Chapter Forty-Three
The late Novemberair stings my cheeks, and I pull my red plaid scarf tighter around my ears as Harper and I make our way towards the ice hockey rink set up on the sports field. According to Harper, the frat hockey games have been a tradition here for decades… meaning that my mother may very well have attended them, as well. Maybe that’s one of the treasured experiences that she was so eager for me to recreate—and now I’m doing it.
I can’t stop thinking about it. My mother must have written more journals at some point—not mentioning her sorority experience just makes no sense. Of course she went to Crimson Elite; of course she was a member of the Order. But Omega Phi? Is that where she found so many friends? Are those the footsteps that I’m meant to be following?
I think they are—and that’s instilled me with a newfound determination as well as a crystal-clear goal:
I need to take Marissa down. Whatever it takes. She thinks she can keep me out of Omega Phi? I’m a legacy. I belong there in a way that I’ve never belonged anywhere. I don’t have a plan yet, but it’ll fall into place eventually.
For now, though—-approaching the hockey rink, bundled in my black winter coat and red woolen gloves, with Harper just ahead of me in matching school-supplied apparel—there’s nothing I can do but sit back and try to enjoy the game.
The rink itself is incredible—they’ve been putting it together in pieces over the last week, but it’s bigger than I imagined up close, blue-white ice glimmering beneath fluorescent lights, silver bleachers rising around it in a ring. I never imagined myself caring about sports, but I can’t deny the thrill in the air right now.
“There!” Harper points with one mittened hand, glancing back to make sure I see her. “Couple of empty spots.”
“You don’t have to sit with the OPs?” I check, half-expecting her face to fall at the realization.
But she just grins and shakes her head. “Rashel’s cool; we’re encouraged to sit together, but it’s not a requirement. Come on, let’s go!”
Warm with gratitude—towards Harper, but also towards Rashel, who’s never shown me anything but kindness—I hurry after her. The ring of spectator seats is filling rapidly, a sea of black and red. Harper was right—the whole school is here, far more people than I’ve ever seen in one place before. A low, steady lull of noise fills the field—to say that I find it a bit overwhelming is quite the understatement.
But there’s something secure about it, too. In a crowd of a thousand, I’m practically anonymous. Nobody can make a mockery of me like they did in the student union or the GODs house. I can move freely—and, even more importantly, I’m not alone. I have a friend to lead the way, to guide me towards the empty seats that she pointed out.
“So, we’re totally rooting against the GODs, right?” Harper asks when we sit down. “Ryker’s not on the team, but it’ll still reflect on his precious reputation if his guys get clobbered.”
Her bright demeanor is contagious, and I find myself mirroring the grin that she shoots in my direction. “Totally,” I agree.
“Hell yeah.” She cups her hands to her mouth and raises her voice to a shout—“Let’s go, Zeta!”
The chorus of booing around us is immediate, and I giggle as Harper nudges my shoulder.
“Sensitive much?” she snickers. “I thought GODs were supposed to be the tough guys. Oh shit, look—here they come!”
Thunderous cheers erupt from the crowd as the players skate out, so loud that I can feel the vibration in my bones. Harper joins in, letting out a high-pitched whoop.
I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding. Up until now, I haven’t quite been able to relax. Part of me still thought that Ryker would find a way to ruin this for me. But how could he? He doesn’t even have a reason to know that I’m here. It’s okay. I’m okay. I can finally, finally relax.
After a few minutes, it becomes clear that I can’t follow the rules of this game at all. The puck goes in the net, that’s simple enough—but when it comes to the near-brawling between the players, I’m lost. I can’t tell what constitutes a good or bad play when it kind of just looks like these guys are trying to kill each other.
That’s fine, though. I’m happy to react with the crowd, cheering when they cheer, gasping when they gasp, laughing when Harper hops up and down in excitement. I’m a part of them, a part of the school—my school.
When halftime comes, I find that I can’t stop smiling.
It still hurts, but maybe this isn’t the end. Even if my relationship with Harper is the only one I can salvage, there will be new students next year. Maybe even next semester. They won’t hate me. And I’ll know my way around. I can play the role for the new students that Harper did for me—a guide, a mentor, a first friend. My stomach rolls with excitement at the prospect.
I can still forge my own way. Fulfill my mom’s dreams for me. Take that, Ryker.
Except…
Except that his name still makes my chest hurt. And no matter how hard I try—how much he tells me otherwise, with his callous words and cruel actions—I can’t quite convince myself that the connection between us was all in my head.
Whatever. He’s a junior, anyway—he’ll graduate at the end of next year, and then I’ll never have to see him again.
