it now: Dr. Emma Hastings, useful for healing naughty sex mishaps; incapable of maintaining a straight face while diagnosing your penile fracture.
The thought of breaking Kieran’s penis makes me smile. I suddenly understand the appeal of revenge. Cementing his faithfulness to the love of his life for a few months would taste so sweet.
Snapping fingers in front of my face startle me from my reverie.
Jason leans dangerously near to my mouth, sniffing. It reminds me of the night I did the same thing to him. “Great. You’re drunk. Now, I’ll have to find you a babysitter, so you won’t get into any more trouble during the fight.”
“I’m an excellent babysitter. She’ll only get into as much trouble as she wants with me.” Kieran laughs, then places an arm around me which Jason promptly removes.
He gets in my face again, his gaze darting between my eyes rapidly enough to make me dizzy. “Are you fantasizing about sucking his dick?”
Mmm. Sucking. I can almost taste the gooey center of my favorite cheese Danish. If I squeeze my eyes shut, it’s so easy to envision licking crumbs from my fingers.
My panties are definitely wet with that fantasy.
“All right, Sunshine. You’re coming with me.”
I’m floating, buoyed by solid warmth. If this is what being in trouble feels like, remind me to bathe in Danishes forever.
“How much did you drink already?”
That question does not warrant a response. Jason’s stupid alpha-male growls do not get to intrude on my happiness. Just because he makes the Danishes doesn’t mean he gets a place in my fantasy.
He’s the stupid asshole who talked about me behind my back with my best friend who wasn’t really because I was only a replacement for the BFF she wanted but couldn’t have when Hayleigh rejected her for being gay. I wouldn’t have rejected her, even though I’m a little hurt she didn’t find me attractive enough to hit on, but she never gave me that chance. He’s also the insufferable asshole who let me use him for emotional comfort after being a fuck toy when I never had a chance to be anything more because, once again, I was only a replacement for the woman Kieran can never have since she died under God only knows what circumstances. He’s the total asshole who threw away my friendship even though I spent two years of my high school life wishing I could be more like him and not care what people thought of me. Assholes like him don’t deserve hero worship. I tried my best, but my best is never good enough, and I’m so tired of trying to fit in because I don’t fit in anywhere. Not with the cool kids, not with the misfits. And thank God, I’m blowing this popsicle stand for med school in Boston next year because I’ve been lied to, fucked over—literally—and played for a fool, so if I want to be in a committed relationship with cheese Danishes for the rest of my life, then I’ve earned it, damn it! They are the only perfectly delectable things that have never hurt me, used me, or made me feel like a complete failure.
“This asshole will make you two dozen Danishes tomorrow morning if you promise to calm down, drink some water, and stay in this room.”
Sultry laughter floats to my ears. It might be me, though, because…yum, pastries I haven’t shoveled down my gullet in too long. If being a Danish addict is wrong, I don’t want to be right. I don’t even care about my pudgy, not loveable status anymore.
“Only you would be licking the most wanted man on campus because you’re hungry and not because you’re aroused.”
“You think this is funny?”
“It’s hysterical.”
“Her tongue is giving me a boner, and I have to fight in twenty minutes. I can’t afford any distractions. Don’t let her leave this room.”
“Isn’t it funny how this all began with you jerking off to a similar scenario?”
“Shut up, Ro. I’m not in the mood.”
“I’m not taking care of her. I want to watch the fight and get laid.”
“She took care of you when you were piss-ass drunk at the first fight.”
“So? She only cares enough to keep her precious conscience clean.”
“Maybe you should decide if you want someone who cares about you or someone who pities you. You can’t have it both ways. Trust me when I say, you don’t want it both ways.”
A beat of silence fills my ears.
“Is that why you love her? Because she cares about you?”
“No. I care about her because she’s never pitied me.”
Hmm. Are pity and caring really all that different? Don’t we pity those we care about when they’re faced with awful circumstances? Or, do we care about people because we pity their unlucky lot in life?
