Savannah's Chance

by D. A. Maddox

  Monday. Before that would be Friday—and he still hadn’t decided what to do about Friday night. The fucking SCS. The Select. Why had they decided to pick on him?

  This is your choice, the email had said, but one does not refuse us lightly.

  If he did stay home that night (or maybe go out on a real date with Savannah, as an alternative), he’d be wondering what he missed for the rest of his life. But he was still inclined to skip. Scott Lachance did not like being told what to do, especially by his peers.

  He passed the coffee shop. Best to get done what he could, leave his options open.

  Why do you hang around with Zeke, then? he asked himself. But the answer was obvious. Zeke was a friend. So was Rusty, in his way. They were jerks, but they were his jerks.

  Outside the dorm house, he took off his helmet, walking the bike in with him. He took the stairs, carrying his bike the whole way. He’d ducked out of his morning workout, so he’d have to make it up as he could throughout the day.

  In his room—third floor, Dorm 5—the first thing he noticed was that he’d accidentally left his computer on—and he never did that. Powering down the old desktop monstrosity on his way out of the door was something he practically did from muscle memory, like rowing at crew.

  The second thing he noticed was the white cardboard box in front of the computer desk. It was a perfect cube and occupied the whole seat. It had a removable top but no tape to secure it, no string. Nothing.

  “What the hell?” he said to no one.

  Call the cops, his common sense demanded. Someone just broke into your personal space. At least call Rick.

  Rick was the dorm supervisor—another one of those older brother figures. But, knowing Rick, he’d just defer to campus police anyway.

  Instead, Scott went to his desk, to the box.

  You shouldn’t open that, he thought, hearing nothing but the whir of the computer fans as he took off the lid and dropped it to the floor.

  Inside, there was a collared white dress shirt, black pants, a pair of black running shoes without laces. On top of them was a single sheet of paper. The note was typewritten, and short:

  This is what you will wear. This is all that you will wear. We will provide everything you need for the night’s entertainment.

  Scott was glad he hadn’t called the campus police. They wouldn’t interfere with SCS shenanigans—or so he’d always been told. It was just part of life at Bridgemont.

  He took them out, finding each article was the correct size for him, or near enough.

  And two more things at the bottom: a plain white undershirt—and a jockstrap.

  “You’re kidding me,” he muttered.

  The whir of the computer fan…

  Scott thumbed on the monitor. There was a new email there, sent at 5:45 this morning. And it was from the same sender.

  Let us know if anything doesn’t fit.

  While he was still contemplating that, a third email popped into his inbox.

  “Jesus, stop already.”

  But he opened that one, too.

  Congratulations on your success this morning. Hail, the conquering hero. And, Scott?

  She’ll be there.

  Chapter Two:

  Wellness

  Veronica checked her face in the pocket mirror: her hair, glossy black, long and straight with a neat line of bangs up front; light rouge over high, perfect cheekbones; just the hint of shadow under her bright eyes—which were closer to green than blue today.

  Satisfactory.

  It wasn’t like she should worry too much over her appearance just now, or so a small part of her insisted. Malcolm wouldn’t care. He was a dominant, as she was—and as such, totally incompatible in relationship terms. But Veronica was halfway through her final year, and she was important. She had an image to maintain. She had to look her best all the time—be in control all the time. The balance of power, she reminded herself, could shift.

  She checked her phone. He was five minutes late, and she only had twenty minutes to spare. There were more mundane concerns, academic concerns, that could not be ignored.

  Text him, she thought. Remind him. Command him to get his ass over here now.

  But, no. He wasn’t one of her freshman stable boys. He’d tell her to fuck off and then not show at all.

  “Shit,” she muttered, supremely annoyed. But then—then she saw her.

  One of the new prospects. One that Veronica, and others—and Malcolm in particular—had wanted for some time. The one who, according to Malcolm, had the dumb luck of being asked out by another prospect only this morning: Savannah Riley Miles. The birthday girl.

