“He offered, for the record, to do the robot project.”
“If you asked him to jump, he would ask how high, and you know it. Irresponsible…” The rest of her sentence became what would have been a stream of curses if she hadn’t stopped herself.
“Casey,” Cappie repeated, softer, but she would not be worn down by his boundless charm. Not this time.
“I’ve had a hard week, Cap. Really hard. Keeping the house in line and Rebecca from killing the house and then me, not necessarily in that order, and everyone was mad at me yesterday for not talking to Rebecca but how could they expect me to talk to Rebecca? She’s always hated me, and don’t tell me that hate’s a strong word because I know it is and that’s why I’m using it. And I finally get that all under control and come here, and you pull another one of your slacker stunts.”
“It’s not a stunt. It’s a break.”
“How can I expect you to stay motivated for anything if you can’t stay motivated for a simple paper that your grade hinges on? And I can’t write it off as you having a poor attention span, because your attention span is great if you want it to be, but I think you just don’t want it to be sometimes. And I can’t deal with this, Cap. Not right now. Not after this week, which isn’t even over yet. Just…not now.”
She turned on her heels—running shoes, to be more accurate—and left the house, leaving Cappie with his books and a forlorn expression that she managed to catch on her way out. Yes, she was being hard on him, but he needed it. That was what she told herself all the way back to ZBZ. Cappie would not disappoint her again, not if she had anything to do with it.
The problem was, he seemed determined to do so.
chapter ten
The next morning, Casey found Ashleigh a (somewhat) willing listener to her latest problem with Cappie and his inability to finish anything.
“No offense, but this is not, like, a huge surprise,” Ashleigh said as they walked to the university parking lot to collect Casey’s car. The campus was quiet, but it was fairly early in the morning—an odd time for them to be awake, but their mission was important. “Cappie is known for being a slacker. It’s his defining trait.”
“It’s not his only trait.”
“But it is defining.”
“I thought we agreed that you’d always indulge my need to see Cappie as upwardly mobile?”
Ashleigh shrugged. “You open the can of worms, I bring the whoop-ass. Wait, am I mixing metaphors?”
“I don’t know.” Casey was still angry from last night, but it was buffered by the blurriness brought on by the early morning and the sense of duty she currently had as she hit the lock button on her car keys. In the distance, they heard the car honk in response. “Okay, great, it was totally in this direction.”
“What did people do before car keys that made noises?”
“Remembered where they parked. Like people who had to remember people’s numbers more than once before cell phones programmed them in. You know, my mom called from a pay phone in Florida once and I didn’t recognize her voice. We had like a two-minute conversation before I realized who she was.”
“She didn’t introduce herself?”
“She’s my mom. She had expectations of competency.” They finally reached the car and climbed in. “The reception was really bad.”
“Sure. I believe you. Cappie?” Ashleigh redirected the conversation.
“He’s… I know I’m going to stop being angry with him whenever he does something redeeming. Which he’s really good at.”
“Yeah, but he thinks cleaning his room is a romantic gesture.”
“For him, it is. And don’t comment on how sad that is.”
“He is leaving himself wide open.”
“I know,” Casey admitted with a grumble.
They drove back to ZBZ, where Rebecca was dressed and armed with coffee but far less enthusiastic than they were. She did climb into the car without protest, but that was mainly because of the long discussion over dinner the night before. “I’m doing this to escape the others, just so you know. Because I can buy my own dress.”
“We don’t doubt it,” Casey said. “But you’ve never bought a dress for a sweetheart competition.”
“And this is a different skill set than selecting dresses for election-fundraiser parties and prom how? Because I was in heels while you were still wearing footy pajamas.”
“Hey, I took two years of tap and ballet,” Casey said. “The second year they switched us to heels.”
“I heard those wooden shoes ruin your feet,” Ashleigh said. “The ballet ones, I mean. Not that heels won’t ruin your feet.”
“It was at the local Y, not a Russian theater company. They were kiddie slippers. But the heels were serious business,” Casey replied. “And no, Rebecca, I am not for one second suggesting that you are not capable of picking out a suitable dress. I am suggesting that we are sisters and this is what sisters do. Go shopping.”
“At eight in the morning?”
“You want to get there before the other sweethearts do,” Casey said. “And they agreed to open early thanks to someone’s aggressive buying policy last year.”
There was only one serious dress shop in the town next to CRU, and to that Rebecca said, “I would never be seen in that Podunk town shop.”
“No, I mean me. When I was with Evan, I always had a fancy dinner or event that I had to dress for,” Casey said, then realized how awkward that was. Casey dated Evan when he still had his trust fund and unlimited cash, and Rebecca started officially going out with him after he gave it up to spite his parents. He could barely pay for dinner at a café. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what? Most people I meet in college aren’t going to be able to buy me stuff. And I don’t need men to buy me what I need,” Rebecca shot back, but not too harshly. She was a hell of a feminist when she wanted to be. “And by the way, I’m not wearing red.”
“Somehow, I knew you’d say that,” Ashleigh said triumphantly.
“Not every sweetheart wears red. Or pink. But some do. The pink people lose. I don’t know why they do it,” Casey said. “Maybe the poor lighting in the store.”
