The five girls stop right in front of us. One of the girls hands me a blue piece of paper then extends one to Jentry. I’m too awestruck to thank her. I’m not sure what it is that has me so completely spellbound. All five of the girls are striking, but none of them are prettier than Jentry, although I guess I could be bias. They just seem to travel inside this vortex of campus celebrity. There isn’t a person walking by that doesn’t take notice of them. I wonder what it would feel like to have people look at you that way? To be worshipped and revered?
“Hi, we’re the Alpha’s,” the pixie-looking girl that handed me the flier says. “And we want to invite both of you to rush in a few days.”
“Hope to see you there,” they all singsong in unison before trotting off in a perfect vee formation.
“Oh my God! Those were the Alphas, the best sorority on campus,” Jentry exclaims, clutching her flier with a death grip.
“What’s a sorority?” I hate it when I don’t know the answer to something. Jentry turns to look at me, an amused look playing on her face. She obviously thinks I’m joking until she sees my clueless expression.
“Seriously?” Jentry asks, astounded. “Oh my God, GK. You have lived such a sheltered life.”
Like she has to remind me.
“A sorority is a social organization of women who unite for sisterhood,” Jentry explains. “Ah, who am I kidding? They are a bunch of really cool chicks who get together and party for four years. Oh, and they do lots of philanthropy and stuff, too.” She laughs.
“Oh.”
“And the Alphas are THE best sorority on campus,” Jentry clarifies.
“How do you know all of this?” I ask amazed.
“My friend’s sister from back home was a Delta Zeta at Southern. She taught me all about Greek life.”
“So what’s rush?” I ask, glancing down at the blue paper the Alpha sister gave me.
“Rush is the process you have to go through to be selected into the sorority. It’s not really the same here at McMillan because they only have two sororities and we definitely don’t want to rush Zeta Sigma Alpha. Every chapter on every campus of that sorority is bad news.” I nod my head like I have some idea what she’s talking about even though nothing could be farther from the truth.
“I don’t really think those girls would have any use for me unless their GPA’s need a boost,” I say, shoving the flier into my bag of textbooks. I can always use it for scratch paper.
“Stop whining, GK. They’d be lucky to have us,” she says, her eyes gleaming.
“Oh, no. There is no way I’m going to humiliate myself like that.”
“You asked me earlier how I could help you get more of a life. GK, this is how,” Jentry stresses, shaking the flier in front of my face.
“But I don’t know the first thing about this stuff.”
“You know stuff about cold fusion and I know stuff about the hottest sorority on campus. I’ll help you.”
I don’t bother telling her that I don’t know the first thing about cold fusion because I can tell there is no way I’m going to talk her out of this. And when I start envisioning a house full of girls that are as close as sisters, I’m not sure I want to talk her out of it. Jentry is right, if I really want to make some changes there is no better way than to rush the Alpha’s. Once I make the decision that I’m actually going to do this, I’m so excited I feel like I’m about to burst, which I know isn’t scientifically possible, but it still feels that way.
“I want to be an Alpha.” I proclaim, jumping up. My foot gets tangled in my book bag and I slam back to the grass, my legs sprawled out for the world to see my granny panties. I hear a whistle from somewhere close by.
“Oh, man. We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Jentry says, helping me up.
****
“What is wrong with your face?” Jentry cries out, as she barges through the door.
I run to the mirror expecting to see that I’ve broken out in hives or something but it’s just me staring back at myself. Well, not really normal me, but me amplified a bit.
“What?” I ask, inspecting my face. “You don’t like it?” I sort of borrowed some of Jentry’s fancy makeup. I’ve never used makeup before except a little bit of blush but I Googled, ‘how to apply makeup’, and I think I did a pretty good job. I didn’t understand why some of the results kept saying that people shouldn’t be able to tell you are wearing it and it should look natural. I want people to know I’m wearing it, so I put it on twice as thick.
