“Aren’t you going to say something?”
I shook my head. “I’m too smart. It will only egg you on. So no, I’m not giving in to the temptation to answer you.”
She howled and commented, “Well, it should be me in those granny panties. I’m Irish and you’re most certainly not.”
This made me laugh out loud. “That’s for sure.”
With my Jewish mom and my biracial dad, I was a whole lot of everything but Irish. I think a quarter Italian and a quarter Spanish mixed with my half Jewish qualified me to be the most stubborn woman in America.
“Your skin is better, so you got that,” Sella declared as she pulled into the parking lot for the golf place.
“It is,” I agreed and stepped out of the car, finger-combing my curls which were now a wreck. I could’ve worn a silk scarf over them, but I’d left my purse at home, sticking my ID, phone, money, and lipstick in my pockets.
As we entered the air-conditioned building, the Alpha schmucks were checking teams in and assigning them “bays,” which were essentially bowling alleys set up like a golf tee, to play their make-believe golf game. Several levels of bays all looked over a ginormous green, where the balls dropped into various holes or onto the surface and collected points via technology. It was all very video-game-esque.
Sella must have heard my thoughts because she pinched my side and whispered, “It’s for a good cause. Think about the puppies being rescued.”
I eye-rolled and kept walking.
“I’m here for Team Aerial Pilates, Sella O’Toole,” she said as she quickly transformed into the peppy, happy-go-lucky, anything-goes version of herself. A dutiful frat pledge started checking the list. “She’s filling in for Mandy Warner,” Sella added, with her head knocked my way.
I only nodded.
“What’s your name? I don’t know if we can have fill-ins.”
“Then it’s Mandy. Mandy Warner.”
He shrugged and told us to head to bay two hundred.
“Shelby and Tracy are running late,” Sella said about her other Pilates teammates, looking at her phone, rock music playing in the background.
We followed the bay numbers along the perimeter. Small golfing areas were set up in front of each number, all of them overlooking a vast netted driving range area.
“This is fun, right? It’s not a frat house, so it’s better.” Sella and her eternal optimism.
I nodded and kept it moving. Sella and I were both “independents,” but she got into the fraternity scene when it came time to party. One out of every twelve times, she dragged me with her. The Alphas were the most popular guys on campus—even I knew this—and when they announced they were having a fundraiser, everyone got involved.
“…the golf team agreed to come. That’s big, you know?” Sella rambled as we walked toward our section.
Topmost wasn’t a new fad, but the Alphas somehow managed to rent out all three levels of it for their event, which had never been done. The frat sold bays to practically every business in or around campus, plus every sorority. I’d been hearing about it for weeks.
“I heard that Scottish dude was the one who forced it. He’s friends with the Alphas but never goes to their parties. He’s some big deal,” she droned on about the golf team.
“Here we are,” I breathed out on a sigh of relief. “I’m only here for the puppies, and you know that.”
She winked at me as she pinched my butt. “And maybe to get lucky…”
“Yeah, when I win at this game.”
I’d been to Topmost once before—on a date gone wrong. A guy Sella tried to fix me up with from her theater class.He could be the yin to your yang, she’d said. I’d argued,That’s you, but she wouldn’t back down. The guy was more of a pain to my alreadypained ass. I was prepping for a bio test, and he was droning on about a Chicago accent he was attempting to perfect for a school play.
“We’ll see about that. Maybe the golf guys will come over and give you a lesson,” Sella said, bringing me back to the present moment and my threat to win. She spoke with a twinkle in her eye, watching the entrance from a distance until a bunch of fit guys in polos and white shorts entered the building, causing a ruckus among the Alphas.
“The games can officially begin,” rang through the PA system. “Please remember to enter your names into the console and keep accurate track of balls hit and score, and— Whoa, Arizona’s finest just entered the building, looking ready to school all of you. But remember half of all the money raised tonight goes to Desert Doggie Rescue. That includes half of all drink and food orders, so drink and eat up! And if you want to see how the pros do it, check the golf team out on bay two hundred and one.”
It was only then I realized the section next to us had been outfitted with two couches, unlike our high-top table and chairs. It was also empty, but it seemed as though we were going to be hitting our golf balls next to campus celebrities. I shouldn’t care, but theI’m not enoughvoice echoed in my head. It was why I hated these events. I was socially awkward, nerdy, too forward with my opinions and, in general, not cool. My mom being a radical feminist and my dad’s insatiable career drive were great separately, but had combined into me. And it was lethal to being normal.
Sella got busy trying out clubs and looking at the drink menu. “Let’s have some prosecco,” she muttered, “while waiting for the others.”