Aside from the occasional snipe at them, Rebecca was remarkably compliant—for her—during the shopping trip. Then again, she did like to look good. Of the available dresses, red and pink were out, and blue was ruled out for being too “opposite.” Rebecca emerged from the dressing room wearing a silver gown when Natalie and two Gamma Psis arrived, closer to the actual store opening.
“Oh, hi!” Natalie said, her voice layered with sarcasm in her excited greeting. “Getting your shopping done before the rush? Afraid the place might burn down before you can loot it?”
“As if there’s anything to loot,” Rebecca said. “And the Dress Barn clearly has their priorities straight, like paying electric bills and maintenance for their sprinkler systems.”
“Enough! Please.” Casey stepped in immediately. “Can we at least try to be civil to each other during the competition?”
“I suppose we can,” Natalie said, implying either both sororities or just her own, it wasn’t clear which. “As the Tri-Pis already have us beat for how low you can go.”
“Everyone’s always down on the Tri-Pis,” Ashleigh said. “I’m starting to feel bad for them.”
“Oh, you didn’t hear? This time, they’ve earned it. Though I assumed ZBZs have so much experience with scandal they would just sense it in the air,” Natalie laughed. “Pick up a copy of the daily paper. It doesn’t name names, but five minutes on CRU’s Facebook network will do that for you.” She grabbed a dress and entered the dressing room, flanked by her sisters, and her body language indicated she was going to refuse to answer any more questions.
“We have to get back to campus,” Casey said and looked at Rebecca. “I just decided that I really like silver.”
Rebecca crossed her arms. “Good, because it’s the only good dress in the shop. Not that Natalie could poach it—it wou
ld be three feet too long on that leprechaun.”
“I heard that!” Natalie shouted from behind the curtain.
Back at campus, they made a quick stop at the nearest newsstand for a free copy of the daily paper, where their question was answered in an anonymous editorial. Someone had been privy to the Omega Chi sweetheart competition “decision process,” which was filled with descriptions of petty bickering and the ridiculing of candidates for being “skanks” and “bitches” (the latter applying to Rebecca). To that accusation, which wasn’t spoken except for Casey reading it out loud, Rebecca merely said, “Anonymous sources are always untrustworthy.”
“It does kind of sound like the Omega Chis,” Ashleigh said, not that Rebecca would so much as admit the truth. It would be hard to fabricate such an account. Casey dropped them off at the house and parked, walking back to find the ZBZs swarming around different copies of the paper. It was vague. It was unsubstantiated. It was also the type of story that wouldn’t run unless it was true.
“Well, it doesn’t involve us, for once,” Casey said. “It just makes the Omega Chis look like misogynist jerks, which is a fraternity-guy stereotype anyway. Now it’s just reinforced.”
“Mystery solved!” Abby announced as she carried her laptop into the living room. She was way too perky about this. “It was Melanie Potter of Tri-Pi. She was dumped by her Omega Chi boyfriend last night and put on probation twenty minutes ago.”
“…And you got this info, how?”
“The Gamma Psi Twitter feed, which linked to the CRU Facebook updates page, which linked to the Beta Theta Tau—”
“Links, yes. We get it.” Casey was not nearly as excited as Abby. “While this isn’t directly bad for us, it’s not good, either. Making the Greek system look bad is always…bad.”
“But the point is,” Rebecca said without hesitation “are they disqualified?”
“It does seem kind of disqualifying, writing an exposé on the contest you’re in and then publishing it before the contest is over,” Ashleigh pointed out.
“But she could have acted alone,” Casey said.
“She was put on probation,” Abby reminded them, still proud of her web-related accomplishment.
“That could be to cover up their investigation.”
“And it all depends on what the Omega Chis think. And it could possibly make other candidates stronger. A Tri-Pi was always a long shot anyway.”
“Or an underdog.”
“Let’s see what Omega Chi says,” Casey said. “If we haven’t already, subscribe to their Twitter feed.”
“The Omega Chis have a Twitter feed?” Cappie asked. “And more importantly, you’re on it?”
Rusty didn’t look up from his computer. “I’m not on it. It’s just everything with the #crusweetheart tag. It’s a very busy feed.”
“Feed.” Beaver laughed, then stopped at their confused looks. “Oh, wait, there’s nothing funny about that.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy every minute of the Omega Chis’ public flagellation. Which, if literal, would be gross. And no, I’m not telling you what that word means.” Cappie turned back to Rusty and his laptop. “As long as they don’t drag anyone down with them, this is awesome.”
“How would they do that?”
“If I get a call from the dean’s office. They tend to lump us together, and I don’t want to attend another mandatory sexual harassment seminar. Three is enough.” He checked his phone, but there were no messages. “If we make it until five with no messages, we’re good. And then we’re set to throw one killer revenge party.”
“Kicking them while they’re down?”
“That would be crude. But I have wanted to throw a party where hot women show up to be honored for being hot for a long time, and I have a feeling that if KT finally throws its anti-sweetheart party, attendance is going to be amazing. We might even get some people in gowns.” Cappie picked up his phone. “I have some calls to make.”
