There are no secrets in a sorority house. This is Lesson Number One, and if you don’t learn Lesson Number One on Day One, you’re going to get what you deserve.
“Huh,” I say. Since I’m the president of Beta Pi, I know Missy was called in and I know why she was called in. As the president, I’m not going to be the one to spill my guts in the Four-O. Or anywhere else.
Mike is working his way deeper into the Four-O. I know he’s seen me, but he’s taking his time. He does that a lot and I hate it.
“I heard she got home from a date at eight in the morning wearing the clothes she was wearing the night before,” Pi says.
“That never looks good,” I say.
I love Missy. I do, but that really doesn’t look good. As the president of Beta Pi, I have to care about stuff like that, about the reputation of the house and shit. Missy doesn’t care about how things look. It’s one of the things I love about her and one of the things that scares the crap out of me. You just never know what she’s going to do. She has no brakes.
“She’s just having fun,” Pi says, looking at me meaningfully. We know something about Missy that no one else knows, and since Missy didn’t spill it to us in the Four-O, we’re not going to talk about it in the Four-O.
I guess there are some secrets in a sorority house.
Missy has juvenile diabetes. According to Missy, she can’t expect to live very long. I got the idea that her mom spoiled her rotten and treated her like a fairy princess come to Earth and that she’s gotten very used to doing what she wants. I can vouch for that. She also can’t be bothered to put up with anyone else’s shit. You’ve got to love a girl like that.
The other side of it is that she abuses her body like hell, does whatever she damn well pleases and doesn’t do anything she doesn’t damn well please, and is on a fast downhill ride. The longer I know her, the more I know I don’t want to be around to watch when she bottoms out.
“Since you’re a wash on spilling Missy scoop, I need to get out of here. I have a paper due Monday. Are you staying?” Pi asks.
“No, I’m going, but let me go check on Ryan, say good-bye to Missy,” I say to Pi.
It’ll get me moving and show Mike I’m not waiting for him like a bug pinned to a board.
Missy and her mystery date are head-to-head. They aren’t actually touching, but they’re close enough to be sharing the same air.
“Hey,” I say, touching her on the arm. She turns, her blue eyes friendly and curious. She doesn’t look drunk, or at least not too drunk. “I’m leaving. Just wanted you to know. How’s Diane doing?”
“Okay, I think,” she says in my ear. “Paranoid” by Black Sabbath has just started on the jukebox; it’s not music made with conversation in mind. “Are you staying?”
“Sure,” Missy says, looking over her shoulder at her guy of the moment.
“Who is he?” I ask.
“Water polo,” she answers. “I’ll be checking him for webbed toes later.”
“How much later?”
“Not that much later,” she says, and then laughs.
What can you do? I laugh right along with her.
“You’ll stick here? Make sure Diane’s not alone?” I ask.
“No problemo,” Missy says.
With a nod and a grin, I leave her to it. I don’t blame her. I don’t even think less of her. If I had only a few years to live, what would I do?
Diane is sitting in a booth with Laurie, both looking a little weird.
Holly and her boyfriend, Bill Staniszeski, a Rho Delt, are standing in front of the booth, talking to them. Holly and Bill have been together for most of this school year; I can’t remember where they met. Maybe I never knew. They make a cute couple.
“Hi, guys,” I say, coming up to stand next to Holly and Bill. It doesn’t take more than an instant to feel that something is very off. “What’s going on?” I stare at Diane. Diane looks at me for an instant and then looks at Laurie.
I look at Laurie. She looks like she swallowed an ice sculpture. She looks frozen.
“What’s going on?” I repeat, staring at Diane.
“Pete’s engaged,” Holly says. I can barely hear her, the music is so loud, but the words are clear on her lips.
Pete’s engaged. But Laurie’s not engaged.
Shit.
“We broke up,” Laurie says, her lips barely moving. “A while ago.”
