by Germaine, KF
“Jack Porter,” she squealed, gripping my forearm. “My baby Gray’s been watching out for that boy.”
I looked down at her lace-collared sweatshirt and to a silk-screened picture of a young boy in diapers tossing a football. Great.
“You must be Sydney?”
I started coughing uncontrollably, and Gray’s mom smacked me across the back. Then she grabbed a water from her purse. “Quick, drink this. They charge three dollars a bottle here! Outrageous if you ask me, and think of all that wasted plastic.”
Accepting the drink, I took a long sip. “How did you know my name?”
She chuckled as her large earrings swatted against her neck. “Oh, honey, Gray’s told me all about you. He’s over the moon about you. Doesn’t usually talk to his momma about girls, so I figured you’re something special.”
I handed her the bottle and she took a sip. “Been using the same water bottle for five years. Bet you couldn’t tell.” She winked. Glancing over the aisle, she let out a line of profanities. “Oh, here he comes.”
A tall, rotund man wearing a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket approached us at the rail. “Della, you look lovely today, as always.” His voice had a rustling slither to it. Like a snake weaving through tall grass. And Della and I both shifted uncomfortably in our seats.
“Talked to your boy this morning.” He continued, passing Della a business card. “He’s interested in early draft, and we’re interested in him. His stats are loo—”
“What’s early draft?” I interrupted. My stomach suddenly tensed and my eyes watered (must be allergies). “I mean, I’ve never heard of that term.”
The man gave me an annoyed look but answered. “It’s when a player forgoes his remaining college years and enters into the NFL draft, sweetie.” He turned to face Della. “And Gray’s as good as in… He’s got my number, Della, and this time he’s eager.” Tipping his black baseball cap, he turned and walked down the aisle.
“Despicable man,” Della mumbled under her breath. “That scout’s been on Gray’s heels since freshman year.”
My broken heart had somehow glued back together just to tease me before an anvil dropped on it again. The pieces were everywhere, and I looked up at the stadium lights, blinking away stray tears. Gray is leaving?
“Honey, don’t be upset,” Della’s soft voice whispered into my ear, and she gave me a motherly side hug. “That man’s all talk. We’ll straighten this out.”
I shook my head. “Nothing to straighten out. Gray can do whatever he wants.”
Chapter Forty-Two
I wasn’t there today. My body wore the gear, but my mind wasn’t in the game.
That is until I looked up into the stands and saw Mom chatting it up with Sydney. I prayed Mom would sneak a crystal rub on her when she wasn’t looking, and maybe I’d have a text by the time the game ended.
Nothing.
I had nothing but a chasm in my chest where my heart used to reside.
When Sydney rushed out of my room last night, all I could do was lie on my bed and bury my head into the pillow she’d used as a snot rag. I thought about texting, but what could I say? I saw the look in her eyes last night. I’d broken her trust. She’d told me she loved me, and I pissed all over it.
“Take it easy, Peters,” Chance scolded, cracking open a beer. “You’ve been pounding booze like there’s no tomorrow.” He scrolled through his text messages, laughing under his breath. “Party at Echols’s house tomorrow. His mom’s sleeping on his bed or he’d have it tonight. Should be good since there’s no school Monday.”
I nodded, staring off into the television, preoccupied with an infomercial selling electric bath towels. “We need those,” I muttered, and Chance flashed his eyes to the screen. “I hate a cold towel.”
Grabbing the remote, Chance flipped off the TV. “Feeeerrrrnnnnaaannnddooo,” he bellowed down the hall. “Take a shower. We’re going out. Peters needs to get laid.”
“Move the hell over,” I growled at Fernando. All three of us were shoved tight in the front of Chance’s truck. “And did you take a shower? Christ, you stink.”
“I showered. I just don’t use soap,” Fernando replied, raising an eyebrow at me. “My natural odor is a part of my defense tactic on the field. One whiff and they’re falling at my feet.”
“It’s a part of your defense against chicks, too, idiot.” Chance rolled his eyes as we pulled away from the house. “No wonder you’re a virgin.”