  Savannah never walked anywhere. She power walked, as though perpetually tardy to some class or another. Just now she was power walking her trim, athletic, delectable little body straight past Veronica, not twenty feet away, crossing the Commons on her way to the med labs as though they would turn her away if she didn’t report in the next fifteen seconds.

  It’s ten in the morning, Veronica thought. Your appointment is ten-thirty, you fretful thing.

  It was a lovely day. Nice breeze. Birthday Girl really should slow down and enjoy it—unlike Malcolm, who needed to be here, like, seven fucking minutes ago.

  So lost was Veronica in these contemplations, watching Savannah pass through the automatic entrance to the med labs—tracking her with hungry, predatory eyes—that she didn’t realize Malcolm had sat down on the bench next to her until he had his computer notebook open. “Mornin’, Ronnie.”

  Sunglasses. Boots. Dreadlocks, dozens of them, tied back in a glorious mane that went halfway down his back. A sleeveless black vest that inevitably drew attention to his big, brown cannons for arms. Even his fingers seemed too big for the keys on his notebook, and indeed he spent nearly as much time backspacing as he did properly typing.

  “Nice of you to show, fucker.”

  He winked at her. “Keep askin’ me nice like that and you’ll get what you wish for, bitch,” he quipped, glancing at her sidelong, typing, backspacing. Finger-scrolling the touch screen. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Veronica snickered. It was hard to stay mad at Malcolm for long. “You look good today.”

  His eyes were on the screen again. “Yes, I do.”

  “All right, then. Show me. Stuff to do.”

  “Always, always,” he concurred, then turned the notebook to her. “His name is Scott Lachance. Been on the list since last year. His friends got him off it the one time—wasn’t anyone left to bail him out this year, with his protection used up. None of the real council gives much of a shit about him. Fifty-fifty for showing, I figure. But he really likes this other one, the blonde pet with the tight ass.”

  Veronica looked over the profile pic. Clean cut, handsome. Sarcasm in that smile—oh, she could practically smell it. “How did I miss him?” she breathed. “Malcolm, he’s gorgeous. Oh, he better come.”

  “Wouldn’t be much use to you after Origins, Ronnie,” Malcolm said. “Had my eye on him this morning. Boy reads dominant. Soon as he gets out of the Pen, he’s playin’ our side of the field, if he plays at all.”

  Veronica purred, “You can’t know that yet.”

  “Maybe not,” he granted, “but he’s got it bad for that tight ass. That much I know for sure.”

  Veronica thought about it. She considered their show value, as a couple. Their as-yet untold story.

  “We should help bring them together,” she said. “Help them break the ice.”

  Malcolm sat back. “The queen is generous,” he said. “And just how do you propose we do that?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Rig the lottery.”

  She knew even as she spoke that those words would not be received well. Such a thing had never been done. Veronica enjoyed doing unthinkable things, but Malcolm was more of a traditionalist.

  “Professor won’t like it,” he said. Then, with some heat, “I don’t like it. Ronnie, if you do that, you fuck up everything—”
r />   So predictable. “Don’t be dramatic. It’ll be an improvement.”

  “No, Ronnie. That shit will not fly.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘no’ to me? I could have sworn you did, just now.”

  “You’ve made plenty of changes already,” he insisted with a low growl. “Too many. We’re supposed to discuss these things. If I can’t—”

  “We discuss,” Ronnie said, “then I decide. That is tradition, too, Malcolm. I am First Skull. You don’t want to break tradition, do you?”

  Malcolm fumed, but he did not answer. Good.

  “Be a good Second and fuck off now, hm?”

  ****

  “All right, Savannah, come on back.”

  At eleven in the morning, the waiting room at the Crestwood Summit University Med Labs was standing room only. After waiting half an hour elbow-to-elbow with her fellow students—most of whom were probably sick—Savannah was glad to break free of it. She followed Nurse Sustrick into the hall with the examination rooms.

  “Up you get.”

