[The Social Experiment 01.0] The Social Experiment

by Addison Moore

  Instead, I’m only steps away from ground zero, the psychology department that houses that coward that has this entire campus in a sexual tizzy.

  “Sophie!”

  My foot hits the first marble step that leads to the building, and I freeze.

  “Sophie.” Braden pops up and snags my backpack from me. We share the same dark hair and hazel eyes, but Braden has some indiscernible features of my mother’s buried in his face, and it both charms and alarms me each time I see him. The backpack thing is a spine-breaking habit that he initiates each time he sees me on campus. Usually I’d snatch it right back and lecture him on treating me like a six-year-old, but I’m ironically tongue-tied at the moment. “Where you off to? You got a class this late?” He winces toward the Gothic looking hall with its thirty-foot arches and limestone walls covered with those offensive orange posters falsely advertising that a love connection could be yours today! It’s pretty clear no marketing majors utilized their gray matter in the making of the Social Experiment’s ad campaign.

  “No, actually, I was just about to meet some friends for an early dinner at the Underground.” I jerk my head oddly toward the building. “Just running in to use the bathroom.” Lying to my brother? I swore on my dead mother’s grave that I wouldn’t be one of those girls who ran around behind her brother’s back. In fact, I scoffed at the idea, even went as far as to roll my eyes at the lunacy. What would I ever have to hide from Braden? My big bro and I are close, and I intend on keeping it that way. In fact, when Mindy jumped the BFF ship, Braden stepped right into her place—sort of. Mindy and I were far closer, but Braden does his best to fill in the gap. Admittedly, there are a handful of hygienic-based topics one does not ever wish to broach with her own brother.

  “Good.” Those serious eyes of his narrow over mine accusingly. “For a second there, I thought you were diving in to get your name on that ridiculous list.” He shakes his head at a gaggle of girls who just meandered from the mouth of the building as if judging their questionable ethics. And according to their short little skirts, their tight-fitting sweaters, and tall furry boots, they’ve dressed to impress someone. That someone is most likely Dexter Houston himself. His minions are still setting out their nets, trying to trap as many unsuspecting tight-sweater-wearing coeds as possible.

  “Who me? Never!” Lie number two spills like oil. “I can’t imagine being desperate enough to give away your license to find someone on your own and rely on a hard drive to lead you to true love.” I honk out an obnoxious ha! “More like true herpes. I heard opening day was nothing more than a mass sweep to first base. Disgusting if you ask me.” I shove my finger down my throat and mock gag. “Don’t people around here have better things to do than consensually gift one another communicable diseases?” Shit, shit, shit! I’m laying it on too thick. I can practically see his bullshit radar going up. I try to navigate us the hell away from that infernal hot spot, but Braden steps in front of me.

  “I thought you had to use the restroom?” He’s back to squinting at me, only this time he looks unsure of what to make of me. In this case, confusion is a good thing. Mostly. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

  “In there?” I gawk back at the building as if it were a house of horrors. “In hindsight, I’d best hightail it back to my dorm. I’m a sitter, not a squatter. And God only knows what they’re cooking in those petri dishes they call toilets.” So not a lie.

  “Geez.” Braden thankfully laughs off my madness. “I’m glad I caught you. It’s Becca’s birthday this Saturday, and I wanted to invite you to dinner.”

  “Dinner? Like in the evening?” As in after my mandated playdate with Rowen Garret’s mouth? Not that I have any intention on showing up to that oral meet and greet. Rounds one and two have offered plenty of fodder to supply my fantasies for years to come. And believe you me, I will be coming for years.

  I openly cringe at the idea that rather raunchy thought just crossed my mind as I stared my own brother down to his face. As much as I’m loath to admit it, Rowen still reigns supreme when I’m left to wander freely my filthy imagination.

