Chapter Seventeen
“Uh, Lia? You good?”
I blink, bringing Harper back into focus. She’s sitting with her elbows on the edge of the table, brandishing a forkful of hash browns and a deeply concerned expression.
“I’m good. Do I seem not good?”
“You seem… out of it. You have all morning. Trouble in class or something?”
“No—class was fine.” At least I think it was. Honestly, my second Greek class passed in such a bleary haze that I’m having trouble remembering the details.
“O-kay… something last night, then? I know you said you’re not ready to talk about your date, but he didn’t, like…”
“No, of course not.” I’m not sure exactly what she’s implying, but it sounds like nothing good—I don’t want her to think that Ryker hurt me or anything.
Hurt me seriously, anyway. There’s still the lattice of scrapes hidden beneath my black button-up, and the bruise on my neck that I managed to disguise with a ridiculous amount of liquid concealer. But those are different, and I’m definitely not about to try and explain them in the middle of the student union.
“Well, okay… I believe you, I guess. But you gotta perk up, girl—we’ve got a busy day ahead of us!”
Is she joking? She seems earnest enough, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. “A busy day…? I already went to class, though.”
“I’m not talking about class.” Harper leans in closely, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Come on. Do you want to get recruited or not?”
A flash of alarm numbs my lips. Does she know? How does she know? Maybe it’s my fault, I did something wrong despite all of my caution—tell a soul, and death will find you swiftly—how could I mess up so badly?
“Seriously, are you high or something?” When I don’t answer, she just shakes her head, grinning with amused disbelief. “It’s rush week! Every second out of class is, like, critical! We gotta visit the OPs, see what events they’re throwing, try to make a good impression… it’s a bigger deal than school work, honestly. You can always retake a class, but the stuff we do this week determines our entire social lives for the next four years and beyond. No going back if you make a bad impression now.”
My panic recedes a little bit at a time. Everything she’s saying exists so far from my present reality that I almost can’t make sense of it. Rush week—of course. There’s more than one private organization that I’m trying to join. I need to snap out of last night’s mindset, to shift back into Lia Morgan, Totally Normal Girl.
Maybe even Lia Morgan, Omega Phi Sister.
“I’m gonna be honest… I kind of have no idea what I’m doing,” I admit. “I’m just going to be tailing you.”
“Well, you can tail me straight to the OP house, for starters,” Harper declares, tossing her fork onto her plate with a flourish of finality. “Greek Row, baby. And it’s not an old weird place like where the GODs live. The pictures are—okay, no, I’ll just have to show you. Are you gonna finish that?”
“No, I’m good to go.”
She snatches up her fork again. “D’you mind? I’m a little bit abnormal about waffles. Like, I honestly think I could subsist on them for a full year if I had to.”
“Go for it.” I push my barely-touched plate in her direction, and she polishes it off in a matter of seconds, her bites interspersed with wordless murmurs of delight.
But she goes quiet as we exit the student union. She’s thinking hard about something—I can tell from her narrowed eyes and the slight wrinkle of her nose, not to mention the sideways glances that she probably thinks I don’t notice.
We’re almost halfway past the quad, fighting through a heavy wind that feels more befitting of November than September, when the words finally burst out of her mouth.
“Okay, but like, how was it with Ryker? You don’t need to give me the details. I would fucking kill to get them, to be clear, but I’ll take whatever crumbs you’ve got.”
“Harper…”
But do I really need to keep it all to myself? Papa’s infused my very bones with wariness; my whole life has been woven out of nothing but secrets. Of course there are some things that I still can’t share, but what’s the worst that could happen? Isn’t that part of the point of friends—having someone to talk to? Not just about trivial or abstract stuff, but about the things you can’t confide in anyone else. The things that really matter.
“Okay. Fine.”
She actually hops into the air, a grin blooming across her face. “Yes! You’re the best. Shit like this fuels me, you know. I thrive on it.”
She certainly looks like she’s thriving now. I chuckle and give my head a slight shake. “What do you want to know, then?”
“Um—everything?
“Come on, I need to start somewhere.”
“Okay—what did you do? You went into Carnadon City, right? What’s it like? I barely got a glance on my way here.”
“Just for a bit.” I comb my windswept hair behind my ear, only for it to blow back into my face moments later. “We got dinner… he bought me wine. And actually bribed the waitress to skip an ID check.”
“That’s either super creepy or super romantic,” Harper declares, “and it’s killing me a little bit that I can’t make up my mind.”
