Frat Girl

by Kiley Roache

  She turns to her friends. “Wanna go back?”

  Lizzie nods.

  “Yeah,” Aisha says. She drops her lipstick back into her purse and turns around. “Actually, no. I have something to say, as well.” She sighs. “I am sooo sick of you and your white feminism bullshit. You’ve become synonymous with the women’s movement on campus. Because, poor baby, it’s so hard for a girl to join a frat. But do you know what happens to black girls that try to join Greek Life? There are houses on university campuses in the South with portraits of Robert E. Lee over the fireplace and cannons pointed north. Even here, there are girls at Rush who say, ‘Yeah she was great, but she’s black.’ In front of me, they say that. We’re still trying to break through to sororities, and you have to play oppressed by joining a frat?” She sneers. “Fuck off. There are plenty of barriers all sorts of women face just trying to live, not while putting themselves in such an artificial situation. Why the hell aren’t you talking about them instead of pulling this shit?” She pauses, but I have no answer. “You can do all the beer bongs and plastic bottle shots you want, but you are not my feminist hero.” She turns and walks out, her friends following closely.

  The door swings shut behind them, and I’m left alone in the bathroom. Astonished. I’m not mad...well, definitely not at them, maybe a little at myself. Okay, maybe a lot at myself.

  They were just so right. And now I’m so confused. I’ve been calling myself a crusader for women while viewing groups of them as one fake-blonde, Bachelorette-watching horde. What the hell is wrong with me?

  I leave the bathroom but turn away from the crowd and instead head toward the exit sign. I practically sprint back to the house, Aisha’s and Leighton’s words running through my head all the way.

  I click the lock on my door, run to my desk and pull out my computer.

  C’mon, c’mon. I tap my foot as I wait for the Stevenson website to load. I sign in and start a new entry.

  Entry 54:

  In defense of sororities...

  I type furiously, trying to get down everything that happened today, everything that I’ve seen over the last few months.

  Ten pages later, I go downstairs to grab some food. I’m headed back to my room, when the front door swings open.

  Jordan walks through, looking over his shoulder and laughing at something Duncan’s saying. Then he sees me and stops, the laughter falling from his face. Duncan stumbles into him, but Jordan doesn’t seem to notice.

  I turn away and head up the stairs without a word.

  “Cassie.”

  I don’t turn around.

  “Cassie!”

  As I reach the landing, I risk a quick look and see him taking the stairs two at a time. Sighing, I turn and wait.

  He grabs the railing to avoid running into me. “I’ve been looking for you. You left early.”

  “Yeah.” I bite my lip and look beyond him to the photographs of classes past that line the staircase. “Uh, something came up.”

  “Oh.” Then, “I’ve missed you.”

  Like you miss a friend? Like you miss your little sister Or...? I don’t ask, of course.

  “I missed you, too.” My voice sounds jittery, nervous. I clear my throat. “What’s up?”

  He furrows his brow. “Nothing, really.”

  “I mean, you said you were looking for me. I thought you wanted to say something.”

  “Oh.” He smiles. “I wanted to do this.”

  He steps forward, and before I can even process what’s happening, his lips are on mine and he’s kissing me again.

  I push him away. “What, are you crazy?” I whisper-yell. “Didn’t you read the email? Someone might see!”

  “No one’s here.”

  I look around. He’s right.

  “Oh.” This time I kiss him. His lips are soft, and this kiss is slower, more sensual. But a thought tugs at the back of my mind. I step back.

  “Wait, I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just don’t understand. Before Christmas, you—you ran away.”

  “Yeah, uh, sorry. I kinda panicked. I’d been crushing on you all year, and you looked so shocked and I—I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Oh.”

  He leans in again, but I hold up my hand.

  “Okay, but wait, wait. I’m still confused.”

  “Why?”

  “If you had a crush on me, too, why didn’t you make a move anytime last quarter?”

  “Crush on you, too? As in—”

  “Answer the question, Louis.”

  “Okay, okay.” He smiles. “I... I don’t know. I guess I was just nervous to do it. But, hey, I could ask you the same question. Aren’t you supposed to be this great crusader, going places women haven’t before? And you still think the guy has to make the first move?” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. I laugh and pull him into me.

  His lips are soft against mine, and his hands explore my body, sliding over every curve and then pulling me into him. My own hands on his back, I pull him even closer, his hips to mine.

  We break apart, our foreheads leaning against each other.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I hear myself say between heavy breaths before I can even think.

  “I don’t care where we go—I just want to keep kissing you.” He pecks me quickly on the lips.

  Footsteps echo along the hall above us.

  “Okay, that’s sweet and all, but can you move? Because I really don’t want to get caught.”

  He nods. I push him playfully, and we laugh as we scurry up the stairs.

  We almost run right into Bass as he heads down. “What are you pledges doing?”

  “Just going to bed,” Jordan says. “Not together, we, uh, live next to each other.”