  “Yes, like evening,” he teases while giving my hair a quick tousle. “I thought we’d head over to Pinewood Steakhouse around five. Her parents and brother will be there—Tanner Carmichael.” Braden shoots me with his fingers while twisting his hips in an odd little dance. “Come on.” He taps me over the arm. “Dad said he’d try to stop by. It’ll be fun.”

  Just the mention of Tanner Carmichael has me shuddering. First and foremost, Tanner is no selling point. But I don’t bother letting my brother in on this little awkward tidbit. Tanner is nice for the most part, but there’s just something unsettling about the way Braden and Becca have been trying to set us up as of late. I realize it’s his sister’s birthday party, but in the back of my mind a warning light is going off, alerting me to the fact this birthday bonanza might just play into their grand scheme of pushing the two of us together. And the fact that Dad will “try to make it” can easily be explained away by the fact Stan and Clarissa Carmichael—aka the duo genetically responsible for my newfound Tanner Carmichael aversion, are obnoxious to a fault. It’s no wonder my poor father tries to duck and roll every chance he gets. Ever since my mother’s passing, he hasn’t had much of a social life, and when he does, it often involves his dog and a beer.

  “I’m sure it will be loads of fun.” I don’t bother curbing the sarcasm around my big bro. “Will Granny Panties be there?” About six months ago, Clarissa challenged my father to test drive one of her newly single friends. Who the hell sells someone on a date with the words test drive? You test drive cars, not people. And ever since my father copped to the potential dating test drives—which he’s successfully avoided—I’ve envisioned this newly single woman in the form of reliable yet cringe-worthy cotton underwear, thus the moniker Granny Panties was born.

  “No.” He folds his arms across his chest and rains his disappointment over me the way only big brothers can do. “Be nice. And be nice to Tanner.” His lip twitches in that weird way that it’s prone to do when he’s keeping vital precious info from me.

  “Why do I have to be nice to Tanner? Honest to God, Tanner doesn’t need me to fill his plus one slot. He’s on the Bixby football team. He’s a baller. Everyone knows all you need to score a touchdown in the bedroom these days is a team-issued jersey.” Tanner isn’t exactly the sole reason Braden and Becca defect from their soon-to-be alma mater to watch our crosstown rivals play, but he’s their first excuse. The real reason is that neither Braden nor Becca wants to cheer as Rowen dominates the field time and time again. Braden despises his old best friend. And Becca? Well, she took a ride on that Colossus when it was still giving solo expeditions, so there’s that. Becca was Rowen’s plus one for as far back as I can remember.

  Braden clicks his tongue in disgust. “Can you like buy a filter for that thing? The last thing I want to discuss with you is a touchdown in the bedroom.” He wipes his face down with his hand as if that act alone could make my carnal mind disappear. “Look, Tanner might have been asking about you lately. Be warned. There might be a very real invite for coffee lurking around the corner.” He shrugs it off. “Again, be nice.” He walks backward on his way off campus and nearly eats it in a planter box. “Dinner Saturday night!”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” I will find a way to miss it.

  As soon as Braden is out of sight, I hightail it back to the psychology department, but the double door entry to the official TSE headquarters is sealed shut with a bright orange sign that reads Looking for LOVE? Be here, starting at 8:00 a.m.!

  Perfect. Just as destiny would have it, I’ve missed my chance to excise myself from those edit reels and to tell Dexter Houston where he can shove them.

  Crap. But deep down, I’m well aware that the only thing I’m really missing is my dignity.

  That lava hot kiss comes back to haunt me, and, truthfully, I’d gladly trade what’s left of my faux honor for one last venture in Rowe
n Garret’s mouth.

  The Underground Tavern is teeming with girls in short, tight everything, far too much lip-gloss, and too little cleavage coverage for me to feel comfortable. But, that being said, the nachos are begging me not to judge their inevitable yumminess upon the company they keep, so here I am. As soon as I stepped inside, I spotted Vi and Ember at a table near the back, which is perfect because I begged them to find somewhere quasi-clandestine in the event I spotted Leland University’s favorite roller coaster god stroll in with a hussy on his—

  A hard body knocks into mine, and I jump back in time as he spills his beer between us. We glance up at the same time, and our shocked expressions turn to horror.