“You only have three eyelashes,” Jentry points out, gesturing toward my over-mascara’d lashes. “Let me guess, Google?” She asks, laughing.
I drop my head and nod numbly, embarrassed that I thought I actually looked good.
“GK, you’ve got a serious Google fetish. You have to understand that sometimes you just have to practice things before you can perfect them,” she says, pulling a wipe out of a plastic dispenser. She starts wiping the excess makeup off my face. Her comment cheers me up. She is absolutely right about practicing. My freshman year in Biology 101, I went through five frogs before I finally figured out how to dissect one correctly. After a couple more attempts with the makeup, I should have it mastered.
“How about for real life stuff, you ask me? I’ll be your real life Google. You’re gonna have to keep Googling that science crap though because I don’t know squat about that.” She laughs.
“Thanks, Jentry. I’ve never had a friend like you before,” I say, tearing up but forcing myself to hold back so all the layers of mascara I have on don’t run.
“Don’t go getting all sappy on me,” she says, winking. “I take it the makeup experimentation has something to do with rush?” I nod, hating that I’m so transparent.
“Listen, GK. I think you are perfect just the way you are but if you really want to make some changes, I can help you.” She offers.
“Will you really? That would be so awesome,” I squeal.
“Beauty can be painful,” she says grabbing my shoulders. “And I don’t want to hear any whining,” she adds forcefully.
“Yes, ma’am,” I salute her, jumping around the room excitedly.
“We don’t have much time,” she suddenly realizes. She grabs the campus phone book and starts flipping through it like a maniac. She stops on a page, grabs her cell phone out of her pocket and frantically dials a number.
“Yes, we need your geek to chic package, asap,” she mumbles into the phone. A few seconds later, she clicks off, grabs my arm, and pulls me out of the dorm.
****
“You’re sure you want to do this?” the stylist asks me, holding a pair of scissors under my ponytail.
“More than anything in the whole world,” I reply. My head starts to jerk a little as she saws through my thick stump of hair. A few seconds later, I feel five pounds lighter. “Make sure you save that so I can donate it to Locks of Love,” I tell her, not looking up. I want to wait until my highlights and cut are done completely before I look at myself. I should have done this year’s ago. I can’t help but wonder why Mom never tried to talk me into cutting my hair more stylish or why she never taught me about makeup.
“Holy crap, GK. She shaved you like an alpaca.” I hear Jentry say. I can’t see her, only her hand that is holding a Diet Coke.
“Very funny. Aren’t you supposed to be finding me some rush clothes?” I ask, gesturing wildly for a drink of her soda. I try to sip it upside down but the soda just runs into my nose making me sneeze.
“About that. This little excursion isn’t going to be cheap, you know.”
I had forgotten all about paying for this stuff. Of course, I’ve been saving for college since I was eight, but that money has to last four years. I can’t be blowing it all the first week. But surely a hairdo and some basic cosmetics can’t cost that much.
“How much are we talking here?” I ask Jentry.
“About four hundred for your hair and makeup,” Jentry says nonchalantly.
&
nbsp; “Dollars?” I yell, jerking my head up. My stylist calmly pushes it back down and continues cutting the long layers that Jentry requested.
“I told you, beauty is painful,” Jentry says tapping her foot impatiently. I guess I did promise no whining, but how can these people sleep at night charging such astronomical prices for the use of scissors and hair dye? I have two hundred extra from my book savings and I’ll pay for my new clothes out of my savings. That leaves me with two hundred more that I need to come up with.
“Jentry, hand me my phone,” I say, gesturing toward the corner of the stylists vanity.
She doesn’t say anything but hands it to me under my hair. I take a deep breath before dialing my parent’s phone number. Sean answers on the second ring.
“I already moved into your room,” he boasts, obviously making use of the caller ID.
“Nice try, troll, but I know Mom wouldn’t let you do that,” I laugh. The truth is she is probably praying for me to come running home to her any day now. Nothing would make her happier than for me to call and say I couldn’t cut it away from her. I’d rather eat glass.