  Still in the outer hall, Savannah kicked off her shoes, set down her purse, and stepped onto the scale. At her feet, the digital readout proclaimed her one hundred and twenty-one pounds. Nurse Sustrick lowered the stopper with the red indicator arrows to the top of her head and said, “Five foot five, just like last time.”

  “Gained three pounds, though,” Savannah said, frowning.

  “And you could gain another twenty and still be well within the healthy range. Lose five or ten, and you’re officially too thin. Seriously, hon, you worry too much.”

  Savannah didn’t argue. They were on familiar terms, Nurse Sustrick and Savannah. She hadn’t been “Miss Miles” to her since the second visit. They had trust. But Savannah knew better than to challenge her in matters of her profession.

  The drill was familiar, too. Without putting her shoes back on, carrying them, Savannah followed the nurse from the scale to Room 3, to the papered-over examination table. She scooted onto it, sock feet dangling over the side. She offered her arm for the blood pressure cuff.

  Also normal. Ears, nose, chest, reflexes—and whatever it was Nurse Sustrick was checking when she felt around Savannah’s neck with light, searching pressure, then her stomach—all checked out fine. She pulled her shirt back down as Sustrick went to the computer and transcribed onto the keyboard the information she had just scrawled.

  What now? she wondered. She’d been told over the phone that this particular visit would be a bit longer, but the receptionist confirming the appointment hadn’t given her any details. Nor did she have any friends older than her around campus she knew well enough to ask. Alisha would expect the full report, though, and had said as much.

  She fiddled with her pendant and waited to be told what to do.

  Nurse Sustrick swiveled in her chair and winked at her reassuringly. “So … how have you been? Got any of the creeping crud that’s been floating around lately?”

  Savannah looked around for some wood to knock on, then settled on exam table cushion. “No, Nurse Sustrick. Dodged that so far. I’m good. Little nervous.”

  “Nervous? Why?”

  She was a friendly lady, if a bit on the imposing side. She was probably only ten or twelve years older than Savannah herself. But she was tall, with severely cut black hair that curled in a wave just under her ears and grayish-blue eyes that didn’t blink quite enough. She didn’t have a gram of compromise in her—typical nurse, Savannah supposed—but she did have empathy. And the look she was giving Savannah right now, that slight upward curl of her lip, was all-knowing.

  “Don’t know what to expect, is all.”

  Mom would have told her. Would have armed her—for whatever.

  “Oh, sweetheart, nothing bad’s going to happen,” said Nurse Sustrick, reaching over and giving Savannah’s hand a squeeze. “Surely you’ve had a gynecological exam before.”

  “Yes, Nurse Sustrick,” she said. “Few times. It’s been a while. First time was when I was thirteen.”

  Mom had been present for most of that one. She’d told Savannah everything to expect beforehand. She’d even offered to let Savannah sit in on one of her own examinations first—an opportunity Savannah had flatly refused, horrorstruck at the mere suggestion.

  Her doctor had been a lot older than Nurse Sustrick, and she hadn’t been particularly invasive.

  “No interior pelvic exam?”

  “No, ma’am,” she answered, feeling a familiar self-conscious heat suffuse her cheeks.

  “And your cycle finished last week?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right on time, nothing weird.”

  “You’re due.”

  She was more than a little pissed—both then and now—that boys didn’t have to go through anything like this. She doubted there was anything extra they had to endure during their wellness visits when they turned twenty-one.

  “Are you a virgin?”

  Savannah’s eyes widened, stunned. She opened her mouth but fumbled for words. Of course, she was. The law—

  “Don’t worry. Anything you tell me stays between you, me, and the doctor. We have the same obligations to confidentiality that priests have with confession, as well as legal protection. I need you to be honest with me, Savannah. And listen, I’ve heard it all before, so no judgment.”

  Savannah shook her head, bewildered, but she answered truthfully. “Yes, Nurse Sustrick. I’ve—I’ve never done anything like … that before.”

