Greek: Best Frenemies

by Marsha Warner

  “A gap year?”

  “Katherine has a thing about sororities and popularity. It goes in cycles—and it’s true. I’ve seen the class pictures from the years we don’t hang on the wall, and they’re hideous.”

  “So it’s the natural cycle of life. Let it go. Be at peace with the universe.”

  “I can’t. This is not happening to ZBZ. Not under my watch. Rebecca is becoming sweetheart because ZBZ is the best and we’re going to win that blue ribbon, and I will sail out of here not leaving behind a loser house. The incoming freshmen deserve to be the best. It shouldn’t make a difference that they came in a few years after me!”

  “Yeah, um…are you sure you’re not taking this a little too seriously?”

  “What, you’re not concerned about your house? Or are you just never planning to leave?”

  “The spirit of KT will live on with or without me,” he said. “Kappa Tau exists because KTs exist. We accept this reality because it is, but there would be a hole if it was gone. It’s part of the patchwork pattern of space and time that we call the universe.” He grinned at her silence. “I’m thinking of majoring in philosophy.”

  “What happened to women’s studies?”

  “Still a possibility. I’m carefully weighing my options so that I can make the best choice at the right time.”

  When was the right time? was the question on her mind, but she didn’t want to press him on it. Not yet, anyway, so early in the evening. Cappie was a senior and this was his last semester—if he planned to graduate on time, he had to declare a major soon, and she had no idea what he had the credits for. Instead she changed the subject from Cappie’s major. “So, sorry again I forgot about our date. Things have been crazy around the house. Mostly because of the contest.”

  “What does it have to do with you, exactly? You were already sweetheart.”

  “And when I was nominated, Frannie campaigned hard for me. Now Rebecca’s nominated, and I’m campaigning hard for her. She’s my Little Sister. And maybe I don’t have a lot of influence at Omega Chi—”

  “Like that’s the end of the world.”

  “Hey, I know you’ve had your…differences…”

  “They bailed on us during a prank and got two of my brothers expelled. And no, I’m not forgiving them for that.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s the Omega Chi sweetheart competition. The sacred tradition of…however many years since CRU became egalitarian, which is a word a women’s studies major should understand.”

  “A possible women’s studies major. And Kappa Tau could have our own tradition. We could start one right now.”

  “Are you willing to serenade each individual sorority?”

  He kissed her. “Somehow, I think I would have to serenade only one.”

  She smiled but said, “Way to rig the contest.”

  “Yeah, and I should mention I was thrown out of choir in high school. Not for the quality of my singing voice. It was an unrelated incident involving skeet shooting.”

  “Skeet shooting?”

  “A complicated unrelated incident. But me singing—bad luck. I can’t really speak for the other KTs. You can speak for Rusty better than I can.”

  “Oh, God, Rusty.” She shook her head. Her younger brother was the most unlikely but possibly the most loyal KT, and Cappie’s Little Brother. “Yeah, he was more of a clarinet guy. And he had asthma. It was a really bad combination.”

  “Really? I pictured him as more of a flutist. I can’t send him down Greek row with a clarinet. If he was rushing, definitely, but he’s an active now.”

  “It’s not just the serenading. You present a rose to all the candidates—”

  “Can it squirt water? Or something worse than water?”

  “No, it has to be a real rose. A perfect rose. And there’s the ceremony—trust me, it’s not a KT thing.”

  “That, and I think if we had open nominations, there might be some strippers on that ballot,” Cappie admitted.

  “Are you ranking me with strippers?”

  “Hey, not all of them would be nominated by me. And this isn’t supposed to be rigged, right? I wouldn’t just nominate my girlfriend and call it a day. Just because Evan can get away with it—”

  “Evan Chambers didn’t nominate Rebecca just because he’s dating her. The house had to agree.”

  “So? He asks the Omegas to jump and they ask how high.”

  “I don’t think that’s how things go down there anymore. Didn’t he mention this when you guys were still secretly friends?”

