A large group enters the room as Jenna Marshall and Sharon Ridgefield use their yell leader-worthy vocals to call the room to order.
“Attention, girls!” Jenna bellows. “As we promised and hinted at earlier in the week, there is a very special event tonight just for Kappa house! Tonight is the annual sibling matchup mixer with our brothers at Beta Kappa Phi!”
A spear of excitement rockets through me just hearing the mention of Grant’s frat house. And, the fact a mixer is involved sends my insides swirling like the double jackpot it is.
Lucky leans in. “Don’t get all worked up, sweetheart.” She invokes that sarcastic drawl of hers, and I avert my eyes. If Lucky hadn’t quickly become a life preserver, I could have easily labeled her a bitch. But I know the truth. Lucky is a misunderstood villain personified. “The wordsiblingwas just used, and you and I both know how off-putting they can be.”
“Amen to that.” I hold my breath a moment as Jenna steps into the center of the room.
“Per usual, it’s free dress. Mind the code of conduct.” The overly perky blonde wags her ponytail like a metronome. “We at Kappa G like to keep it just that—G.” A round of titters circles the room. The G might as well stand forgorgeous—a fact that made me a little prideful to be accepted into such a pack of beautiful people both inside and out, but now that I know all of my far-too-pretty-to-exist sisters will be around Grant the god with golden eyes for several hours during what amounts to a drunken splurge, I’m not feeling so prideful—more like pitiful. “There’s another little surprise, but I’ll let that little detail ride until we meet again. For those of you familiar with the ceremony—no spoiling the fun for others! Seven sharp! Be there!”
The room breaks into a chatter, and it’s only then I note that the majority of those listening were freshmen recruits and a smattering of sophomores. Whatever it is, it concerns us directly.
“Looks like I get to see Grant sooner than I think.” I give Lucky’s hip a bump with my own. “And you get to see the golden god with your own two eyes.” A horrible thought comes to me. “On second thought, keep your eyes posted in a different direction. The last thing I want is him falling into a Lucky-inspired trance. Wear a bag over your head, would you?”
She averts her eyes. “For you I’d wear an entire garbage sack with the trash still in it. Don’t worry. Whatever this golden boy looks like, it’s hands off for me. The stupidest thing two girls can do is fight over a guy.”
Just hearing her say those words spurs far more relief in me than need be. I’d hate to classify myself as insecure, but judging by the way my hormones beg to slay every girl in the room, makes it clear I’m more than insecure.
Lucky waves her hand over my face. “Earth to Ava. We still have a few hours. Let’s head back to Cutler so I can start fashioning my Hefty bag couture.”
We head out into the icy air and hop on our bikes. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I pull out my phone and stare at it a moment. I’m going to seeGrant. It’s ridiculous how excited I am over some boy I hardly know. And why exactly is that? My heart thumps hard over my chest as if to answer the question.
Then, just as easily as my elation came, my perspective shifts. Grant will be there. Suddenly, it feels more like a death sentence than anything to get excited about. I saw the way he looked at those girls, and it was nothing like the way he looked at me. Why couldn’t he look at me that way?
Daisy thumps through my mind. If anyone knows how to get a boy to look at her, it’s the author of all things hypersexual. Daisy Pembrooke and I have been friends for all of five minutes—as far back as August—and I’m completely aware of the fact that Owen and Jet are hoping she’ll play the role of spy, but Daisy assured me it’s the last thing she’s interested in.
Lucky isn’t so hot on Daisy because she’s dating her brother, Jet, but I more than like her. Daisy is easy to talk to. She actually treats me like my own person and not some extension of Owen’s or Aubree’s family tree, or worse yet,sins.
Just as I’m about to tuck my phone back into my pocket, my fingers start tapping away as I shoot Daisy a text.
Any tips on how to get a cute boy to notice me? Say a word about this to Jet or Owen and die a slow and painful demise.
Perhaps the death threat was a little less than kosher, all things considering, but Daisy gets the picture. This is a conversation just between us girls, and I’d like it to stay that way.
She texts right back.Cute clothes, cute smile (glossed, of course!) and make sure you get in that boy’s way a time or twelve. He won’t know what hit him. ;) No worries on the brother front. Your secrets are safe with me. The only thing I ask in return is every last dirty little detail! (And by dirty, I mean keep it clean. Like really, really clean.)
I laugh out loud as I tuck the phone into my backpack. It’s ironic how much Daisy sounds like Lucky. I think if Lucky gave Daisy half a chance, she’d quickly replace my best friend standing.
The wind sears over my face like a flame, but it feels good, it feels perfect. The world feels good, and in exactly two hours, it will be perfect.
Cute clothes, cute glossy smile, and getting in his way—Grant will never know what hit him.
Beta Kappa Phiis lit up like a lighthouse on the middle of rough Greek waters. Bodies stream in and out of the enormous doors as a rap song belts out its thunderous bass right through my solar plexus, thumping up my spine while tapping over each and every vertebra.
“You girls ready to do this?” Lucky pushes up the sleeves on her sweater as if she were readying for a fistfight in a dark alley.
Harper stares wide-eyed at the enormous pale building, with its Friday night frat rager well underway, like a kid about to visit Disneyland for the very first time. Harper has a boyfriend, sort of. They’re pretty much on-again, off-again whenever the mood strikes, and judging by the way she’s drooling at the beefcake moving in and out of those doors, they might just be off-again tonight. Harper is stunningly gorgeous with her long, dark, red velvet hair, her year-round perfect cinnamon skin, and her glowing green eyes. Her father is part Black Foot Indian, which explains the mysterious undertones of inexplicable beauty. She’s the kind of a girl who makes you feel like a troll just standing next to her. If there were a beauty pageant on campus, Harper would kick every girl’s ass by a Gisele Bündchenmile—she’s that gorgeous. A wave of trepidation washes over me at the thought of Grant laying eyes on her. With his amazing features, they would make a shockingly perfect couple, and that thought alone makes me ill.
“Y-y-yes.” It takes all of my energy to stammer out the word. “I’m ready to d-d-do this.” Crap. I am obviously not ready to speak a sentence, let alone woo Grant with my cute clothes and glossy lips per Daisy’s perverted orders.
Lucky’s eyes round out in two white moons against the backdrop of this bleak, dark night. She’s not a fan of the stuttering. Neither am I, but each time I do it, she’s convinced she’s somehow broken me herself.
“We can turn back,” she offers, her face quickly losing color. “I’ll drive us straight to WB, or we can go see a movie. No pressure. Don’t let some douche get you all rattled.”
“Not me, girls. You count me right out of that chick flick. I’m heading in.” Harper traipses up the stairs, her long ponytail swinging proud in her wake. I’ve only known Harper for a few short weeks, but her affinity for the male anatomy has yet to be rivaled by either Lucky or me. As much as we do love the boys, Harper seems to be gobbling them up as if Whitney Briggs were about to experience a shortage—Justin be damned, and well, at this point, he sort of is.