  Rowen and I stop shy of any I’m sorries we might have otherwise doled out, or the polite excuse me we would have afforded a total stranger. Instead, we linger like that a few shell-shocked seconds too long. After all these years, here I’ve bumped into Rowen Garret twice in one week. Those pale gray eyes sit wide as dinner plates. That dark, thick hair makes my fingers ache to run right through it—don’t get me started on those full, soft lips. And just like that, he gives a partial nod and ducks on out of the bar as if nothing ever happened. As if his mouth hadn’t been fused to mine for several erotic minutes just less than seven days ago. As if he never knew me at all.

  Stunned, I head back to where Vi and Ember sit with matching grimaces.

  Vi swallows hard. “I’d ask how your day went, but I think I just observed the shit-fest for myself.”

  Em slides her ice water my way. “That was brutal. No lube, just bend over so I can humiliate you one more time. You’d think he would have penned your tonsils a thank you note by now. Asshole.”

  I toast her with the glass of ice water, seeing that I’m actually at a loss for words for once—and in desperate need of a cool down as I chug it back as if there were an entire choir of frat boys chanting me on.

  The waitress comes by, and we put in our orders—a trio of nachos. It’s not that we’re averse to sharing a plate as much as it is we’re honest enough to each pony up for our very own feast. That’s one of the things I like best about Vi and Ember—they’re foodies, like me.

  “So, what’s your next move?” Vi flips a loose strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the gold chandelier earrings I’ve been dying to borrow. I’m thinking they’ll look particularly good on Saturday while I stare at the wall wondering why the hell I didn’t triple dog dare myself to shove another part of Rowen’s body into one of my free orifices.

  A quick heat spikes through me. “I’m contacting Dexter’s rat lab in the morning and canceling all future appearances. I refuse to star in their slut shaming show. Besides, it occurred to me I might actually kill my brother if I let this farce go on. But judging by the way Ro-the-Man-Ho just slighted me at the door, it doesn’t look like he was up for another round of kiss and tell.” I make a face, and I can feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. Just the thought of such a harsh rejection makes me want to run all the way back to Canterbury Hall and burrow under the covers. I’m usually not one to cry into my pillow. I’m more the throat punch, claw their eyes out type of girl, but in this case a soggy pillow might just be the only resolution. Besides, the entire Cougar cheer squad might come after me if I inadvertently, on purpose take down their star player.

  The nachos show up in record time, only to affirm the fact my appetite took off right along with Rowen.

  “I heard”—Vi’s eyes enlarge as she stares down her dinner—“that if you’re a no-show, they’re required to inform your matchup that you’re no longer interested.”

  “Why’s that?” I’m only vaguely interested at this point.

  “Something to do with legal.” She looks to Em for assistance, seeing that she’s prelaw. Not that prelaw actually means anything. Everyone knows that prelaw is nothing more than a state of mind.

  “It’s a cease and desist.” Ember nods as if she has this on good authority.

  “I guess it makes sense.” My wheels are turning, and, for once, I happen to like the direction they’re headed in. “That way both parties are fully aware there’s no longer a reason to pursue one another.” This is something I can work with. “I’m pretty sure Rowen won’t be showing up to the kissing booth this weekend.” I can’t even bring a faux smile to my face for that one. Sure, he’s an asshole, but that doesn’t mean I want him to outright reject me. “I’ll show up.”

  Both Vi and Ember choke on their cheesy next bite.

  “Relax.” I slide Em’s water back her way. “He won’t be there, so all tonsil hockey awkwardness will fully be off the table.”

  “Then why go?” Vi’s eyes glitter with tears on behalf of my impending humiliation.

  “Because someone from Dexter’s evil lab will report this little tidbit back to my favorite jockstrap. And if he has a beating heart in that dark cave of a chest, he’ll feel like a turd. That will be my parting sucker punch. He probably doesn’t think I’ll show either.”