If only that thought didn’t sting me at my very core.
“Lia, look!” Harper nudges my shoulder, rousing me from my thoughts. “Hot chocolate—I think those are the Upsilon Theta girls. Bet it’s a fundraiser.”
She points her mitten towards a small folding table to one side of the rink, topped with two hulking silver machines—not unlike Sage and Aimee’s coffee maker—and several stacks of styrofoam cups. As I watch, one of the girls attending the little station pours a steaming cup, pops a lid onto it, and passes it across the table into the waiting hands of a customer.
“You want some?” she offers. “I can go grab a couple!”
As a matter of fact, cocoa sounds amazing, but—“I don’t have any money on me.”
“Psh.” She flaps a dismissive hand. “Who cares? It’s probably, like, a buck. I can cover you, no problem.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Game’s not gonna start up again for a few more minutes—I’ll be right back.”
Just one free drink—and yet, right now, it feels more valuable to me than all the wealth in the world. “You’re the best.”
She winks and edges her way out of the nearly full aisle, apologizing to other students when she steps over their feet. It’s packed in here, all right—but not suffocating. If anything, I’m cozy. Peaceful. Everyone’s looking at the ring; nobody has eyes on me. Nobody even knows I’m here. Soon, I’ll have a cup of sweet cocoa to sip, and all of my personal concerns will evaporate as I lose myself in the students’ contagious enthusiasm.
My phone vibrates in my coat pocket. Papa again, without a doubt. He can wait until after the game—and then maybe I’ll be able to really mean it for once when I say that things are just fine.
The people sitting in front of me must have gotten texts at the same time, because they’re digging out their phones as well—as are those to my right… and to my left?
Whispers begin to ignite throughout the crowd. Then the looks and the pointing begins.
My gut clenches.
Something isn’t right.
No, no; I’m being paranoid. Ryker’s manipulation is working, making me doubt myself just as I finally feel secure…
Phone screens everywhere. Filling the bleachers.
I already know the truth. This isn’t some crazy coincidence. We all got the same text. Every single Crimson Elite student.
Throat tightening, fingertips growing numb, I pull out my phone.
Unknown number: Guess who’s seated in row G? Hint: someone who can’t even afford a dollar cup of hot chocolate. #ScholarshipProblems
An image is attached.
A selfie. Marissa. Smirking into the camera, pointing at someone seated just behind her. Someone with long, straight blonde hair and a soft, distant smile.
Me.
Heads are turning. In front of me. Behind. To either side.
No.
Please, please no.
It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter. Who cares if I’m here on a scholarship? I’m not the only one. It doesn’t make me a bad person—doesn’t make me a whore or an idiot, doesn’t give them any reason to mock me…
And yet hundreds and hundreds of faces are pointed in my direction now, and as far as I can see, every last one of them is laughing.
No.
Heat overwhelms my entire body. Panicked breaths catch in my throat. For a second, I think I’m going to throw up?—
I am going to throw up.
I need to get out of here. This is worse than being invisible. So much worse.
I tear my way through the aisle, stumbling over other students—some of them raise their legs to block me on purpose, and I trip over them, barely catching myself on the arms of the seats.
Laughter, vast and cruel, drilling into my skull.
Why? She got Ryker back—is that not enough? Can’t I just live my life? Can’t I just be normal?
No. Not here. Not ever.
My father was right to doubt me. I’ve never belonged at Crimson Elite.
I’ve never belonged anywhere.
Jeers and laughter follow me off the field, a cruel inversion of the pleasant chatter that filled it when I first entered. I loop around the edge of the castle, desperate to get out of their sight, and?—
Something tickles my nose.
Light and delicate, drifting through the cool, dark air.
Snow. It’s snowing.
I’ve always loved the snow. It should be peaceful.
Instead, it feels like a mockery.
I let out a shuddering sob and sink to my knees, gloves crushing into the newly frosted grass. My head is swimming, stomach churning—but when I retch, nothing comes out but hot, bitter air.
I should be here hours later, full of hot cocoa, my arm linked with Harper’s—just like how my mom’s had been with her friend’s in the yearbook picture. Laughing, sizzling with the adrenaline of a well-fought hockey game. We should be squealing in delight at the sight of the field, dusted in sparkling white, heralding a winter full of joy and companionship, pine needles and roaring fireplaces and candy canes… I’ve never even tasted a candy cane.
My tears are freezing on my cheeks, forming ice crystals in my lashes. I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look. A blubbering, shiver-struck mess in the middle of a cold, dark campus that never wanted her.
