SIX
Mila
“So…who is he?”Meghan nudges me with her elbow.
“Yeah, spill it,” says Cassandra, whose boyfriend is approaching the table with a tray of drinks for everyone.
The four of us are at the bar down the street from Beta Beta Psi. Crosby and Leela are supposed to meet us, but they are always late.
I try not to dwell on what sort of activities could be keeping them. They’re cute and hot, and I feel filthy — and jealous — thinking about that.
Lateness is not a trait of the Leela I knew a year ago. She’s a lot more relaxed than the uptight Leela I met when I arrived at Beta Beta Psi when I first pledged.
I shrug. “Just some guy I met at the library the other day.”
“What’s his major?”
“Double major in sociology and political science,” I say, recalling the rest of our conversation earlier. At least, I think that’s right.
I sip my flavored seltzer because today I turn 19. Well, it’s my pretend birthday, the one that’s listed on Mila’s fake birth certificate. Not my real one. Either way, I still can’t drink alcohol legally in the state of North Carolina. And I really don’t want to acknowledge any of my birthdays, because I hardly deserve it. I tried telling my Beta sisters I don’t want to celebrate or go out, but that’s like talking to a brick wall. So, here I am.
“Oh, maybe Leela can get your boyfriend an internship with her mom or dad’s practices,” Cassandra offers.
I snort. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not even my friend. We’re study buddies.”
I immediately regret using that rhyming phrase. The two of them squeal, “Study buddies!”
I roll my eyes and wish for the floor to open up and swallow me.
“What’s his name again?” Meghan asks. All business, pulling up the student directory on her phone.
“Um, Ozzie. Oswald Gwynn.”
“Where is he from? What do his parents do?” Meghan pushes.
I swirl my straw. “I don’t fuckin’ know.”
The two women share a knowing look.
“What?” I ask. “What was that look about?”
Cassandra’s boyfriend, Titus, chuckles. “They sometimes feel intimidated by your accent.”
I am confused. “What about my accent?”
Titus replies, “I had to explain to the girls that just because you sound different and sayfucka lot, you’re not…aggressive.”
“I’m not fucking aggressive,” I say too loudly. “I’m not.”
Meghan smiles and keeps scrolling without looking up. “If you say so.”
I make a dismissive sound and sip my drink, thinking. “Leela saysfucka lot.”
Cassandra nods. “Sure, but Leela says it with…I don’t know….”
“Charm?” Meghan offers.
“Wow, fuck everyone,” I say with a wry smile, cackling. Over the past year and a half, I have learned not to take Meghan seriously when she runs her mouth. Sororities are sororities, and sometimes you have to put up with personalities that clash with yours. I’ve also learned that Meghan will back down when I crank up the Jersey attitude. I don’t care that I’m not as boss-babe and charming as Leela, sweet as Cassandra, or as hoity-toity as Meghan. Meghan’s vacation home might be top tier for Lake Lure, but she would piss herself if she ever saw the Bulletproof compound. Or, for that matter, any one of his houses: New York, Chicago, LA, Dallas, Miami. All gigantic. All with much more privacy than her pretty house on the quaint little lake. I’m not proud of being connected to mobster money, but holy shit, it would feel great to take that chick down a peg. But I’m not going to do that. Because I’m trying to forget that life, and I’m also better than that. Or, I’m trying to be.