  I look at him, trying to communicate with my eyes that if he says another word I will scream.

  “You’re going to sleep?” Sebastian pulls back his sleeve to examine an expensive watch. “At seven?”

  “Well, you know...” Jordan extends a hand to lean on the wall but misjudges the distance and stumbles forward. “Jet lag.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Sebastian studies us suspiciously.

  I smile innocently. “Well, see you in the morning, Bass. Bye!”

  I practically run the rest of the way up the stairs.

  “What the hell was that?” I say as soon as the door to my room is closed.

  “I’m really bad at lying.”

  “Ya think?”

  He shrugs.

  “Ugh.” I press my hand to my forehead. “Well, now you can’t stay here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have roommates. Bass could threaten any of them to make them talk and probably will, because he’s obviously on our trail.”

  “Okay, that’s fair.” He reaches toward me and takes my hand. “I’ll leave. But, Cassie?”

  “Huh?”

  “Can I kiss you one more time first?”

  I smile and nod. He tugs my wrist, and I fall into him. His hand brushing under my jaw, he lifts my face to his and his lips meet mine.

  And I know what he means. I don’t want this moment to end, either.

  “Now I’ll leave.”

  He kisses me again.

  “Okay, now.”

  He smiles and disappears out the door, and I’m left to replay the moment again and again.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The night before initiation, everyone is sitting out on the porch, relaxing with a beer as the sun sets. Still having heard nothing about the verdict on my membership, I feel uneasy hanging out with those who may vote to kick me out. But also, if this is my last night in the house, I don’t want to spend it locked in my room.

  Some of the guys are engaged in an intense round of Snappa, a drinking game I’ve nev
er played before that involves tossing a die across a table with the person across from you having to drink if you make it between two cups but don’t hit the ceiling, or throw it too low, or say the word five, or move your own cup out of its precisely measured spot.

  I’m not really sure how you win, maybe when the other person gets drunk and falls out of his chair.

  “Cassie, you playing?” Duncan yells across the porch.

  “Oh, no, I’ve never—”

  “Sorry, Bambi. I’m gonna have to be partners with Cassie.”

  I head in their direction.

  “I mean, look at her, not gonna take no for an answer.”

  I shrug. “You know me. Such a bully.”

  Bambi laughs as he stands up, offering me his chair.

  “Dream team right here!” Duncan yells as Bambi walks off.

  “I don’t know how to play,” I whisper.

  “It’s fine—you can’t be as bad as Bambi,” he whispers back as he fills the cups in front of us with Natty.

  Yum.

  “Looking for some competition?” I turn to see Jordan at the other end of the table, along with a tall, good-looking Indian dude.

  “Sure,” Duncan answers.

  “Cassie, do you know Sai?”

  “I think we met at the Rush Retreat,” Sai says.

  They sit down, and Duncan slides the die across the table to them.

  Jordan is across from me. “Are you sure you will be able to handle this, Cass?”

  I roll my eyes and open my mouth to say something sassy, but before I can he throws the die high into the air. It ricochets of the edge of my cup and onto the porch.

  Ha, he didn’t sink it.

  “Cassie!” Duncan looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t even try!”

  “Try to what?”

  “Catch the die!”

  “Oh.” I walk over to pick it up. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  He holds his head in his hands. “Oh God, not another one.”

  On the other side of the table Jordan is doubled over laughing. “That’s...a point...for...us.” He can barely get the words out between laughs.

  “You’re really not exemplifying good sportsmanship.” I throw the die, which bounces once off the table before Jordan catches it with one hand.

  He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a competitive guy.”

  He tosses the die again, and this time Duncan catches it.

  “I broke my arm during pool basketball once,” Jordan says.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp. “That’s insane.”

  “That’s my shit. It motivates me. Hate to lose.”

  I throw the die, and he catches it without so much as blinking.

  “When I was little, I would freak out and, like, flip board games if I was losing,” Jordan says.

  He sinks the die into the cup in front of me, and I have to drink. To say the beer tastes like water would be too kind; water doesn’t make you cringe.

  “They had to cancel family game night because I’d cry.”

  I laugh, and beer almost comes out my nose. “Oh my God, you are ridiculous.” I set the cup down.

  “I’m still like that.”

  Sai catches the die this time.

  “Not the crying, of course. But the competitiveness.”

  “Doesn’t that get exhausting?”

  “Nah, I just try to pick the things I care about and not lose those.” He looks at me. “And when I really want something, I typically get it.”

  He stares at me for a second too long, or maybe I’m just imagining it.

  “Okay, enough of your life story,” Sai says. “Can you play the game?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He throws the die and sinks it in my cup again.

  “Cheers, Cassie.”

  I brace myself and drink.

  God, he really is an all-American boy, isn’t he? Well dressed and athletic, he’s like a Ken doll. While I’m over here in sweatpants, happy if I work out once a month.

  He’s way too good for me.