“At least I’m not the Brown-eyed Virgin,” Fernando countered on a laugh, and Chance shot me a dirty look.
I’d asked Chance to claim he was the Brown-eyed Virgin so Jack wouldn’t find out. Jack would never forgive Sydney if he knew she was talking about him. For once, Chance manned up. I owed him big time—which meant I had to drop whatever I was doing to play Call of Duty whenever he beckoned.
“Shut up,” Chance growled. “Peters, where we going? Your pick tonight. The quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?” He wagged his eyebrows, and I slumped against the window.
“SpaceRoom?” Fernando teased, and I elbowed him in the gut.
“Anywhere but the SpaceRoom. I don’t need to see Sydney and Nick flirting all night.”
Just the thought had my stomach reeling. His hands on her. His disgusting mouth over hers. I’d probably lose it if I had to witness that.
“We’re never going there again,” I announced with conviction.
“Sharbus and Sydney, huh,” Fernando said thoughtfully. “Makes sense, I guess. They did seal the deal freshman year.”
I gave him a stern glare. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Fernando ignored the threat in my tone and continued. “Yeah, I thought you knew. It was in your room, stupid. Remember? It was Potato Pancake Day with Applewood smoked bacon?”
One of Fernando’s many useless talents—linking cafeteria food to important should-have-mentioned-this-years-ago moments. I tried to keep my cool, but I felt my throat tighten and forced myself to swallow down my mounting rage. “Go on.”
Chance noticed my clenched fists, but Fernando leaned back his head and pulled his eyes up to the truck roof, oblivious. “Well, it was the night after that dorm party. The one Sydney was at… two years ago?”
He waited for my response.
“Yes, Fernando,” I said through gritted teeth. If he wasn’t responsible for my life on the field I would’ve killed him right here.
“I woke up and was super excited. I love Applewood smoked bacon because it’s so sweet, and when it’s cooked just right it’s a little soggy with some fat marbling around its edge. The potato panca—”
“Get to the point,” Chanced interrupted, knowing he’d have to do all the talking. My throat had reached another level of pain, dry and thick, too strangled to form words.
“I left the dorm room and saw Gray. He was running down the hallway toward me and I’d said, what’s up man? Potato Pancake Day and he’d said, just worked out… I’m grabbing some water… I’ll be down in a little while. You had this stupid shit-eating grin on your face, shirt off wearing just your running shoes and boxers, but you took a left into the alcove to the snack machines which I thought was strange. The water fountain was across the hallway. Well, maybe you just wanted a bott—”
I faced him. “So help me God, Fernando. If you don’t get to the fucking point I will call your Grandma Louisa and tell her what you really do on Sundays instead of church.” He spends Sundays in his boxers watching Doctor Who reruns.
“No need for threats, Peters.” Fernando twisted deeper in his seat and wrung his hands. “I stopped at Chance’s room for a minute and he blew me off too, and once I got to the elevator I saw your dorm door open. I ran over, thinking you were back, and Nick was standing over some sleeping girl in your bed—Sydney, I guess, because she had that guitar stick thingy tattoo on her neck—then I’d whispered to Nick, what are you doing in here? I barely had the words out before he’d pushed me out
side the room and slammed the door.” Fernando stopped, cautiously shooting me a glance.
“That’s it?” Chance questioned, as the truck stopped at a red light.
“Well, before I could ask Nick again, Ashton Williams came strutting down the hall, proud as a peacock. He was always so cocky. I remember Ashton had said, ten on the pussy scale. What about you, Nick? I’m in the lead so far.”
My chest tightened, nearing a full on cramp, and I closed my eyes, lying my head back on the headrest.
Fernando continued. “Then Nick had answered, I got two. He’d knocked on Gray’s door and said, Quarter point on the pussy scale for that dirty bitch in there, but I took her to Pound Town. She’s learned her lesson.” Fernando mimicked Nick’s stoic tone and I took in a deep breath.
“You’re an idiot, Fernando,” Chance broke in, slamming his foot down on the gas pedal. “You didn’t think to mention this before now? Didn’t you think it was weird that Nick was in Gray’s room?”