“I guess I’m also not sure.” It doesn’t feel like either one, really—both creepy and romantic are words that I struggle to apply to Ryker Pendragon. “It was nice, anyway. We talked for a little bit, got our food. Ate, came back…” I’m not ready to tell her the next part. I know she’ll have a thousand questions, and I’m not even sure if I would have the answers. “He took me on a little walk through the woods, towards the bluffs. And then… we came back. And that was that.”
“Mhm.” Her eyes dart to my neck for the barest fraction of a second. She clearly doesn’t believe that things went quite so innocently, but she doesn’t press. “Well, do you think you’re gonna do it again? Go on another date?”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
The truth is that I want it. After last night, Ryker is more of an unsolved mystery to me than ever, and the itch of my ignorance is driving me half-crazy. Plus, I’m a little bit curious to know how those kisses would feel without being stifled by raw shock.
Maybe more than a little bit?—
“What do you mean you don’t know?” she asks, stopping in her tracks for a moment as she turns to face me. “Did you have fun?”
“Yeah… you can say that.”
She nods slowly, a smirk growing at the corner of her lips. Oh, great. She’s leading me into something, that’s for sure—I just don’t know what.
“Well, if you did then you should totally meet up with him again. Maybe you will have some more of the fun you had last night.”
“Harper!” I whisper through clenched teeth, glancing around.
Laughter spills forth from her, and she claps her hands in delight, practically dancing as she walks. “Come on, don’t be shy! You can talk to me about, you know… that.”
That?
I stare at her, waiting for an explanation. After several seconds of silence, her eyes narrow, the smile slipping from her face as she comes to a halt.
“You do know what I’m talking about. Right?”
“Um. Not… exactly?”
“Jesus, okay. I really do have a lot to teach you.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Where the hell have you been living? In a bubble?”
I fight down a blush of embarrassment. It’s not like I’m being ignorant on purpose. If I had a rulebook to consult, I’d follow it perfectly. But that’s just not how this sort of thing works.
“Okay, okay.” She sighs. “Well, we have to start somewhere. So… you don’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. You’re the girlfriend type, not another hookup. Play hard to get. Make him work for it—and for you.”
I’m still caught up on the first part. “Notch on his… bedpost?”
“Yeah, like just another girl he is having sex with.”
“Harper…” I groan. How does she talk like this so shamelessly in public? “That’s not—he’s not having sex with me, okay? Nothing like that.”
“You’re being serious, right? You’re not messing with me?”
I don’t say anything, but I guess my silence serves as answer enough—Harper shakes her head once again as we resume walking.
“Unbelievable. I never thought I’d hear of Ryker just doing dates… but I mean, if that’s the case, you really should play hard to get. See where it goes.”
“Okay. And—how do I do that?”
She giggles, her wide eyes caught somewhere between delight and disbelief. “Oh girl… I have so much to teach you. Okay, number one rule: ignore him. Well, don’t ignore him, but show him that he’s gonna have to work to be your boyfriend. That you won’t just fall into his lap. Guys love that shit.”
“Really?” Why would anybody like that? Does he even want to be my boyfriend at all? For that matter, am I ready for a boyfriend?
“Really, really. It works every time. Be a bit cooler, more standoffish. Don’t make yourself look too desperate for his attention.”
I want something, that’s for sure. To see where things go, at least. Maybe she’s right—maybe that means I want him to pursue me, to play this strange game that Harper seems to know so well.
I can’t deny my instincts. Part of me knows I’m being stupid. But why not try? Why not see just how far I can push him?
“Oh, shit. There it is,” Harper says, her voice hushed in awe. “So fucking cool. If I had a place like that, I don’t think I could ever make myself leave.”
The building in front of us stands out from the campus’s stony architecture like a pearl gleaming in a gravel heap. Tall windows and white walls soar several stories into the air, with a slim, pointed tower at each of its four corners. Aside from the GODs house, the rest of the Greek row is quaint by comparison—which is saying a lot, considering their elaborate brickwork and marble accents.
“Wow,” I breathe, “how many people are there in Omega Phi?”
“I think they cap it at forty, maybe fifty max? Something like that.”
“Their rooms must be huge.”
“Yeah, and the place isn’t just for sleeping. The only ones who actually live here are the seniors and council members—maybe a junior here or there—but they use the house for all sorts of stuff. There are pictures on the website—they’ve got a private kitchen with hired chefs, a dining room, a games room, a miniature library—not to mention that each bedroom has its own bath attached, and they’ve all got huge walk-in closets…”
Harper continues to list a staggering amount of amenities as we approach, weaving our way through the thickening flock of sorority sisters, frat brothers, and wide-eyed freshmen spanning the green.