  “I see.” Ember nods into my impending lunacy. “He’ll be eating a shit sandwich once he realizes he was the ass in the equation. And if he does have an ounce of humanity, he’ll hate himself for standing you up.”

  “One can only hope.” For a moment, I envision him kicking over furniture once he realizes the devastation he might have caused. Once upon a time, Rowen had a heart of gold and wouldn’t dream of tormenting a single soul. He was the type of guy that went out of his way to make sure the shy kid at school had someone to talk to. No matter what your social standing, it was safe to say that Rowen Garret had your back. That is, until he dumped his girlfriend and gave your entire family the finger. “Anyway, as much as I want to be the one doling out the rejection, I think doling out the guilt trip is just as sublime.”

  “Oh my God!” Vi gasps and practically ducks behind me.

  “Relax, it’s not you I’m rejecting.” I scoot back, trying to assess how badly I’ve emotionally damaged my new friend.

  “Not that.” Her fingers squeeze my arm at Mach 5. “We need to leave asap.” She digs some cash out of her purse and tosses it onto the table as if it were confetti.

  “What’s the matter?” Ember does a quick glance at the establishment and comes up empty. “Is this about Sophie refusing to take a ride on the Colossus?”

  “Would you shush?” Now it’s me shooting a suspicious glance around as we scamper toward the exit.

  Vi yanks both Em and me past the wall in the foyer and gives a careful one-eyed look back into the bar. “That’s him.”

  “That’s who?” I look in the general direction at a trio of guys, each with a dark cap of hair and various L.U. sweatshirts on. It’s amazing how much school spirit abounds, and we’re just getting out the gate in the school year. I don’t ever remember being so gung-ho about wearing any apparel emblazoned with my high school mascot—the big horny looking pirate—but now that I’m at Leland, I suddenly have Cougar fever right along with the rest of the student body.

  “Lame,” she whispers so low it’s hardly audible, but both Ember and I gasp.

  “What?” I squawk so loud she swats me over the arm. “What’s he doing here? I bet he’s scoured the entire campus looking for you.”

  “He goes here.” It comes out depleted.

  “You didn’t say he was at Leland!” I’m panicked for her. For one, I predict many more run-ins with Lame. And two, he goes to Leland! Vi made it sound as if he were on an entirely different planet.

  “Which one is he?” I whisper. All three of the boys who have bellied up to the bar are handsome in their own way—the first a little too frat boy for my liking, the second a sad looking case with the perennial look of brooding painted on his face, and the third a beefed-up, angry looking dude guaranteed to belch as he passes you in the hall.

  “The one in the middle.”

  “Ah, the brooding lovelorn lad.” I pause a moment to take in his inherent godlike looks. “If it makes you feel better, he seems about as misera
ble as you are.”

  Ember gives the back of my leg a kick. Sometimes a little too much truth among friends calls for a remedial level of violence.

  “Good.” Vi huffs a dull laugh. “If he’s half as miserable as I am, then I’m more than satisfied with the outcome of our demise.”

  “At least you’re in a healthy frame of mind about the shithole you’re in,” I say as Em kicks me again, and the three of us head out into the waiting arms of the icy cold world. We head back into the general direction of Leland, walking slower and less enthused than when we first started out.

  “You know”—I wrap an arm around Vi and Ember as we cross the street—“I never came to Leland expecting to find true love, but I was sort of hoping to find a few good friends, and I think I’ve already done that. I just want you guys to know that this semester couldn’t be off to a better start.”

  Vi and Ember share a quick glance before sputtering into one of those repressed choo-choo train laughs that progressively grows in its obnoxiousness.

  “What’s so funny?” I do a quick roll call of all the liquids we imbibed at the bar, and not one of them was of the obnoxious laughter inducing variety, which can only mean one thing—the obnoxious choo-choo train laughter is aimed directly at me.