by Kiley Roache
“I don’t know. I just haven’t—”
“That’s it. Forget Lost, we’re starting a George Lucas marathon tomorrow.”
“George who? Why don’t we just watch Star Wars?”
“Oh my God,” I say with my head in my hands. Deep breaths, Cassie. Patience, patience. “You have so much to learn.”
“Hold on.” He sets me down on the floor and steps toward the sink, giving me quite the view of the lower half of his body, clad only in boxers.
“You’ll have to be my official Star Trek tutor,” he says from somewhere out of frame.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say. I mean to correct him, but I’m distracted by the sight of him in just boxers as he reenters the frame.
Wow, brush those teeth.
When he’s done, he picks up the computer and smiles at me. “Okay, cool. Why is your face so red?”
I cover my cheeks. “No reason.”
He carries the computer back, and my view changes from tile to the carpet of the hallway.
“Hey, look, your room!”
He turns the laptop so I can see my door, then a sliver of Sebastian’s as he turns it back. Just a reminder of how much trouble I could get in if any of my fantasies from a few minutes ago were to come true.
“Can’t wait for you to be back,” he says as he sets me on the desk.
“Me, too.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I look into his eyes, even though he’s thousands of miles away. Everything I want to say but can’t is hanging in the air.
“’Night.”
“’Night.”
The window goes black and closes with a quick beep. My screen saver, a beach as far away as Jordan, replaces his face.
I click on the calendar icon.
Less than five days until I see him in person and...and I don’t know exactly. I go to bed, dreaming of Jordan and what can’t be.
* * *
Contrary to what I’ve been taught to expect from numerous December film releases, the holidays pass and there’s no major emotional breakthrough in my family. The Hallmark Channel would be baffled to witness our silence over goose and champagne, no spirit moving either party to make amends.
In fact, the closest I get to a “God bless us, everyone” moment is at the departure drop-off area at Indianapolis International Airport. Not exactly a feel-good movie set, but I take what I can get.
“Listen,” my mother says.
I turn, the door half open, the wind cutting through my coat.
“What you’re doing...it might not be what I’d choose.” She exhales with her whole body. “And it’s certainly not what your father wants. But I love you anyway. And I am proud. You’re...you’re very brave.”
“Thanks, Mom. Really. That means a lot.” I lean across the console and kiss her on the cheek.
I climb out of the car and watch her drive away, giving me a small wave before one of the airport staff whistles at her and she has to speed forward, disappearing.
I just stand there, in the cold, for a second before heading inside.
Wondering if I will ever get used to the feeling of airports and leaving.
Chapter Forty
“Pledging’s over, bitchesss!” Duncan is already celebrating when I drag my suitcases through the door.
With a semester of setting up for parties and shot lists behind us, and some of my fellow pledges’ academic probations smoothed over by calls from daddy offering multifigure donations, it’s almost time for us to be initiated as full members of the Delta Tau Chi Order.
“Cass!” Duncan pulls me into a hug, and my feet completely leave the ground. “Let me get that,” he says as he sets me down.
He picks up my biggest suitcase like it’s inflated with air and not stuffed with half of everything I own.
We make our way up the stairs, and he recounts his short visit home to see his mom, “my favorite person in the world, and her cooking... OMG, Cass, you would die” and his weeks of practice and team bonding.
We reach the top of the stairs, and he sets my bag down in my room.
“Damn.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “We made it. Hell is over, now it’s time for everyone to party.”
“Mind if I sit here?” Peter asks at lunch.
Less than half the house is already back, so there are tons of seats, including near other seniors. Our table is mostly freshmen.
“Sure.” Bambi slides down, leaving space between him and me on the bench.
Peter sits down with a mountain of food.
“Hi,” I say.
He nods. “Are y’all excited for initiation?” Peter asks.
Everyone mumbles something in the affirmative, afraid this may be a trick question that will cost them their bid in the eleventh hour.
“How about you, Cassie?” He stares at me as he reaches for his drink.
“Um, yeah, for sure. A bit nervous, though.”
“Yeah, I would be nervous, too, if I were you.”
Um...
I push my food around my plate and chew over the words I finally risk saying. “Like me especially...?”
“Yeah, you especially.” He looks at me like I should know what he is talking about. “I mean, nationals approved you getting a bid, but we still have to vote on whether the use of male pronouns in the bylaws means you can’t be initiated.”
What?
I cough, trying not to spit water all over the table. “Um, no one told me about that.”
“Really?”
Yeah. I think I’d remember that. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Well...” He cuts his food. “I’m just saying. Keep your head down.” He takes a bite, but that doesn’t stop him from talking. “You upset someone, you might not be living here next week.”
So the upperclassmen get to vote on my fate. Fabulous. And with the president vaguely threatening me before the vote begins, my chances are looking just peachy.
The kitchen door swings open, slamming into the wall and interrupting my thoughts.
“Game tonight,” Marco says, charging through the room, throwing tickets down on the tables.
“Weren’t both football and basketball last semester?” I ask. I didn’t go to the games, but I remember the emails about tailgates and student sections.