No one else is approaching the Omega Phi house, though. Almost like they’re intimidated by it—and I can’t blame them. The mansion’s wide double doors are closed, and blush-pink curtains block any view through the windows. It doesn’t look open to the public—but Harper saunters up the steps to the porch without hesitating, raises a heavy-looking golden door knocker, and gives it a few quick raps.
“Can you imagine coming home to this every night?” she sighs. “It’s like a dream.”
A very imposing dream, at that. The white almost hurts my eyes. I miss my cozy little tower room with the plush comforter and the knockoff Van Gogh. There’s something special about the intimacy of that space. Standing here now, I feel like I’m staring down a gigantic iceberg.
Then the iceberg cracks, and a woman with an impressively neat black bob cut stands there with her hip cocked, raising her well-plucked eyebrows in our direction.
“Prospies?” she guesses. “Welcome to Omega Phi. Come on in.”
Her words may be welcoming, but her tone sure isn’t. Nevertheless, I slink inside behind Harper, trying my best to look small.
That proves to be easy, because I could swear this place is even bigger on the inside. The entire first floor must be dedicated to the common room—it’s big enough to run laps around the edges. Plush couches and poufs are arranged in neat circles around polished wooden tables, most of which are topped with platters of hors d”oeuvres—fruit, pastries, little cucumber sandwiches… a longer table set against one wall features a chocolate fountain and a punch bowl, both of which have drawn a small crowd of eager freshmen. It’s nearly as crowded as the GODs party, but that’s where the resemblance ends. That place throbbed with dark, raucous energy, smoke and hot bodies; this one, on the other hand, is airy and sophisticated, brimming with light chatter and the occasional tittering laugh.
“Freshie!” a bubbly brunette sing-songs, sauntering up to me. Between her white crop top and the micro-pleating of her pink miniskirt, she looks like a human cupcake. I know her from somewhere… the clothing store, that’s it. She was part of Rashel’s posse. “What are you doing here? Have you come to pledge?”
“We hope to,” Harper quickly speaks up with a smile.
The girl glances at Harper, her smile stiffening ever-so-slightly. Undetectable to most people, but I don’t miss it. For some reason, I’m the one she’s happy to see, despite Harper’s advanced social repertoire.
“Awesome. Well, why don’t you come with me? I can take you to Sam. She’s with some of the other candidates as well.”
She turns on heel before Harper or I can get a word out. Her perfect brown ringlet hair flicks over her shoulder as she makes her way through the crowd of people into another large room where a very familiar blonde and tall brunette are talking to a group of other girls.
“Rashel, Sam… look who showed up.”
When Rashel turns, her eyes meet mine and a smile plays on her lips. Almost as if she was expecting me to show up. Which wouldn’t make any sense—Harper was the one who persuaded me to come, after all.
“Girls, this is Lia Morgan…” she says to the small group at her side. Her eyes slowly drift to Harper standing beside me. “And who are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“I’m Harper,” she says, practically buzzing with excitement. “It’s an honor to meet you. Lia and I are roommates. And total besties.”
“Right. Well.” She starts turning to the three girls at her side. “This is Sam, one of my right hand ladies. And the other two are Faith”—a freckled red-head with bright green eyes—“and Vaya”—a girl with the sweetest dimpled smile I’ve ever seen—“also freshmen looking to pledge.”
We barely get the chance to exchange friendly waves before their previous conversation starts back up. The topics whip by me at breakneck speed, almost impossible to follow—shopping, international travel, charity events, their parents’ business ventures.
I couldn’t be more out of my depth.
Maybe Harper can give me some tips. I turn to ask—and she isn’t there. Have I really managed to lose her in the crowd already? I glance from side to side. I need to get it together—no matter how foreign the environment might be, I know better than to let my focus lapse like this. She can’t have gone far…
Over by one of the tall, thin windows, I spy two heads of vivid golden hair—but neither of them are hers. One of them belongs to Angelica, the girl from my floor, and the other I recognize as the girl from the bookstore, the same one who checked me in at registration. Seeing them side-by-side, their resemblance is more striking than ever—all the more so since their faces are drawn into twin expressions of narrow-eyed, stiff-lipped irritation.
My feet carry me closer by instinct. They don’t look towards me. In fact, they seem almost entirely unaware of anyone aside from one another.
“I’m not fucking stupid, and I’m not fucking paranoid,” Angelica whines, arms crossed and lips twisted into a petulant pout. “I double checked. That door was locked, and then in the morning, it wasn’t. It’s those scholarship girls. They want to rob me, Mari.”
Oh, no.