by Rachel Shane
I sat up straighter, my heart thumping.
“I know what you’re thinking. What does all this have to do with the extra house on Walnut Avenue?”
He dragged out the moment extra-long before he flipped to the next slide. It was a logo, the word Unlock with the n acting as the loop to an unlocked padlock.
“I’ve developed a new student-run organization called Unlock. We’re going to unlock the doors for people. But it’s also a company. Its sole purpose is to organize events to raise money for those who can’t afford to shell out a quarter of a million dollars to get an education. The ones whose parents recently lost their jobs, who fall in the middle of the academic pack, who have no other doors open to them.”
Tingles spread over my skin. Robby.
A new slide filled this screen, this one of eight different images of college campuses, each with a building labeled Unlock. “I’ve been working with Key & Lock officials to branch out the organization to other campuses besides Throckmorton. I’m thrilled to announce we’ve already had twenty-five colleges sign up to host the organization, all raising money toward their own Unlock scholarship recipients. Soon students around the country will be working together to raise money toward a single goal: helping others. But Throckmorton will be the main headquarters and I’ll be the face and leader of the organization.”
I bit my lip, suddenly understanding what he meant earlier by his statement that he will be the CEO of an organization. He’d already done it. At twenty-one years old.
“And yes, the leaders of each version of Unlock will also be members of Key & Lock. That’s right, it’s the first time Key & Lock members will be allowed to associate with each other in public eye. Because it’s all for a good cause.”
His eyes met mine pointedly and suddenly I understood. This was how he planned to be with me. If we both signed up to run Unlock.
“But that’s not all.” He flipped to another slide, this one with logos from major brands across the United States. Big television networks, media conglomerates, banks. You name it. “This is the list of the companies who have already invested in us. We’ve got a kick off gala happening in two weeks and we need you guys to help us plan it. Staff members will draw a salary like any non-profit organization. This is more than just work study. You can make a living giving other students a chance to learn. What’s better than that?”
And the answer was: nothing.
Not even a podcast.
MY HANDS SHOOK AS I punched in my brother’s cell phone number. I had about five minutes in the room to myself and I needed to tell Robby before Holly came back upstairs. She’d gone down to make a smoothie real quick, which meant this convo had to be real quick. My stomach clenched at the fact that I was essentially lying to my friends. Hiding something from them. But still…this all felt too good to be true. Fate, if you will. A way to throw a helping hand toward someone who really needed it.
Robby picked up on the first ring. “Ugh,” he said in the phone in an exaggerated way. “You.”
It was one of his go-to greetings whenever I called him. Or he walked into a room I was in. He was a one-joke pony. “I think I’m someone you actually want to hear from today.”
“Doubtful. But I’ll give you a shot to chance my mind. You have three seconds. One…two—”
“There’s a new scholarship program at Throckmorton.”
He let out a long sigh. “Sorry, sistah. Been there, done that. I’m the OG of applying to scholarships. So far, nada.”
“But this one is different. I know the organizers.”
He whistled low. “Okay, that does changes things. I love me some nepotism money.”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see. “No, I mean, I can’t help you that way. When you submit, they leave off your name to those evaluating, so this is all legit.” After his initial speech, Keane relayed the details. All scholarship submissions would be anonymous. “But Robby—they’re looking for people who really need it based on merit. Sob stories. Not academics. Dad losing his job is the exact thing they’re looking for.”
I could hear him swallowing hard at the mention of Dad. “Okay, I’ll apply. But don’t tell him, okay? I don’t want to get his hopes up.”
“Sounds good.” Dad was so fragile these days, I didn’t want anything that might shatter him. “And Robby…good luck.”
Keane’s charity organization sounded amazing, and I knew I needed to give up any claim to it but I couldn’t give up completely. I couldn’t abandon my friends. We wouldn’t get the house but we could still do something good with our current popularity. We could still make a difference. Just like Keane was doing with his connections.
But not if my friends thought the house was a lost cause. So I kept the truth about Keane’s intentions to myself, sidestepping the question the same way I did the Holly, owning the blame and claiming I hadn’t gotten around to asking yet. So I threw myself into planning rush, if only to stave off my guilt under the guise of saving unsuspecting freshman from joining the ranks of Layla.
Last year Bianca had been president of Underground Rho Sigma and Harrison had been president of Out House. But now we were one entity and they’d both resigned and installed me as president instead. I’d been avoiding holding our first meeting, mostly because I wasn’t sure what the hell I would say without a house, without a Greek system, without a fucking clue. But after last night’s Key meeting, I knew what I had to do.
Fallon and Mackenzie fluttered around the basement, setting up folding chairs in a line. We’d had just enough when Underground Rho Sigma first began, but then lost most of the members. And who the hell knew how many Out House boys would stick around. Some were probably still pissed at Harrison for pulling the Jenga piece that toppled the entire Greek system. We’d sent out an email to all the members who had stayed in good standing by the end of last semester, “good standing” being defined as not joining the ranks of our enemy’s lame sorority. Anyone who stood with Layla didn’t stand with us.
