Alpha Kappa sits high on a ridge surrounded by smaller, yet far more rowdy sororities on “the hill” as it’s known. I’m legacy at Alpha Kappa due to the fact my mother and her twin were Kappas—and I made no secret of it during rush. While other girls were getting their faces spray tanned a neon shade of pumpkin, I sweetly promised (read: vaguely threatened) the then-team of captains that I would one day extend the favor of bowing the legacy to their little sisters, and I was as good as in. Just like that, I was free from any pigment-faced harm. And here I am,was, the leader of this rabid pack.
We head inside, and my sisters trample to the door. A mad hugging fest ensues. I can practically feel the red lipstick adhering to my flesh. Red lipstick and pearls is the external marker of a true Kappa. I’ve donned both in the event some rogue sister decides to think otherwise. I’m still running this whorehouse through Mel, so if any of these bitches plan on pulling rank, they’ve got another thing coming. (My sisters are totally not bitches, but I mentally like to assert an obnoxious amount of authority). I’m the equivalent of a Mob Boss working the family from the pen in that respect. Only, I’m thinking prison would be a less hostile environment than the free public. I’ve been avoiding humans like they were the new plague. I’ve never been a fan of being judged, and now that theKennedy is back!high seems to be wearing off, they’re all taking an apprehensive step in the opposite direction, clutching at their pearls, wondering what in the hell to do with me.
“Don’t you worry,” Mel whispers in my ear. “Everyone in the dayroom!” she calls out. “We’re holding an impromptu meeting!”
A loose round of cheers break out, and I catch Reese rolling her eyes. It could be worse, Brylee could be here, too.
An iced breeze blows in as the door springs open, and Brylee stumbles into the room on cue.
“Am I late?” She trots over with the glee of a galloping horse.
“No. In fact, you’re way too early.” If she were five minutes late, it would be right on time. I peer at the girls assembling themselves in the next room. There is an order of hierarchy to be observed during meetings such as this, though I can’t help but see that several of the girls are seated out of place, and I’m wildly displeased. It’s either anarchy, or they feel this is an informal get together. I’ll cling to the latter for now. I lean in toward Brylee and Reese. “You two sit in the back,” I whisper. “I need everyone relaxed. If there’s a mole in here, I’m about to throw some serious dynamite to get the weasel out.”
I head in and clap the room to order.
“Thank you so much girls for taking time out of your busy schedules. I know that midterms are right around the corner and that you have papers to write.” Dicks to suck, but I leave that bit of brash verbiage out for now. I’m so livid with my sorority bitches (yes, I lied, I really do believe they are all a pack of wild female dogs) I could bash heads until someone confesses to the lunacy that’s fallen upon my life. Tonight is about confirming a theory. Now, to set the bait…
I take a seat next to Melanie with her warm, affable smile, her preppy upturned collar and loafers with the right kind of tread letting me know they’re the expressive originals and not the Target knock-offs. Mel has been my right hand gal long before this nightmare ever began.
“So”—I give my signature don’t-hate-me-because-I’m-simply-one-of-you shrugs (even my body language is averse to telling the truth)—“I know things have changed with me not in attendance this semester.”
“Will you be back?” A waifish girl raises her hand, her voice genuinely worried in anticipation of my answer.
“Of course, I’ll be back. I just need to do a little damage control, that’s all. My attorney is working overtime, trying to get things handled in just the right way. Have any of you seen the videos?” I scour the room as each of their faces lights up an unholy shade of crimson. They all shake their heads feverishly, but their visceral response, Mother Nature’s polygraph, has long since ratted them out. They have all seen my quivering thighs, that disgusting wanton look on my face that screamed for Caleb while Keith was deep inside of me. Keith was a cheater in the flesh, but I suppose so was I where it really counted—in the heart.
A pretty girl in front raises her hand, Carmen Getty, whose nickname is you guessed it, Come and Getty It. Honestly, I don’t know what the hell her parents were thinking.
“Yes, Carmen,” I say it even in my best teacher voice. I often felt like more than a mentor to these girls, I feel like faculty.