“You’re as selfish as Kieran. Neither of you deserves her. You know that, right?”
“What can I say? Birds of a feather flock together. He had his chance and blew it. If I could keep her away from all of us, I would.”
“Are you gonna fight or let some pussy be your downfall?”
“Fuck off, King.”
Whoa. Stereo. Where did my Danish bath go? I want it back. This random chair is neither warm, comforting, nor making me happy.
“Go. I’ve got her.”
“You sure?”
“I guess it’s time to stop pitying myself and care, isn’t it?”
“We might be fuck-ups, Ro, but there’s hope for us yet.”
“Stop talking like Emma. You’re gonna make me throw up, too.”
“Maybe she’s sunshine enough for both of us.”
I’m going to be sick.
Lie: Fake it ‘til you make it.
“Emma. Wake up. We need to talk.”
Maybe if it didn’t feel like the Wellbridge University drumline was pounding through my brain, I’d be more agreeable to the request.
“That was smart. Using yourself as one of the reveals this week. It will make people less likely to suspect you, even if you’re seen with Jason, Kieran, or me on campus.”
Sobriety hits me like a ton of bricks. Aching head and all, I reach for my nightstand to find… no phone.
Rosie hands it to me. “I didn’t want you to get puke on it.”
Last night comes rushing back to me at an alarming pace. Parts of it, anyway.
“I’m never drinking again.”
Comfortable laughter, the likes I haven’t heard in nearly a month, wraps me in its warm embrace. “Been there, done that, still wearing the t-shirt.”
I can’t think about that now. I have to make sure the texting service worked. Last week was a rookie mistake. If anyone asks to see my phone, and my admission to next week’s fight, the proof will be right at my fingertips.
I press the home button, then tap on the new text. Everything looks good.
Another win for Phi Kappa.
Reply YES to place your bet for next week’s fight. Include the dollar amount. Opponent will be Xavier Morrison, Zeta Gamma president.
Space is limited to watch the action. To enter for a spot, play a game.
Two truths and a lie:
Sylvia Greenlee got a nose job over the summer because she couldn’t breathe anymore.
Emma Hastings is a virgin.
Amber Meyers is the wrestling team’s personal masc
ot.
Reply with the correct number.
You will be notified of the time and location of the fight if your answer is correct.
“How do you pick the reveals?” Rosie reads the text on her own phone. “I’m surprised you’ve come up with what you have so far. They’re good. Really good.”
I shrug, trying to play off her scrutiny even though my skin prickles with discomfort. “I might not be part of the in-crowd, but I’m good at blending in and listening.”
“That’s exactly why everyone’s going to assume number two is one of the truths.”
“By design. All those wrong answers will cut down on the number of attendees next week.”
She’s impressed with my foresight. It’s written in the rise of her eyebrows, wideness of her eyes, and her mouth hanging open instead of blurting out another subtle insult.
Maybe it’s petty, but I’d rather keep the upper hand than give her another opportunity to screw me over. “Everyone will assume number one is the lie. It’s easy to believe the worst about people. Part of the modern human condition is lack of trust in the good of others.”
Rosie doesn’t respond to the obvious dig at her own behavior. She sprawls out on my bed, stretching. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you were still a virgin.”
The lie spears my chest. I bark out a laugh to make my heart beat again. “I’m twenty-two years old. The fact people will believe it’s true is just more proof that I’m not part of the popular crowd.”
“You know that phrase, ‘be careful what you wish for, you just might get it?’ It’s true.” Jason stalks into my room, looking like death warmed over. Without his birthmark, there would be obvious dark circles ringing his swollen eyes. Every step he takes looks pained, almost desperate. He throws a familiar white bag onto my lap before crawling over Rosie to collapse face-down on the pillow beside me. “Here are your Danishes. Don’t wake me for at least four hours.”