  “Yeah, somehow he may have realized I wasn’t interested in Omega house politics. I don’t know how he could have reached that conclusion.”

  Casey was about to defend Evan, but her phone went off. “Sorry. ZBZ needs sugar.” She scrolled down the ever-increasing text message. “And flour. And cake mix. And…a new oven that bakes things instead of cooking them? I don’t think Abby understands the dials.” She looked up. “I have to go.”

  “Before they put up the Casey signal?”

  “Rain check?” She kissed him and took that to be his positive response. “Thanks.”

  “You can be my sweetheart without the contest,” he promised her. “Another time?”

  “Another time.”

  Cappie returned to the Kappa Tau house much earlier than he expected, and sans Casey. He had no choice but to grant her request for a rain check. Few students had the advantages of the wide-open schedule he managed as a KT, and Casey had always been a go-getter. It was one of the things he loved about her, even when she drove him completely crazy, and he sensed she might do it if he didn’t give her a wide berth with this sweetheart business. She took anything remotely related to her house intensely seriously, but she’d also started talking about graduation. So far Cappie had found no way to express the concept that things she regarded as important now, like sweetheart contests and baking cookies for a fraternity he had nothing but contempt for so that Rebecca Logan, whom she sometimes openly despised, could win a coveted but arbitrary award, were not things that would matter to her when she graduated. At best, she would laugh at how she spent her time during the best years of her life. At worst, she would become a successful, career-oriented woman who couldn’t believe she wasted her time on such nonsense. But, he reasoned, maybe it would be better to have her excited about ZBZ than pressing him about finding a major and graduating—even if it was nutty.

  He needed a distraction, and the house was quick to provide it. The den was unusually active for a nonparty night, in that guys were actually doing things—specifically, packing things into boxes. “Spitter.” He was glad to see Rusty poke his head around a corner. “Good to see you. I was getting tired of standing here and pretending I know what’s going on in my own house.”

  Rusty held up the box in his hands. Inside was a plaster chunk. “The remains of Vesuvius. What we didn’t bury or burn. We need to make room for the new flat screen.”

  “Whoa. Way to throw a milestone at me.”

  “Well, we kinda harvested anything worthwhile. Now it’s just the junk.” Rusty picked up the plaster and put it down again. The paint was smeared and the edges were melted. “The end of an era, right? And I thought it would end with the funeral, but it turns out the last pieces were still lying around. Now it’s up to the pledges to come up with something.”

  “Spitter, not every pledge class lives up to the monumental bar set by Vesuvius. Remember the tire swing? That was lame but not the worst thing ever proposed. You know what my pledge class tried to get away with? Personalized coasters. We had the crap hazed out of us.”

  “I’m pledge coordinator. I can get them to do something cool. I don’t know what it’ll be, but…”

  “What are their majors?”

  “They haven’t declared, but none of them are taking math or science classes, unfortunately.”

  Last year’s pledge class at least had Rusty, who could have done the project himself if he wanted to. In fact, he tried to, bef
ore insisting that the others help him and include him in their social group, which had somehow formed without him. In other words, it was too much pressure to put on the pledges. It took a real engineer to create something like Vesuvius, a gigantic mountain of plastic and foam that spurted beer from its geyser, and the only real engineer in Kappa Tau was Rusty.

  While Cappie was musing on this particular conundrum, Pickles descended the stairs and let out a cry of absolute anguish, as if he had seen a dead body or something. “Guys! What are you doing?”

  Rusty had a piece of foam, painted blue on one side, in his hand. “I think that should be obvious. We have to get rid of the last of it.” It was important not to actually say the name Vesuvius in front of Pickles, who for some reason was particularly attached to it.

  “We can’t do this. I mean, unceremoniously. We have to show proper respect.” Seeing he wasn’t winning the guys over, Pickles added, “With booze. You know, an Irish wake.”