  And she thought, The doctor? Since starting college, she’d only had to see the nurse practitioner. If there was going to be a doctor involved, she wanted some say in who it was. “But,” she protested, almost stuttering, “but this isn’t an OBGYN.”

  “It is on Mondays and Wednesdays. That’s when we have Dr. Yannick.”

  Savannah checked the sides of the table. No stirrups. And no curtain.

  No gown.

  “Room 7, dear. Not yet. Relax. He’s with another patient right now.”

  Savannah’s breath caught. He?

  “How often do you masturbate?”

  At that, Savannah narrowed her eyes at Nurse Sustrick. She couldn’t help it. This was beginning to feel like an ambush. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Nurse Sustrick sighed. “Several things. First of all, you’re twenty-one years old. Every woman on this campus has the screening within one week of turning twenty-one—and it’s recommended for all women, everywhere. It’s a health screening, and these are medical questions that have to be sorted out before we can proceed.”

  Sounds like bullshit. I trusted you, Nurse Sustrick.

  “Secondly,” she said, “I know what’s happening this Friday.”

  Savannah took a moment to absorb that. For long seconds, it was too much to take in. How could she know? Nurse Sustrick wasn’t a student, and the email had only been sent today. And … she was normal person, straight up and honest, or Savannah had thought she was until today. She couldn’t belong to a secret society.

  Nurse Sustrick continued. “I know exactly where you’re going, and I know exactly what you’re doing. Better than you know yourself.”

  But how didn’t matter. Just her saying it was proof that it was true, unlikely though it seemed. Savannah was shocked, stricken. Confused. “I don’t understand, Nurse Sustrick.”

  “No, you don’t,” Nurse Sustrick agreed. “But I will help you understand. I’ll help you get ready. I’m the contact you were promised, Savannah.”

  A friend, they’d said.

  Savannah nodded, head down, waiting for more.

  “I’m not the only staff on campus who’s former Select,” Nurse Sustrick said. “Far from it. You’d be surprised.”

  Quietly, Savannah said, “I’m already surprised.”

  “Those of us who seek employment back on our old stomping grounds are the real council, Savannah. I go over the lists with SCS leadership, both male and female. This is the third year in
a row you’ve been put forward.”

  Savannah’s head came back up at that. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “What?”

  “When you were nineteen, I vetoed your selection as soon as I saw it,” Nurse Sustrick explained. “It was harder when you came up again as a sophomore. Had I been just a student here, I couldn’t have done it. They really do like you. You’re a smart, attractive young woman who keeps her secrets to herself. You’re not on social media, except for your token presence on Profile, which you hardly ever use. And now—well, now, with your consent, you’re old enough not to be so fucking precious, Savannah. You can live a little, if you so choose. No one in authority will know. Hell with the stupid Behavior Reformation Laws. You’re only this young for a very brief portion of your life. The world has no right to keep you from any of it.”

  Savannah didn’t answer. Again, she felt wholly disarmed, this time by the swearing. It wasn’t that she’d never heard the word “fuck” before. She’d just never had it slung at her by a health care professional.

  “There’s a lot I can’t tell you,” said Nurse Sustrick, a hint of regret creeping into her voice. “But I will tell you what I can—when we’re done. You should feel lucky. The young men invited to the Origins Fete are hardly told anything.”

  “Why not?” Savannah asked. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “No. To you it wouldn’t. But it’s tradition, Savannah. Some things don’t have a reason. Some things just are.”

  Savannah decided not to get hung up on it. There was no point. The only man she knew around campus, other than professors, was Scott—and she’d only talked to him for the first time a few hours ago.

  “Back to the question,” Nurse Sustrick then said. “How often do you masturbate?”

  Savannah rolled her eyes, then fixed them on the ceiling. Finally, she ventured, “Well, it’s not like I do it on a set schedule.” Which was true. It was one of very few things she didn’t do on a set schedule.

  Nurse Sustrick snorted, amused. “Me neither, hon. Give me a rough average.”