“It’s tennis,” Bambi says as he examines one of the tickets. “He means match.”
“Two of our brothers are on the team,” Peter says. “The soccer guys had the idea to try to bring out support for the less attended sports.”
I try to mask my reaction to the soccer guys. Or, really, my reaction to one particular soccer guy. The team had an out-of-town scrimmage this weekend and haven’t gotten back yet. I’m trying not to let myself think about him, at least until I see him and figure out, well, what exactly there is to think about.
“Marco’s trying to make a whole event out of it,” Bambi continues. “Putting it in the social calendar, inviting KAD and everything.”
Great. KAD.
Kappa Alpha Delta.
The “top sorority,” according to Greek Rank dot com and Total Frat Move dot com.
Known on campus as the home of walking, talking, almost-thinking Barbie dolls, not to mention my great friend and ex-roommate Leighton.
Just the setting I want to be in when I see Jordan again.
All afternoon, I debate whether or not I should go. I put on makeup and my cutest Warren T-shirt. I pace my room and check my phone obsessively. No texts from Jordan, probably because he’s still on a plane.
I watch them leave, hauling beer and chanting, from my window. Five minutes later, I grab my keys and head toward the stadium.
Warren is one of the few schools in the country that invests almost equally in all its sports. They’ve built a b
eautiful tennis stadium with five courts and the names of alumni Olympians engraved before the grand entrance. Filling such a stadium is another matter, though.
I hear cheers from inside as I wait behind a woman in a big white hat to get my ticket scanned. My vision wanders from the entrance.
Next to the stadium is a beautiful oak tree. The kind where the branches split apart after a few feet, creating a flat ledge perfect for a tree house. Or, in this case, for perching a thirty-rack of Natty Light.
Oh my God.
“Enjoy the match.” The red-vested ticket guy smiles at me.
I walk past him, speechless, still thinking of that thirty-rack that they’ve stowed so shamelessly. I make my way to the top of the stands. Below, there are two simultaneous matches going on, but the stands are less than half full. Up here the seats are littered with parents towing kids with Palo Alto grade school sweatshirts and iPads, and old people, the men in khakis and polos, the women in sundresses and hats like they’re at the Kentucky Derby.
And then there are my people. Reclining in their seats, their feet up on the row in front of them. Half of them shirtless, AWRREN spelled out, or I guess, misspelled out, in smeared body paint on their chests.
Mixed in with the guys, sitting in clusters of three and four, are the sisters of Kappa Alpha Delta, all wearing crop tops and short skirts in a variety of colors.
I walk to the end of the aisle and down a few rows.
“Hey,” I say to Duncan.
“Hi!” He looks up at me, eyes bright. “Saved you a seat.” He moves his sweatshirt off the chair next to him.
“Oh, um...” I scan the group around us, looking for a certain smile, a certain pair of brown eyes. “Thanks,” I say as I collapse into the chair.
But he’s already turned back to the game. Match. “Aw, c’mon, ref!” He gestures so aggressively, I flinch, worried I’ll be knocked over. “Bullshit! Flag!”
I turn to him. “Are there flags in tennis?”
He shrugs. “No idea. Never watched it before.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Hey, outside—”
“Beer tree?”
“Yeah, is that—”
“Yep. Ours.” He chuckles. “It certainly isn’t the Golden Girls’.” He nods to a group of old, pastel-clad women a few rows down. “Want one?”
“Sure,” I say.
I expect him to reach in a pocket, or ask one of the guys to run outside and grab a few more, but he just turns to the seat on the other side of him. “Bambi, beer.”
Bambi nods and turns around so that Duncan can reach into the hood of his sweatshirt. He pulls out a silver can and hands it to me.
I laugh and pop the top.
* * *
One of the matches ends and new players take the court. One of them looks vaguely familiar.
One of the upperclassmen stands up and yells, “That’s Dave!”
“Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave, Dave!” they all chant.
The boy looks up and smiles.
Dave’s opponent, a scrawny blond with a menacing look on his face, who can only be described as a white-polo-wearing Draco Malfoy, is less amused.
Dave and Malfoy shake hands over the net, the latter avoiding eye contact, before moving to their respective sides.
Malfoy bounces the ball on the ground twice before shifting into his serving stance, at which point our entire section starts yelling uncontrollably and banging on the plastic seats, like you might do at a basketball game to distract the opponent during a free throw.
The ball goes screaming out of bounds.
The ref moves to the edge of the court closest to our section and calls up to us, “Men, I’m going to have to ask you not to yell during a serve.”
“Yes, sir, of course,” Peter yells back down to the ref. He adds his politician wave.
Dave serves, and Malfoy volleys it back with a loud “Huh!”
Duncan’s eyes light up. He leans forward and says something to the shirtless pals. Dave scores a point, and everyone goes mad.
This time everyone is respectfully quiet for Malfoy’s serve. It lands inbounds, and Dave volleys it back smoothly. Malfoy sends it back, with his signature, “Huh!”