Fernando pursed his lips together, deep in thought. “Now, I guess it seems weird, but Ashton had asked him where Gray was and Nick had said, verbatim, I told Peters to take a hike, so he stayed on the couch in the rec room.”
“What next?” Chance snapped, jabbing Fernando with his elbow.
Fernando smacked him back and said, “Then they both laughed, and Ashton asked, What about the other one? Nick answered, Brittany? She earns a ten.” Fernando gave me a slight nod and stared out through the windshield. “So yeah, they slept together, Peters. I thought you knew… You were the one sleeping on the rec couch.”
Drunk off my ass and now pissed as hell, I gave Chance a don’t-fuck-with-me look. “Where does Ashton drink?”
Chapter Forty-Three
Allison bought me time via her explosive diarrhea ruse, but I was stumped. I’d found zero dirt on Katharine DeSonna. I started to make a list of ways I could blackmail her, but every time I put the pen on the paper, I thought of Gray.
He’d hate Pittsburgh, right? It was probably colder there, less rain but colder. His parents lived in Portland, and from the personal stories Della Peters showered me with at the game, Gray would rather chew off his throwing arm than leave them. And what about the children? Think about those little hearts he’d be crushing at MacArthur Middle School. The children, Peters!
I slammed my head down on the desk.
Who was I kidding? Certainly not myself. Everything ached. I was sore in places I never thought could be riddled with pain. The fact that I still loved Gray made me sick to my stomach.
I realized what I felt in the fifth grade for Jacob Deris scored a two on the Sydney love scale.
Gray hit a ten.
But for me, I needed both trust and love, and Gray ruined that.
Allison had left shortly after the game to stay the night at Jack’s. I had a good laugh when she pulled on her sweats, grabbed her sleeping bag from under her bed, and snatched up some Disney movies. They were having a tween slumber party. Their happiness staved off some of the unbearable throbbing in my chest, but it was still there waiting for when I was alone.
Dropping my pen, I gave up and grabbed my shower caddy. The dorm hall was eerily quiet tonight. Everyone was out celebrating Northern’s big win, and no doubt Gray was somewhere doing keg stands at this very moment.
Hopping into the shower, I closed the blurry glass door and swung my towel over the edge. I had just started the water when I heard the door creep open.
“I’ll be done in five minutes,” I yelled through the stream of water.
Then my towel was ripped off the stall door.
“What the hell?”
“You don’t know me.” A small voice rose with the steamy air, followed by a string of mumbles.
“What?” I asked, turning off the shower and covering my lady parts. “I can’t hear you. Give me back my towel.”
I heard an aggravated sigh followed by a throat clearing. “You don’t know me,” the voice said louder. “But I know who you are, Sunday Lane.”
At first, my mind was racing and my heart was beating just as fast. I was going to get a prison-style beatdown in the dorm shower. Then I replayed the voice in my mind.
“Lily Tanaka?”
“Goddammit,” Lily said from behind the glass, and my towel was tossed back over. I quickly wrapped it around me and opened the door.
Lily waited, arms crossed over her wool blazer, leaning a hip against the sink edge. “How did you know it was me?”
“You’re in my Sexual Evolution class. You talk all the time. How could I not know it was you?”
She straightened her back and glanced warily at the door. “Shh… you don’t know me,” she reiterated, emphasizing each word and slowly nodding her head.
“Okay.”
Stepping out of the shower, I stood in a puddle of water as she circled me like a lion does its prey.
“Be quiet,” she warned. “Are you familiar with the term Panhellenic?”
“That’s a disease from the sixteenth century, right?” I tucked my towel closer around my waist.
Lily rolled her eyes. “No, Sydney, it’s not,” she snapped. Her eyes flashed red, then resumed their normal midnight black. “Panhellenic is the national council charged with monitoring the activities of fraternities and sororities.” She jabbed a thumb against her buttoned white dress shirt. “I’m the secretary of the Northern Panhellenic chapter.”
“Okay,” I uttered, not understanding where she was going with this.
“It was brought to our attention Katharine DeSonna plans to release information on you. Information that will damage your little reputation,” she said with a hint of disgust in her voice.