“She didn’t tell us,” Holly says. Holly clearly doesn’t believe a word of it. Who would? It’s a lie. We all know it’s a lie, but damn, if all Laurie needs is a lie to save face, I’m up for that.
“She didn’t tell you,” I say to Holly, sitting down on the edge of the booth, squeezing next to Laurie, practically sitting in her lap. “She told me—oh, when was it?” I say, looking at Laurie. Laurie stares back at me. She’s frozen.
“A week ago Tuesday?” Diane says. Diane’s not frozen. Diane is as hot as bubbling lava. “Maybe Wednesday. All I know is that Pete is some kind of schizo to lose one girl and propose to another a week later. No wonder you told him to flake off. Good move, Laurie.”
“Way to dodge the bullet,” I say, nodding.
“It’s like the Grand Canyon of all rebounds,” Holly says. “I wonder how long it will last?”
“The marriage or the engagement?” I ask.
“The engagement,” Diane says. “He’s obviously just doing this to get back at Laurie for dumping him.”
Laurie is silent, staring down at her hands on the table, twirling her cigarette lighter between her fingers like a little baton. Her eyes are bright, but she’s not crying. Way to go, Laurie. Never let the bastards make you cry.
“No way is he going to marry her,” Diane says.
“And if he does, that just shows he’s an even bigger douche bag,” I say.
Laurie doesn’t so much as blink, but I can feel the tremor that runs through her bones, like a mini-earthquake. Pete marrying that girl is going to kill her.
“Why did you break up with him?” Holly asks.
I look at Holly, still kneeling, still holding on to the edge of the table for balance. Nice girl, sweet girl, but not too bright. Why won’t she let this drop? Even Bill looks like he wants to run into traffic.
“I got bored,” Laurie says. God, she’s good. I half believe her.
“Let that be a lesson to you, Bill,” I say. “Don’t be boring.”
“Got it,” Bill says with a nod, reaching down to put his hand on Holly’s shoulder. “Let’s go. I’ve got a test tomorrow.”
Holly rises to her feet in one smooth move, smiles at us, and leaves, Bill’s arm draped over her shoulder.
“You want a drink?” I ask Laurie.
“Sure. Why not?” Laurie says, tapping out a cigarette and putting it between her lips.
“I’ll buy.”
Mike.
I wish I could say he appeared out of nowhere, but I watched him work his way over here. He watched me watch him. He came close enough to read the mood, offered to buy, and then made himself scarce. I really want to hate this guy, but he’s making it tough.
Diane, Laurie, and I are left alone in the booth. We each take a deep breath and slump down, our spines curved against the cushion.
“I’m sorry, Laurie. What happened?” Diane asks.
Laurie takes a long drag of her cigarette and blows it out before answering.
“I wish I knew,” she says. “I probably bored him.”
“You’re being too easy on him,” I say, leaning forward. “And too hard on yourself.”
“You think so?” Laurie says. “I don’t know about that. He’s the one who left me. I must have done something . . . or not done something. . . . I guess I’ll never know.” She tries to laugh. The sound that comes o
ut of her doesn’t sound much like laughter.
“Did you have any idea?” Diane asks.
“No,” Laurie says softly, her breath hitching. “Maybe. Not enough of one, I guess. I’m such an idiot.”
Laurie takes another deep drag on her cigarette, closing her eyes as she inhales, closing her eyes as she exhales.
If you close your eyes, you can make it all go away, or that’s the theory.
“I’d say let’s start a club, but we’re already in one,” Diane says.
Laurie laughs and so do I. The mood eases slightly, and briefly. By the next breath, both Diane and Laurie have slumped down farther against the red vinyl.
“It’s Barbie, right?” I ask.
“Yeah, I think so,” Laurie says softly. “I thought we were going to get married. How stupid do I look?”
Lynyrd Skynyrd starts singing “Sweet Home Alabama.” Matt Carlson shouts something unintelligible and throws a wadded-up napkin at the jukebox. It lands in some girl’s beer at one of the center tables. Diane smiles for a second, but not Laurie.