As Dave sprints toward the ball, every member of the California Beta chapter of Delta Tau Chi, barring myself and an upperclassman with a W on his chest who seems to have passed out, stands up and yells, “Huh!”
Malfoy’s eyes go immediately to the stands as the ball bounces twice before rolling past him.
He turns to the referee, who just shrugs.
“You guys are unbelievable,” I say.
Duncan beams.
I find myself smiling and laughing, and almost forget about Jordan. And that’s when I see him. Standing in the aisle at the other end of the row, his eyes searching our group.
He has a day or two’s worth of scruff on his face. Just a shadow, sexy in a Dr. McDreamy way. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his white button-down is disheveled.
But damn, he’s hot.
He’s close enough to speak to, but far enough that everyone else will hear, too.
Through the crowd our eyes meet, and I want to walk over, to talk to him, to say something, anything. But what can I say?
“Jordan, oh my God! I missed you so much over break!”
Well, I guess I could have said that. One of the sorority girls, a bottle blonde wearing a blue halter top, practically jumps out of her seat halfway between us and throws two fake-tanned arms around him. He stumbles backward, breaking eye contact with me.
My stomach plummets.
And it’s funny in the kind of way that makes me want to cry. Because of course he wasn’t really looking at me; he was looking at her.
It was all in my head, this idea that there’s something besides friendship between us. And that returning to school meant we could figure out exactly what that is.
He wanted me when he was alone on campus and bored, willing to talk to the girl with the embarrassing crush on him.
But with everyone back on campus, with a different gaggle of sorority girls parading themselves in front of him every night, with all the girls who swoon at the words varsity sport, why the hell would he pick me?
In seconds he’s overwhelmed with people welcoming him, hugging him, pulling him into a seat and asking him questions.
He looks over his shoulder and waves to me weakly, mouthing something I can’t make out. Or at least, I think he’s waving at me, but maybe that’s just what I want to see.
“Hey! Cassie!”
“What?” I turn to Duncan, eyes wide.
“I said, did you see that play, the way Dave dove?”
“Uh, no.” I shake my head. “Sorry, I was...”
Blue-halter-top girl tilts her head as she laughs at something Jordan says, smiling her stupid toothpaste-commercial smile.
“You’re being so weird. You okay?”
“I, uh, yeah, I’m fine.” I set my beer in a cup holder. “Excuse me for a second.”
I head up the aisle, past the food vendors and families lined up for overpriced hot dogs, trying not to look in Jordan’s direction. I barely make it to the bathroom before the first tear slides down my face. Grabbing toilet paper from the nearest stall, I dab my eyes, then check my makeup in the mirror.
What the fuck am I doing, crying about a guy I could never have anyway? A guy who could get me kicked out of the frat, ruin my project before I’ve even been here a year.
The door swings open, and a group of girls comes giggling in. Two of them, a pale redhead and a dark-skinned girl, shuffle around me to stare at themselves in the mirror.
But the blonde stops in her tracks.
“Oh my God, Cassie!” Leighton flashes me a warm and possibly not fake smile and pulls me into a hug.
“Hey there.” I
extract myself carefully.
“Lizzie, Aisha, this is Cassie. She used to be my roommate.”
They wave and smile.
“Nice to meet you.” I struggle to sound interested.
“I’ve missed you!” Leighton’s ponytail bounces. “We never see you at any of our events.”
“Yeah, well, sororities aren’t really my speed.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just a lot of...” I raise my eyebrows. “You know, like the whole wear-pink-and-monograms-and-search-for-a-husband-to-pop-out-kids thing.”
One of the girls doing her makeup turns around and gapes at me, lipstick halfway to her mouth.
I eye the door over Leighton’s shoulder.
“Is that really what you think we’re all about?” Leighton asks.
Yes. “No. Well, I mean...”
“God, and you call yourself a feminist.”
Yeah, I do, and that’s why I’m not in a sorority. “Leighton, you were the one who thought feminism was ‘not a good look.’”
“That was the first week of school, Cassie. I’m not allowed to learn something in college?”
I step back. “I guess. It’s just—”
“Seriously. It’s a group of women who support each other.”
That’s rich. I close my eyes and bring my hand to my forehead. “Oh, please, it’s a group of women who support each other in blowing frat boys and drinking wine coolers. No, I take that back, they blow frat boys and drink wine coolers, and then judge their sisters for doing the same thing.”
Now all eyes are on me.
“We promote female friendship and create a career network for women after they graduate.” Leighton tallies the points on her manicured fingers. “Not to mention that we were started by women who felt it was unjust that they couldn’t be part of men’s secret societies, aka fraternities.” She says the last word like it’s a swear.
“And yeah, I like to wear pink. And yeah, I want to bake cookies. And maybe I don’t want to manage a hedge fund—maybe I want to raise kids. But I want those things because I want those things, Cassandra, not because I was told I had to by society or whatever. These are my friends.” She gestures to the two other girls. “I like to do this stuff with them. And I think us doing this stuff, despite people like you thinking that a group of women and their interests must be inherently vapid and shallow, is kind of the most feminist thing we could be doing.”