“I’m really glad you’re gone.” He teases. “The extra attention I’m getting from Mom is really super,” he says, his voice slightly bitter.
I feel a small tinge of guilt but not enough to distract me from the reason I called.
“You’ll live, Sean. You know what they say. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”
“They never met our mom. She started making me wear my helmet again,” he says disgustedly. I don’t have the heart to tell him that I actually agree with Mom on this one. I’ve seen Sean’s report cards and he is one head injury away from repeating eighth grade.
“I need to talk to Dad,” I say, choosing the lesser of two evils.
“No can do, sis. They went on a date.”
“With each other?”
“I know. Creepy, right?”
It is a little out of character for my couch potato parents. I don’t dwell on it though because I am too excited that I don’t have to actually talk to them and can make Sean do my dirty work.
“I need them to deposit two hundred dollars in my checking account.” I tell him. “Write this down so you don’t forget.” I insist.
I hear him rummaging through our junk drawer for a pen and paper.
“Grace Kelly needs two hundred dollars for a giant box of condoms. Got it,” he howls, cracking himself up.
“Thanks, Sean. Bye,” I say, wondering why my mother is always so worried about me when her other child is so clearly in need of help.
“Bye, sis. Oh, and tell that sweet honey of a roommate of yours that I’ve got a special place for her panties.” He laughs, clicking off.
I fight the urge to throw up in my mouth as I flip my phone shut.
****
“How much more of this do I have to endure?” I whine, tired after a day of being waxed, tweezed, highlighted, and exfoliated. Who knew beauty would be so time consuming? I was really hoping to get some advance reading done for some of my classes but at this rate it isn’t going to happen today.
“Shut it. I told you, no whining. Besides, as soon as you slip this vest over your head, you’ll be done,” Jentry replies, with a huge smile on her face. I know I must look pretty good the way she’s been grinning all day, but I haven’t seen myself yet. Jentry thought it would be more fun if I waited until after she’d done my makeup and I’d changed into one of my new outfits. I know I feel different, in a good way. I like the way my hair swishes around my shoulders every time I move. I caught a glimpse of the highlights, when I was attempting to put in contacts for the first time, even though Jentry had my hair wrapped in a towel. I could see a bit of auburn, which I really like.
I pull the vest over the short-sleeved silk shirt I’m wearing.
“Careful, GK,” Jentry shouts, running over to help me slide the vest over my head. “Don’t mess up your hair.”
“You sure are taking this seriously,” I joke, adjusting the vest over my shirt.
“Hey, when I start a project I take it very seriously and I have a feeling that Project Geek to Greek is going to be my biggest accomplishment yet.”
“Hey, I wasn’t a total geek,” I defend myself, even though I know she’s right. I’m smart enough to know that looks aren’t everything, but I’m not dumb enough to believe they don’t matter at all. Besides, I wasn’t happy with the way I looked. I made Jentry believe that the makeover was only for the Alphas, but mostly, it was for me. I’ve never been comfortable in my own skin.
“Here put these on,” Jentry says, thrusting a pair of black heels at me.
“Oh, no. I can barely walk in tennis shoes,” I refuse.
“Just try them on in here, you don’t have to walk anywhere. I just want you to get the full effect of the outfit,” she insists. I grab the shoes from her and slip them on, instantly adding three inches and lots of wobble to my height.
“Smile,” Jentry says, grabbing her phone to take my picture. I try my best not to look awkward like I normally tend to in photos. She snaps a few pictures then lays the phone back on her desk. I get sort of melancholy wishing I could email a picture home to my parents. But my mom would be on her way to pull me out of school within an hour claiming I had already succumbed to the peer pressures of college and that makeup and hair products are just gateways. She would swear that if I kept up this pace I’d be using a flat iron and getting a Brazilian (which I just found out what this is today, and Mom would never have to worry about me doing that) by Christmas.
“Are you ready?” She asks, nearly bouncing with excitement.