“You love him,” Diane says. “That’s not stupid. Or it’s not supposed to be.”
We’re all silent after that, the painful truth of their mutual situations too tender to discuss. God, let me never fall for a coldhearted bastard.
Naturally, at the thought, my eyes go directly to Mike Dunn, who I’m nearly positive is a coldhearted bastard. It’s not like they wear a sign announcing themselves, but he sure acts like one. Sometimes. Other times he’s very . . . not exactly sweet, but engaging. Charming. Like the wolf dressed in granny’s clothes, he’s engaging.
Shit. I’m in nearly the same boat as Laurie and Diane. The only difference is that I haven’t gone all the way with Mike. I think Laurie slept with Pete, though I’m not completely sure about that. Either way, she was in too deep and now she’s buried.
Mike comes back with our drinks, four beers, sets them down in front of us, takes one look at our faces, and says, “I’ll go feed the jukebox. Any requests?”
“‘Heart of Gold,’” Diane says instantly. “A little gift for Matt.”
“‘Here Come Those Tears Again,’” Laurie says. “Just because.”
Diane and I look at Laurie. She smiles and puffs on her cigarette. It’s a very sad smile.
“‘Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting,’” I say. “Because when I find that AG who’s knocking our bikes down, she’s going down.”
Mike just nods and smiles, mentally writing it down.
“Let me give you a dollar for that, Mike,” Diane says.
“No way. My treat,” he says, retreating from us across the dark room. It’s so nice, all of this. Maybe he’s not a bastard.
“I wondered if he was cheating on me,” Laurie says after a few moments. “Now I know he was, with her.” Laurie barks out a weak laugh. “He cheated the whole time. First on her and then on me.”
“Did you know?” I ask. I can’t help myself.
“No, not at first,” Laurie says, staring down at her cigarette, the dim orange ember trailing a thin wisp of smoke. “Later, I wondered. But I didn’t know. Because I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Diane says. “He’s the idiot. I really will think you’re an idiot if you can’t keep that straight. I’ve had a tough day. Don’t make me work so hard, McCormick.”
That induces a chuckle out of all of us. It’s been a helluva day—that’s for sure.
“What are you going to do when you see him again?” I ask.
“Am I going to see him again?” Laurie says.
Mike is lingering by the jukebox. He might be a nice guy or just a complete genius at self-preservation.
“Because life is so full of generally shitty moments, my vote is probably,” I say.
“Preferably through the scope of a rifle,” Diane says just before she slugs down her beer.
Laurie shakes her head, a half smile on her face fighting to stay alive. I slug down my beer, just to be sociable.
“What are you going to do when you see Doug again?” Laurie asks, not unkindly.
Diane sets her nearly empty beer glass down. “Scope. Rifle. Try to keep up, Laurie.”
This time Laurie does laugh, a genuine laugh of pure, lovely, malicious pleasure. It’s a great sound; it’s a far better sound than sobbing into beer, which is another very real option.
“What about your guy?” Diane asks. I play dumb for a few seconds, but they both stare me down. I abandon my what are you talking about look. “Is he in or is he out?”
“God, that sounded dirty,” Laurie says on a half choke, half laugh.
“Neither,” I say.
“That sounds really uncomfortable,” Diane says, wriggling her dark eyebrows. She’s half-looped. I couldn’t be happier for her.
“Mind. Gutter,” I say just before taking another drink.
“No, really, what’s going on with you guys?” Diane asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “He’s just some guy I met at the EE Tau exchange last year. We’ve gone out a few times. I see him around some. Nothing to report. Over and out.”
“God, I’m really rubbing off on you, aren’t I?” Diane asks.
“Roger that,” Laurie says.
That gets a good laugh. It’s while we’re laughing when Mike rejoins us. I guess he figured that the coast was clear.
“Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin comes out over the speakers. Mike raises his glass again, lifting it toward the jukebox. “Here they come. That’s song number one of my five. I figured something a little upbeat.”