  He’s the type who will be happy going to work and going to the gym and climbing ladders and reading self-help books and trying that new all-natural diet and making home improvements and taking it a day at a time. While I can’t decide if I want to never again get out of bed, or get up and go, go, go and never come back.

  He has a beautiful heart full and sweet, and mine is wild but woven in barbed wire. And yet for some reason he seems to find my particular brand of fucked-up-ness fascinating. But I’m sure at some point he’ll realize he belongs with All-American Barbie, who doesn’t wake up sad sometimes for no reason or drink too much, who has perfect blond hair and a skinny body from the marathons she runs, and parents who love her.

  Is it bad that I just want to bask in his goodness for a while before I free him of the hurt I know I’ll end up causing him, or he’ll end up causing me?

  Is it fair to be with him at all, knowing this whole thing is built on lies? Knowing he has no idea that I’m using him and all his best friends to selfishly claw my way to the life I want?

  Of course it isn’t fair. But here I am, smiling at him and challenging him to another game.

  Jordan and Sai remain undefeated. And after the second game, every little thing becomes so much funnier and I feel bubbly.

  As the last few games end, someone lights a bonfire.

  “Are we making s’mores?” I ask Duncan.

  Jordan laughs at me. “Oh, Cassie, you’re so innocent sometimes.”

  I flip him off.

  “I wish we were,” Duncan says.

  It turns out the bonfire is really just meant to cover up another kind of smoke, but I mean, c’mon, who wouldn’t want s’mores when you have the munchies?

  People sit in a circle and pass around a joint. Since I don’t smoke, I decide to have a Corona, hoping it will keep me at the same level as everyone else but knowing it won’t.

  “Are the games over?” Bambi asks when I enter the kitchen.

  “Yeah.” I close the fridge with a clunk.

  The nice beers are marked with a Post-it saying: “Upperclassmen only. No pledges. We are serious, guys.” But everyone will probably be too crossed to notice.

  “Finally!” Bambi follows me outside, practically skipping.

  We drag two chairs over toward Duncan. Bambi sits with his back to him but clearly would still rather be with us than the upperclassmen on the far side of the circle, who are involved in an in-depth debate about the cost versus benefit of buying a bong.

  Jordan is across the circle from us, lying in a lounge chair with his eyes closed. He looks so peaceful in the firelight.

  “Cassie?” Duncan says.

  “Hmm?”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  “What, why?” I look away from Jordan quickly.

  “Oh God,” Bambi says. “Are you still all about that climber girl? You’ve had, what? Like three dates? Duncan, just because she has a nice ass does not mean you love her.”

  “You know what? Maybe I’m just trying to have a hypothetical, intellectual conversation with one of my best friends. And, for the record, her name is Jackie, and she also happens to have a nice smile.” He turns back to me. “Sorry about that rude interruption.”

  “I don’t know.” I peel the corner of the Corona label back with my thumb and think back to high school, to the boys I thought I “loved.” The ones I would stare at in class, dream about at midnight, staring at the ceiling and listening to Taylor Swift, the ones I would cry about in rec center bathrooms at dances when they kissed someone else.

  “Yeah, me neither.” Duncan sighs.

  “But I feel like that’s what everyone says at this age,” I say. “‘I don’t
know.’ Because we’ve all thought we had it at least once and lost it, so we don’t know if that was love and now it’s gone or if we just thought that was love, and maybe people only ever just think that, and what if it doesn’t exist at all?”

  “Cheerful.” Bambi coughs on the smoke.

  He passes me the joint, but I shake my head and pass it on to Duncan.

  “I don’t know.” Jordan sits up. I didn’t even know he was listening. “I don’t think that’s necessarily... I don’t know. I think the problem is, we expect happily-ever-after-forever-and-ever-amen-until-death-do-us-part, but, like, what are the odds of that happening with the first person you fall for? Hell, what are the odds of that happening with the person you marry?”

  “Fifty-fifty, actually,” Bambi replies.

  Jordan cuts his eyes at him. “I’m just saying.” He reaches for the joint when it makes it around the circle. “Shit, does someone have a lighter? Love. It’s a beautiful and awful thing we do to ourselves.”

  Someone hands him a Zippo. “Thanks, man.” He relights the joint and takes a drag before continuing. “We know no relationship can last forever, but we convince ourselves it will. And then it ends.”

  He pauses to light the joint again, the fire from the lighter illuminating every beautiful detail of his face.

  “And you know, the heartbreak isn’t the worst part for me. Like you think it is, but those extreme highs and lows are what make you feel alive. The worst part for me is always right before it ends, when you’re bored and suffocating and not sure if you were ever in love or just craved the idea of it so much that you put up with something half as good as what you thought it would be. It’s not when you lose the person you thought you couldn’t live without—it’s when you lose them and survive, and you realize you can live without any of these people, that if you disappeared tomorrow they’d be sad, but they’d move on, and this is a pretty goddamn lonely life.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Duncan says. “You’ve never had a moment where someone made you glad to be alive?”