“Yes, thank you, sir.” Evan hung up and sighed. He turned around to face Calvin, the only other person in the president’s office. “As far as the Dean’s office is concerned, we’re off the hook. It’s all hearsay and, technically, calling someone a skank in the privacy of your own home doesn’t violate university policy. Not that this news is gonna thrill everyone.”
Calvin nodded. He didn’t envy Evan’s position right now. “And what about Tri-Pi?”
“Their president claims Melanie Potter is on probation and they’re making her vacate the house until the competition is over. Nationals will rule on it, so it’s out of our hands. I don’t really see how it disqualifies their sweetheart candidate, but the guys might feel differently. Or they just won’t vote for her.”
“She was a long shot anyway.”
Evan ran his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. About what, Calvin could only guess. “I have to call a meeting so everyone can yell at me.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s the pledge’s fault.”
“And I can’t bounce him for stupid crap like this. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t. It’s a stupid competition and now it’s been dragged through the mud by a Tri-Pi dumb enough to think it would help their chances instead of hurt them. So no one goes home happy—except maybe me, on Sunday, when this is over.”
“Unless Rebecca doesn’t win.”
Evan shrugged. “I don’t know if Rebecca wants to win. But I’ve done all I can for her. It’ll come down to the ceremony, which it always does, which is why sweating over this stuff is ridiculous. Or was until we had a newspaper column trashing us.”
Calvin wished he could help him. They were in this together, even if Evan was going to shoulder most of the blame. Evan called the meeting because it was the right thing to do, but mostly because he was willing to take on challenges to his authority. It was part of being president, after all.
And the guys did lay into him at the meeting, even after he gave them the specifics of how they were off the hook and, no, they did not have to take another sexual harassment seminar. The Tri-Pis, for all their posturing against their sister, still looked bad.
“They should be disqualified.” Trip was the first one to say it but not the first one to think it.
“Technically, it was not the Tri-Pis. It was one rogue sister who’s been put on probation,” Evan said. “They didn’t do anything against the rules, and they immediately fessed up as to who it was. We knew before anyone else did.”
“How is it different from everyone just not voting for the Tri-Pis?” a pledge asked.
“Because we can’t implicitly state we’re voting that way. And we’re voting for Stephanie of Tri-Pi, not the sorority itself or one of its members whose actions Stephanie is not responsible for.”
“As far as we know!”
The meeting erupted into shouting. It took twenty minutes to calm everyone down, and as Evan had predicted, he took most of the heat. He bore it well, insisting that the Tri-Pis should not be disqualified on principle and that the competition was damaged enough without further scandal.
“I officially hate this competition,” Grant announced when the meeting was over and he and Calvin were back in their room. “And everything to do with it. No offense to Evan.”
“Yeah, he took a beating. But it’s a tradition—a tradition that does not go wacko every year. Just this year.”
“Hopefully. Because otherwise, I’m boycotting next year.”
Calvin couldn’t say he disagreed with the idea.
Rebecca Logan read Evan’s brief response to her text message. She had asked if the contest was going forward with any dignity, and he replied, “Yes to contest, no to dignity.” With the fallout, he likely did not have time for a long conversation, and to be honest, she didn’t want to have it with him. It wasn’t about impartiality. The competition had gone from inane to crazy to scandalous, and she wasn’t willing to make his life any more complicated than it already was. She liked trashing
the Tri-Pis as much as anyone else, but this was overkill, and he’d probably heard enough of it. There was no need to torture him on this particular occasion. There would be plenty of other, more pleasurable occasions to do that.
She spent most of Friday at class or claiming she was at class. After she had selected a dress, Casey and Ashleigh seemed to lay off her for a moment, mostly thanks to the Tri-Pi scandal distracting them and most of the house, which was a blessing to Rebecca. There was no dignity in being followed around and constantly given advice she didn’t need. As if she couldn’t wow a crowd if she wanted to! Not that the Omega Chis, other than Evan, were worth wowing. It seemed to be the opinion on campus that they were misogynist bullies and no woman would sully her reputation by stepping in their house, or that was how the notoriously anti-Greek cashier at the campus market put it. There were also fresh rumors of a KT anti-sweetheart party, which she didn’t doubt for a minute, as it was exactly something the KTs would do. They were itching to get back at the Omega Chis for betraying them last semester in any small way, and they did do one thing well.
But Rebecca didn’t want to be some sort of social pariah. The one person she was willing to talk to was available, it turned out, once the Omega Chis were done yelling at each other. Calvin Owens met her in the student center, a place so anti-Greek that it was impossible they would be spotted.
Calvin got straight to the point. “This contest is crazy. I don’t remember it being like this last year.”
“When sweet Casey was running like a saint against Frannie? Yeah, I can’t imagine that was a hard choice.”
“It’s the problems in the house, too. Well, mostly just Trip and Evan going at it—”
“Ew.”
“You know what I meant,” Calvin said. “And it’ll all come down to the ceremony speeches, anyway.”
“I haven’t even written mine. But I’m an excellent speaker.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”
“The speech can’t be vindictive and reveal everyone’s inner secrets, can it?”
Greek: Best Frenemies Page 12