I nod and turn to face the full-length mirror on the back of our dorm room door. Jentry pulls down the white sheet she had up and, at first, I think there is a stranger in the room. Very carefully, I walk up to the mirror. I put my hands into my shiny reddish-brown layered hair. I keep touching it, not believing that this is the same hair I’ve spent almost my entire life pulling into a ponytail each day. The next thing I notice are my eyes. I can actually see them without my glasses covering them up. Jentry lined them in a deep violet liner and used a very light brown on my lids to make them stand out even more. Each of my lashes look a mile long coated perfectly in black mascara. My cheeks and lips are the same exact shade of pink. I stare down at the outfit I’m wearing which looks tailor-made to fit my body. Jentry was right about the shoes, they look amazing with the dress capri’s I’m wearing. Who knew I had legs like this?
“Well, what do you think?” Jentry asks, finally, still bouncing up and down in excitement.
“Is it really me?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off myself.
“It’s the upgraded version of you,” Jentry laughs.
“It’s me. It’s really me,” I say, dancing around with excitement. I grab Jentry’s arms and start flinging her around. I lose my footing and twist my ankle, throwing my whole body off balance. I drop Jentry’s hands before I go flying to the ground. I land on the hard concrete floor with a thud.
“See, I told you it was still you,” Jentry laughs, helping me to my feet.
Later that night, Jentry corrals all the girls on our floor together to go to dinner. Until now, Jentry and I have mostly stayed to ourselves, so none of the girls have a clue about my makeover. For the first time in my life I feel confident about not only my brains, but my appearance, too.
There are six of us seated at a round table covered with a red and white-checkered tablecloth. We have mostly been discussing classes, which finally start in a few days, and I cannot wait. There is nothing more exciting than opening a pristine notebook and filling it with exciting new facts. I am glad that the university insists on incoming freshman moving in a week before classes start though. It has been great spending so much time getting to know Jentry and now no one on campus will know me as geeky Grace Kelly. Here I’m just GK.
I plan to spend most of tomorrow routing out the quickest way to get to each of my classes so that
I don’t take the chance of running late and missing one ounce of lecture time.
“So, Grace Kelly, what’s your major?” A chunky girl with ebony hair asks me, interrupting my trailing thoughts.
“I’m pre-med. I want to be a pediatrician someday,” I answer confidently. I’ve known that I wanted to be a doctor since I was twelve and Sean brutally severed one of my dolls limbs with his baseball bat. I had so much fun fixing her up that I ripped her other arm off on purpose.
“Cool. It must feel good to know what you want to do with your life. I don’t have a clue,” she says, taking a sip of her iced tea.
“I’m going to open my own photography business someday,” Jentry pipes up, before sticking a cheesy nacho in her mouth.
“She’s amazing. You guys should see her pictures,” I brag.
“Maybe you could do some sorority headshots for me,” Sloane says. If she has any recollection of our first meeting, if you can call having a door slammed in your face a meeting, she doesn’t show it. She tosses her long, straight blonde hair over her shoulders. She’s so tan she must have spent the entire summer someplace exotic. I’m no label connoisseur but even I can tell that all of her clothes and accessories are designer. She probably sweats money. I can’t stop myself from imagining what her life, as a rich, beautiful girl must be like. I’m hoping that she was just having a bad day the first time we met. I realize I’m gawking and quickly avert my eyes but not before noticing that she has at least one flaw. Her fingernails are bit down to the quick. It takes everything I have not to break into a lecture on the millions of germs lurking under our nails but something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, it is kind of nice knowing she isn’t completely perfect.
“What sorority are you in?” I ask her. Maybe she is one of those people that you really have to get to know to appreciate their personality, I think, giving her the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m not, officially, but soon I’ll be an Alpha,” she answers, not bothering to look up at me.
“That’s really cool. Jentry and I will be rushing the Alphas, too,” I say excitedly.
The Alpha Bet Page 3