“I think your campaign is going real well. I mean all of the ideas we put together were delivered flawlessly. The magazines, the Craigslist ads, the box of dildos sent to those brats.”
“His sisters are angels. That was a regrettable error on my part.” My eyes track across the blank vapid faces staring back at me for evidence of a twitch, a wink given by the true perpetrator. Someone in this room has taken to being my personal renegade savior, but who would have the balls to step out of bounds? At the very least, they’re arming Keith with the ammo to take me down. All these witnesses? Of course, the finger would point back to me. It’s brilliant, really. If I wasn’t so pissed at him, I’d congratulate him for putting his brain to use. “Now, it’s time for round two. The rules are the same. In no way shape or form are any of you allowed to initiate any of these tactics on my behalf. Understand?” Their heads bounce up and down like a box full of bobble-heads. “There will be legal consequences if any of you cross this line. I’m already up to my eyeballs in litigation hell. I’d hate to drag you along for the ride.” Lie. There is nothing I would love more than to drag the preppy princess who saw fit to initiate our drunken midnight musings and make them my reality—Keith’s nightmare. My eyes close a brief moment as I process the thought. It’s becoming harder to lie to myself by the minute. “I don’t simply hate Keith. I care enough to see that he gets the right dose of revenge. And you girls are here to help me think up ways to dish it.”
“So”—Mel gives a thunderous clap—“let’s brainstorm and really get Keith Stearns’ blood boiling.” She rubs her hands together as if relishing the idea of sawing off Keith’s proverbial balls.
The think tank begins to stir, and, before we know it, the girls are churning out one vitriolic idea after another. Glue his keyhole shut. Sink enough sugar in his gas tank until cotton candy shoots from his tailpipe. Keith drives a Maserati so that will be particularly painful. But the rest of the ideas sort of fizzle in comparison to what’s already been done—to what he’s done.
Cut up his clothes? Hire a male stripper to regale him with his package? Send him a positive pregnancy test (purchased from eBay of course.) All of these scream seventh grade caliber, ridiculous, slimy like I-have-to-take-a-long-hot-shower-when-I-get-home kind of feel.
Charlie raises her hand and bucks on her bottom like she’s about to piss her pants. “You can write Keith Stearns is an asshole across the student lawn in shaving cream.”
“No, stupid.” Mel rolls her eyes. I hate it when she puts down the other girls like that. It’s one thing to have a thought, but I’ve always been consciously aware of how I treat my sisters, and calling them names is never something I would do. I glower at Mel as she flips her thick strands of straggly hair. “She should do it with gasoline.” The room fills with oohs and ahhs. “Then set it on fire.”
Applause breaks out over her genius.
“Interesting,” I say, negating to mention the fact the university would most likely frown upon that, right before they issue me a big fat expulsion.
“I have another one.” Charlie sits with her spine straight as a pin, cutting a dark glare to Mel. For whatever reason, Charlie and Mel can never seem to get along. Leave the two of them in a room alone, and only one will come out alive. “Start a Wikipedia page! You could say he has a thing for corpses. Heck, you could cover the Net with his obituary—put it in the Loveless paper. Send him ‘doctored’ lunches. Special delivery of dead fly pizza anyone?” She breaks out into a wicked cackle.
“Stupid,” Mel quips. She taps her finger over her cheek. Mel is not about to let Good Time Charlie outsmart her in the revenge department. “How about sending a pack of penis hungry men for an afternoon romp?”
The room breaks out in titters. Obviously this has gone the way of delusional thirteen-year-olds.
“Right, and then how about I send a pack of wild cougars after him? I could set him up for a blind date every day of the week.”
“For a month!” Mel high fives me as the room breaks out in a riotous laugh. I’m glad the girls all think my life is so damn funny.
I shake my head at how ludicrous this entire idea is. If there is a mole, if they convey any of this to Keith, and he makes this shit happen, or if my sisters make this shit happen and point the evidence toward me, I might seriously be staring at prison time. I’m sure arranging a gang rape for your ex is frowned upon in a court of law.