“Upbeat? They didn’t have ‘Climb Every Mountain’?” Diane asks on a bark of laughter.
Mike doesn’t even look confused. “No show tunes. I think it’s a law that you can’t listen to show tunes in bars.”
“Come on,” I say. “You know that song? How many times did you see The Sound of Music? I promise your dirty secret won’t leave this table.”
Laurie laughs. It’s a nice sound coming from her, a real laugh that seems to cleanse her soul, if only for a minute. Hey, a minute here, a minute there . . . they might eventually add up to something. Even a minute-by-minute recovery is better than nothing.
“I have a mother, in case you wondered,” Mike says, grinning.
“Which means?” Diane asks.
“That I know you’re lying. There’s nothing a girl likes better than a dirty secret,” he says.
“Guilty,” I say. “Now, enough stalling. How many times?”
“Three,” he says, hanging his head in mock shame. “In the theater. My mom saw it four times. The last time I faked being sick so I wouldn’t have to go.”
“Wow, three times,” I say. “Do your fraternity brothers know?”
Mike laughs and leans back against the booth, his arm stretched out behind Diane. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
“I think it should go on your job application,” Diane says. “It makes you look so . . .”
“Sensitive,” Laurie says.
“Dorky,” I say.
“Musical,” Diane says. “I bet you cried when the Nazi boyfriend blows the whistle. Come on, admit it.”
“This is what I get for giving you ‘Black Dog’?” he says, smiling and shaking his head.
“No, this is what you get for ‘Black Dog’ and the beers and whatever else you can think of,” Diane says, leaning over and giving Mike a quick kiss on the cheek.
My heart squeezes shut in a hard, cold clasp, and then pounds to life again. It’s a moment that I know I will never forget. Gorgeous Diane kissing dangerous Mike. They look like the perfect couple in that frozen instant. Something rips into my heart in that moment, and even though my heart keeps beating, the rip is still there.
It
takes my breath away.
Three hours later and Laurie is gone, Pi is gone, Diane is gone, Karen is gone, Missy and Wet Head are gone, but I’m still here and so is Mike and things are getting out of control. I’m out of control. I don’t even mind; that’s how I know I’m out of control.
I’m the president of the Brain Trust when I’m drunk.
“What’s so funny?” Mike asks me, his arm around me. We’re in a booth in the back and I’m pressed against him, and it’s taking all the control I don’t have to keep from throwing my leg over his. I feel like I want to slide all over this guy. I’ve never felt that way before. I hate it. I also love it.
I’m a chocolate mess.
I look at him. Just a quick look into those icy blue eyes and those black brows, and the dark shadow of his beard looks rugged and tough, and I just feel like I need to kiss that. Kiss all of that. But, hell, no way am I going to do that.
“I’m checking out the guys in the room,” I say. “Making a list, checking it twice. I’ll let you know how you ranked later.”
“I’m number one and you know it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say on a snort of laughter.
“Want to know where you fall on my list?”
“Hell, no.”
But I lean my head against his shoulder and rub my leg against his under the table. I can’t help myself.
“You’re right on top,” he says.
My heart does a little squeeze so tight it hurts.
“Did you not hear me say hell no?” I say, breaking the moment. I have to break it. I’m drunk and so is he and we’re in a bar. Nothing real ever happens in a bar. That’s why I love bars.
“Yeah. I heard you,” he says on a growl, his eyes boring into mine. He leans down and kisses me and I feel like I’m going to melt. In fact, I do melt a little around the edges. He lifts my legs and lays them over his thighs. I’m practically sitting in his lap and I love it.
I’m in such deep shit.
I’m drunk and I’m a virgin and I’m with a guy who melts me. This is a really bad combination. Even drunk, I know that. I want to stay a virgin and I want to stay drunk and I want to stay on Mike’s lap, Mike’s hands on my hips and Mike’s mouth on my face and . . . hell. Where was I going with this thought?
Sorority Sisters Page 15