  Thus, the Kappa Tau house found something far more interesting to do for the evening than merely clear trash away, and that was to dance drunkenly with the last pieces of Vesuvius. Cappie did his customary rounds until he realized he was accidentally doing the hora with a chunk of hard foam up on a chair, and he returned to sit on the steps, where Rusty was collecting actual trash.

  “We should do something,” Cappie announced. “For the house.”

  “You mean, the two of us?”

  “I won’t stop anyone else from helping. In fact, they should help. I’m not leaving this place without something cool to carry on my memory for generations to come, and the flat screen does not count, however flat it may be. I will not be remembered for high definition and the pores on newscasters’ faces.”

  “So you are graduating?”

  “Your sister gets to bug me with that question, not you,” Cappie replied. “Unless the fancy Gary Wyatt grant winner doesn’t have time for us cretins and the dump we call home.”

  Baiting Rusty with guilt was so easy. Rusty leaped at the concept, his eyes alight with a demand for approval. “No, I totally have time. I think I’ve hit a wall with the self-healing wire anyway. It might help, actually, to get something else going. Creative juices and all that. Count me in.”

  chapter three

  Rebecca Logan sat in the quad, enjoying the serenity of the afternoon on campus. Granted it was quite noisy, with the students racing to class, the trisexual (whatever that meant) alliance fliering the place and that crazy townie handing out pamphlets on his interpretation of the Book of Revelations and The Da Vinci Code to anyone who would come within five feet of him and his dirty trench coat, however accidentally. She was fairly sure there was some kind of restraining order on him. Maybe it didn’t apply to open spaces.

  Anything was better than the house, where the sisters had not yet moved on to the next bright-and-shiny thing. Casey and Ashleigh were keeping them on a steady course of excitement over the sweetheart competition. A few decibels higher and it would be more ear-damaging than her iPod turned all the way up during a Mariah Carey song.

  She’d made a detailed list in her mind of all of the more appealing audio options than a ZBZ soundtrack of overexcited sorority girls when Evan Chambers, her current boyfriend, appeared bearing coffee. The cheap campus Coffee Farm brand, but it was something. Mr. Moneybags was now Mr. Hobo-Bag-On-A-Stick, thanks to giving up his trust fund in a burst of youthful rebellion against his possessive and overprotective parents. Rebecca knew something about bad parenting by way of her own former-senator father and his prostitution-ring scandal that, to be honest, came as no great surprise to her. The biggest shocker for her was that she had to hear it from the media before he told her himself.

  Evan handed her a coffee. “Hi. Should I make some kind of comment about how down in the dumps you look?”

  “Please never use the phrase ‘in the dumps’ in front of me. Again, anyway.” But she did accept the coffee. She didn’t have to smile to show her approval. Rebecca didn’t smile unless she was trying to scare someone. “Why do you ask? I could be mad about anything. It doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.”

  “Well, you are spending time in the quad. That kinda qualifies for an insanity hearing. I thought they had a court order on The Da Vinci Code guy.”

  “I think you can have restraining orders only against specific people, not buildings. Not that I’ve ever had to file one…yet.” She seemed to hiss yet. As if it was destined to be in her future.

  “Maybe someone should buy him a copy of The Lost Symbol so he can change his material.”

  “I don’t want to encourage him. So, what’s up with you?”

  “With me? Same old, same old. Classes.”

  “You go to those?”

  “Unlike Kappa Tau, we do take academics seriously. If I didn’t go to class, they might kick me out of Omega Chi. As if they need another reason. And then there’s the secret, demeaning and off-campus part-time job I have to take the bus to because my car was repossessed.”

  “Are you asking for a ride?”

  “Did I add demeaning? Because I was sure I did. No. No, no, no. Definitely not.” Evan smiled in that oh-so-cute-puppy-dog way of his, his blond hair boyishly askew from the breeze. He sat down next to her on the bench. “At least at the current job, I can’t be fired for not smiling.”

  “You’ve been fired for not smiling?”

  “Those themed restaurants are pretty serious about it, it turns out. And also? The tipping is not what it should be for someone who has to wear suspenders.” He smiled when she smiled, however accidentally. “So, I do have to ask about the long face.”