“Get to the point, Tanaka.” Grabbing my caddy, I headed for the door, but she whipped her back against it, blocking my exit.
“Fine,” she said, straightening her matching wool skirt. She looked like an anime schoolgirl. I half expected her eyes to bulge out of her head and a hovering rainbow surfboard to carry her out of the room. Reaching into her bag she produced a small digital recorder. “We want to help you, Sydney.”
Her uneven smile gave me chills. “We’ve known about Katharine’s ill treatment of her pledges for quite a while, and now an opportunity has arisen to rid ourselves of the Kappa Delta Dictator without tarnishing our reputation.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling, shaking her head. “Her asinine ideas for fundraisers make me want to grab my handgun from my glove box.” Her eyes dropped to meet mine. “Know what I mean?”
Nodding, I scanned the room for something sharp. Lily Tanaka was nuts.
“The council would like your help in putting Katharine in her place, so we’re giving you her emergency exit.”
“Emergency exit?”
She nodded, handing me the tape recorder. “Every leader has an emergency exit. Information that would shame and potentially get them kicked out of their position as chapter president. It just so happens Katharine is terrible at math.”
“Math?” I scoffed. “So Katharine’s going to leave me alone because she can’t work through the Pythagorean theorem?”
Lily leaned over and pushed my thumb over the play button:
“Katharine, we can’t keep doing this,” a husky male voice shot through the speaker. “Maybe I can find a tutor for you and then your grades would… Oh God. Oh God… Holy shit.”
“You were saying, Professor Berger?” Katharine’s seductive voice followed his moans. “I think I have the best tutor in the world between my legs right now… You gonna make me cry and beg for an A…? (Random series of disgusting sounds) Because I’ll do it.
I hit the stop button and looked down at my hand.
“Yes,” Lily whispered. “Katharine’s been sleeping with her calculus professor all semester.”
“How did yo—”
“We have our ways, Sydney. We have spies everywhere.” She opened her hands in a dramatic sweeping circle, then grabbed the recorder. “We are willing to give this to you with the
understanding it’s to be used as blackmail. Everyone wins in this situation. Katharine’s under your thumb… and you’re under ours.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Under your thumb? Why don’t you just blackmail her directly?”
“Her daddy pays for our national Panhellenic conventions, and I like my yearly trips to Hawaii. If this gets out, she’s not only out of Kappa Delta; she’s out of the Greek system. We just want to give her a scare. But it doesn’t mean we want to do it nicely. Tuesday night, you’ll call this number at eight o’clock.” Lily handed me a slip of paper. “That’s our quarterly Panhellenic meeting, and we want to watch her squirm.”
Teasing me, Lily waved the recorder in front of my face. “Eight o’clock sharp, Sydney. All we’ll ask for is a favor once in a while. Sunday Lane has a following that could be useful to the council.”
Well, shit.
Chapter Forty-Four
Bitch is not the word I would use to describe Margot Porter.
Why?
Because bitch would be a compliment.
Margot Porter was a spoiled lapdog. Her raven-black eyes were cold and cruel. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d just picked a man’s carcass clean before stepping into Northern’s banquet hall. Her ruby hair was pulled so tightly in a bun her olive skin stretched against her skull. It looked as if she’d run head on into a strip of saran wrap. And that permanent snarl on her thin lips, well, it would rival a rabid bulldog’s.
Those disturbing superficial observations aside, her insides were what terrified me.
Inside, I would bet my life, lay a charred and hollow shell where somewhere deep down an innocent soul encased in brick was scratching with broken, bloodied nails to break free.
“Where is your sister?” she snapped at Jack, adjusting her expensive navy blazer. Her eyes fell on my mother’s cruelty-free hemp purse, and she smirked with a half eye roll.
“Doesn’t surprise me she’s late. Sydney can barely tell time when she’s listening to that goddamn music of hers. Communications major. What a waste of money. She’s repaying me every cent for this education, and I’ll be collecting interest from the grave, seeing as her future’s so bright. Radio talent? She’s such a fool. Always has been.” Leaning over to Jack, she adjusted his tie. “Unlike you. You’ll go far. I just know it.”