Bianca set bowls of chips, both the kale kind and the potato kind, as well as some M&Ms. I had no idea how Out House used to run their chapter meetings but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I was running this one. And so it would go my way. That was why Harrison clamped his mouth shut at the frilly decorations Fallon draped over the chairs to give the place a homey ambiance. Soon the seven of us migrated downstairs to wait. Only Holly was absent, we’d instructed her to go to her old house’s meeting, which was being held at the same time, and disseminate the info about recruitment there. Fallon wasn’t technically a member of Ours and neither was her boyfriend Liam, but they both decided to stick around. For solidarity. Or maybe hilarity.
Matt was the first to arrive with his hands slung low in his pockets. He earned a hug from Bianca and a sneer from Harrison as he took a seat in the front row and creepily stared at me as if now that he was here, we could begin. Slowly, our ranks trickled in. Willow Mathers. Justin Bonner. Mercedes Ortiz. Kyle Wright. Willow and Mercedes were girls who had stuck it out with us until the very end. But the next time I swung open the door, my mouth dropped. Kiera Chan, Jenna Rodriguez, and Aimee Hollander stood on the stoop, giving us puppy dog eyes. Last year, they were first ones to flee to Layla’s version of Rho Sig. I started to shake my head at them and shut the door, we didn’t need spies, but Kiera held up her hands as if she were surrendering.
“Please,” she said. “We made a mistake. We want your version, not hers.”
Something in my chest snagged. This could all be a trick. “How do I know you’re not spying for her?”
Kiera thrust a zip drive toward me. “We recorded a podcast. Ten episodes. We want to be part of this.”
They told me their topic was a murder mystery, digging deep into the history of unsolved murders that rocked the campus years ago. Sort of like a college version of the Serial podcast. It sounded cool and they sounded sincere.
I opened the door for them, welcoming them inside. I suspected Lay
la’s Rho Sig wouldn’t give second chances but we would. We would embrace anyone who wanted to join up with us, dousing all bridges burned with cold water.
A few more girls and thirty or so guys from Out House filtered in and somehow we had a packed house. Not enough chairs to hold everyone. A few stood in the back while others popped a squat between the chairs, folding their arms around their bent knees. I perched on the purple couch facing them, along with Mackenzie who was taking notes, and Harrison who sat there because he wanted his old brothers—his current brothers—to feel comfortable too.
Every eye watched me, waiting for me to begin. I squirmed in my chair before clearing my throat and starting. Just like I’d have to do during a national broadcast. “As you may or may not know, the underclassmen are begging for recruitment.” I went on to explain about Layla’s rally and the way we overtook it when her instructions were too vague. “That means we have until Sunday to plan the most epic party that ever existed. We want people to join our house. Not hers.”
Willow raised her hand. “If we’re the ones matching up recruits, then we can take whoever we want.”
Harrison had already suggested that to me when we created the recruitment form the other day. But I shook my head. The whole reason I wanted to take over was so I could make sure it was done fairly. We wouldn’t cheat. We’d become what everyone on campus needed: a leader they could trust.
“So, ideas for parties? We did the graffiti party last year. The paint balloon one. A wake and bake. We need something that no house is doing. Something that will entice potential new members to come to ours, even though it’s now off the beaten path of every other sorority and fraternity holding parties.”
“We could chauffeur people back and forth?” Mackenzie suggested. “Corey and I will be designated drivers.”
“But maybe we’ll only go in one direction,” Corey added from his perch next to Mackenzie on the arm rest. “Take them here but not there.”
I wanted to play fair but this didn’t feel like cheating. After all, the other houses could do the same. “I like it. I’ll spread the word via email about the rides. We’ll put a sign or something on the cars.”
“What about a foam party?” one of the boys said. “I went to one in Cancun on spring break last year and it was fucking awesome.”
“And fucking messy,” Corey said, shaking his head. “Next.”
I whipped my head toward him and glared in the universal sign of, be nice. “I have some ideas.” As president, I figured I’d better come prepared. “What about a live podcast? I need to check Trevor’s schedule though.” And truthfully I hoped he wasn’t available. I wanted us to carry this on our own, not rely on him.
“What about Alexis Rae?” someone else shouted. “I’d like to see her perform.”
“And her girlfriend!”
Matt shook his head. “They’re both gone. Alexis’s tour bus left yesterday.”
But that gave me an idea. Maybe there was another up and coming artist Cliff had. Someone who could play a college show that we would record and air on the network. “Hold on. This gives me an idea,” I told everyone. “Be right back.”
Bianca whipped her dark hair to me, clearly surprised I was abandoning my charges so quickly.
“Discuss party decorations and drinks,” I told her, and she stood from her position in the front row and took my spot on the couch.
My pulse thumped with excitement as I clutched my phone and took the steps two at a time. I went all the way to the second floor before I dialed, wanting complete silence. Cliff picked up on the first ring, as I knew he would. “Yes, everything’s still on for tomorrow, darling. Be patient.”
I blinked at the phone until I realized he was talking about Trevor’s availability to record another podcast. “Oh, thanks. But I was wondering if you had a singer you need a publicity boost for. Someone who can perform on a live podcast on Sunday at six.”