  “I know. Apparently I’m supposed to look happy all the time, at least between now and the competition. Thanks for nominating me, by the way.”

  “Was that a thank-you or a complaint? Because I couldn’t tell.”

  Rebecca softened her tone. “I appreciate it. Everyone expected me to be nominated, so I don’t know what would have happened if I wasn’t. It’s probably good for the safety and well-being of whomever was in second that I did get the nomination.”

  “Nobody was second.”

  She took that as the compliment it was meant to be but didn’t comment on it. “Well, would it shatter your fragile ego if I admit I’m not sure if I want to be sweetheart?”

  “My manly ego can take it. Why?”

  “It all seems so unnecessary,” Rebecca said. “And needlessly formal, just because I need the prize to run for president or something—which I have yet to say I want to do. You know what they asked me to bake? Muffins.”

  “We like muffins.”

  “You better like them heart-shaped, because that’s how Abby’s making them. Oops, was I supposed to give that away? That I’m not actually baking or sending you guys gifts? I think Casey is forging my signature on the cards. Does that disqualify me?”

  Evan grinned. “Do you want it to?”

  She retreated. “No. I couldn’t deal with the backlash. It’s hard enough dealing with the front-lash.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, it’s not a big deal. I mean, it may be a big deal to your sisters, but it won’t be the day after you win—or, in some alternate universe, don’t win. The ceremony’s a week away, and it sounds like the rest of the house is taking care of all of your duties for you, so all you have to do is write a speech—which, again, it sounds like they will do for you. You show up in a great dress, look beautiful and have guys shower you with praise. Then you go home and bask in the glory. What could be bad?”

  “You haven’t been to the house. I mean, since yesterday.”

  “And from the sound of it, if I go over there I’ll be pelted with heart-shaped gingerbread cookies and walk out with a basket of things you would buy at the Body Shop. I’ll send a pledge to do that. I hate gingerbread but I have recently gained a new appreciation for free stuff.” He finished his coffee. “What I’m saying is, you’ve ridden out far worse than a competition in your honor. I
think you have what it takes.”

  “To be sweetheart.”

  “And to survive the nomination, it sounds like. So chill.” He rose and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re Rebecca Logan. You can handle it.”

  When he said it, he sounded sure. Rebecca wasn’t certain she agreed.

  Not to his surprise, Evan Chambers returned to the Omega Chi house to find the living room strewn with gifts—mostly baked goods—from the five nominees for sweetheart, or at least their respective houses. The girly offerings clashed with the male aesthetic of the living room—the oversized furniture, the emphasis on the television decorated with sports trophies and the masculine rug. Contrary to some of the other fraternities, the Omega Chis kept their house in tip-top shape, mostly due to the presence of pledges who could be ordered to do anything with a toothbrush, if need be, and the guy who kept the place up during the summer, paid by their dues.

  The house actives gathered in the living room while the pledges cleared away the gifts, leaving a temporary pile of red and pink wrapping paper near the garbage. Evan, still president despite his diminished status since the house found out he lost his trust fund, called the meeting to order. “Okay. The sweetheart ceremony is in six days and all of the nominees have been informed. I’ll open the floor for a discussion of candidates.”

  Grant, Calvin’s roommate, spoke first. “Natalie from Gamma Psi has a really shrill voice.” Her acceptance of the nomination had almost caused some ruptured eardrums. “I know it’s shallow, but I just wanted to put that out there.”

  “Okay, let’s not entirely devote this meeting to trash-talking the candidates, but we might as well get it out there,” Evan said. He knew how these things went. This was his fourth competition and the second one he’d been president for. “And yeah, the screaming was a little intense.”

  “I like Shelly,” Marco offered, discussing the Beta Theta Tau candidate. “She sent us a DVD of her dance recital.”

  “From high school?” Calvin, Grant’s boyfriend and Evan’s reliable Little Brother, chimed in.