He sucked in a breath. “Sunday does not give me much time to work. You do realize I don’t live in this God forsaken town permanently? I was only here on business this week.”
My heart deflated. “So that’s a no?”
He laughed. “Did I say no? I said Sunday is tight. But I’ll make something work. I’ll have someone to you by, six did you say?”
“Better make it five. So they have time to set up.” And I have time to gather a Plan B in case they don’t show up. “And we’ll need the equipment so we can record.”
“On it, sweetie. It’ll be delivered to your house tomorrow.”
And with that he hung up. No goodbye. No name to take downstairs back to the group. But it was enough. A mystery singer repped by the same manager as Alexis Rae and Trevor. That would hold enough weight to entice people to Ours and not Layla’s.
SINCE WE’D DONE SOMETHING splashy with the last podcast and we’d have a performer for the one on Sunday, Cliff wanted the Saturday one to be filled only with witty banter between Trevor and me plus a few live callers. And just in case we were incompetent at talking, he hired writers to create a bunch of witty turns of phrases we could use as jumping off points. He really had no faith in his client.
Or in me.
I threw out the list without reading it. If I wanted to win over viewers, I had to be myself. That was the only way to ensure success in both the podcast and my career. Plus, I suspected any witty banter I tried with Trevor would turn into a hate-filled rant. I didn’t want to flirt with him. I wanted to punch him in the nuts for using me. This was all business now.
The equipment Cliff had promised finally arrived that morning when an army of technicians marched down to the basement like ants, carrying heavy boxes over their heads. They pushed aside the folding chairs we’d used for yesterday’s chapter meetings and swept up stray crumbs dusting the floor. They engineered tables right there with wood and a saw until finally half the basement was replaced with a switch board, sound system, cushy leather swivel chairs, state of the art microphones, and foam lining the walls to prevent sound. They even spread a gorgeous carpet in a zigzag pattern in a desperate attempt to make the place feel homey and counteract the exposed beams lining the ceiling.
“This is all on lease,” Cliff told me over the phone. “You damage it, you pay for it.”
“Sure thing,” I said but inside I was cringing. There went the party we’d been planning. How could we hold a rager in the basement complete with a rock star performing a secret solo concert when we had thousands of dollars of expensive equipment here that could get damaged? One drunken person spilling one beer and we would all be in debt for years.
“The party’s gotta be outside,” I told Bianca.
“In forty degree weather?” Sure, in Throckmorton, forty felt nearly like beach weather. As soon as the temps rose above freezing, people starting donning shorts and sunglasses as if we were having a heat wave. Alcohol would help with warmth, but not by much. Last year we’d had a party outside and used some outdoor space heaters to warm it up. We still had a few left but that didn’t change the fact that our backyard was about the size of a postage stamp. Not enough for a party full of people and a concert.
“What about a block party?” Bianca suggested. “We corner off the edge of the street and hold the concert in the road. Our neighbors are all students. I’m sure they won’t care.” She readjusted her cleavage as if to say she had a way of making them not care.
“Don’t we need permits for that?” Not to mention there was still stubborn piles of snow packed on the grass. The sidewalks were melting fast, but it was the large banks that refused to budge.
Bianca stuck her fingers in her ears. “La la. I didn’t hear that. All I heard was that my brilliant plan just solved our predicament.”
Or made it worse.
I rocked back and forth in the new leather chair Cliff had brought in to wait for Trevor, my fingernails tapping on the reclaimed wooden desk. Each time a car drove by outside, I flinched.
Ten minutes flew by.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
“We should really get started. I’ve got ten callers on hold waiting,” Willow said. She and Keira wore headphones to help facilitate the callers. Mackenzie had her finger perched on the record button, ready to begin. Even Matt sat at the switchboard to help mix. They all glanced at me, waiting for my signal, but my eyes were on the door that wasn’t opening.
My throat tightened and my hands curled. What an asshole.
A host had to be prepared for everything, including a guest canceling at the last minute. I pounded out a quick text, directing all my anger into two little words. Fuck you, and then I watched as they turned bright and bold after sending to Trevor’s phone.
I pasted on a smile thanks to the stupid video camera pointed at my face per Cliff’s insistence and nodded at the others. “Three,” I said. “Two.”
Mackenzie hit record. Little red buttons blinked simultaneously on the video camera and the sound recording system. My nerves chose this moment to ramp up, tightening in a coil in my stomach. But I forced my voice to stay steady. Calm. Collected. I could do this. I would do this. Succeeding would be the biggest fuck you I could send to Trevor.
“Hi everyone and welcome to the next installment of Clever Cast.” I cringed at the name, which felt borrowed. “I’ve got good news and bad news for all you listeners out there. The good news is I’m here to entertain you! The bad news is Trevor had an emergency and couldn’t make it to the recording today.” I kept my voice light and airy, all anger missing. “But that’s okay because I’m going to let you in on a little secret. If you received an email from me, you already know part of it. If you haven’t received an email from me, feel free to reach out via the link on the homepage and I’ll happily send it along.”