Nobody has followed me here. Nobody cares. They’re all going to enjoy their game—even more so now, having gotten a good laugh in.
I force myself to my feet. My muscles ache as though I’ve run five miles straight. It takes all my effort to take a single step, but somehow I do. Again and again. Slowly making my way to the vacant girls’ tower, arms wrapped tightly around my midriff, nose and eyes dripping down to my sore, chapped lips.
I barely feel the heat when I step inside the dorm. I’m still frigid on the inside. I think I always will be. My boots echo on the floor—with everyone gone like this, even the tiniest of sounds are deafening. The beep when I press the button for the elevator. The creak as it descends, then rises again. I stare at the ground, unwilling to so much as glance up at my reflection in the silver door.
Somehow, I make it into my bedroom, stagger forward, and collapse on the bed.
I didn’t know anything could hurt this much. The mockery at the student union and the Halloween party was vicious enough, but this is everyone. The whole school. Every last one of them staring at me, teasing me, and despising me.
Sobs rip through my throat. Ugly, endless. I squeeze Ella the lamb’s tiny body until my knuckles ache with the strain.
I’ve failed my mother. She wanted one thing from me, just one thing, and I couldn’t—can’t—do it.
She said she wanted me to make mistakes, but surely she meant little things, missed classes, arguments with my father, drinking too much at parties. She didn’t want me to ruin my entire life for the sake of… what, exactly?
Ryker? Is he the reason all of this has happened to me, or is there something else? Some essential failure on my part that makes me unlovable?
Ryker salted the soil where my new friendships were beginning to grow. Tonight made it clear that no one cares. No one will come to my defense. I can’t enter the student union, can’t go to parties, can barely get the attention and support of my teachers, no matter how hard I work.
I cry until I’m empty, and then keep going, one hour melting into the next. At some point, pure exhaustion overcomes me, and I drift for a while… then, after a long stretch of semi-darkness, I sit up. Dry and hollow, a husk of myself. Scraps of the evening flicker back through my head. Marissa’s wicked smile, the laughter from the bleachers, the cruel irony of the first snow.
I don’t feel anything now.
But the Order’s newest fledgling is far from finished.
Despite it all, I haven’t forgotten my other purpose tonight. Everything at the casino feels like it happened a million years ago; I never could have expected that so much would happen between then and now.
Still, the man in white’s words are crystal clear in my memory.
Your last Friday, at midnight. The third floor landing of the tower has a loose tile.
I wipe my sticky eyes with the heel of my hand, set Ella aside, and grab my phone. No notifications, but that’s not what I care about.
12:03 a.m.
It’s time.
When I exit my bedroom, the suite is silent. Maybe there’s some sort of party happening after the hockey game. I can’t make myself care—the numbness has consumed me whole.
The hallway and stairwell are vacant as well. Making my way down the steps, I find myself aching with nostalgia—last time I did this, I was on my way to meet with the Order. Ryker and I were still seeing one another. I was scared and excited, and maybe a little bit enamored—but more than anything else, I was hopeful.
That’s all over now.
I stop at the third floor landing, as I was instructed, and tap my foot carefully along its perimeter. One rectangle of stone, hollow—and when I crouch down and brush my fingers across it, I find a barely-visible outline. My fingernails scrabble at the edges, searching for a proper hold… there.
I pry the panel upwards—and, just as promised, a tiny, folded piece of paper sits in the crevice that I reveal.
For one brief, precious moment, I’m not thinking about my mother or Ryker or Marissa. I’m only thinking about that paper. About what words might be scrawled upon it. Until now, I haven’t really let myself consider that I might have failed my task… if I did, I might be about to read my own death sentence—or worse.
My hands shake as I unfold the note.
One word. That’s all.
No, not a word—a number.
01.02.
Nothing else.
I let out a long, slow breath. I’m starting to get a handle on how the Order operates at this point, and it doesn’t take long for the pieces to come together. A date—it must be. January 1st—after winter break. Another meeting in the tunnels? Either that or a threat… but if I failed the task, I feel like they wouldn’t bother to warn me in advance.
For now, I tuck the paper into my pocket. I’ll have plenty of time to think on it, assuming that the numbers are indeed indicative of a date. That’ll be good—a way to occupy my mind in the midst of… everything else.
I can still do this. It’s too late to fulfill my mother’s wishes, but I can still keep my own promise to myself. The Order might still hold the answers that I’m seeking. And if it doesn’t, why should it matter? What do I have left to lose?
For the first time since I received Marissa’s text earlier this evening, I feel a spark of something almost like hope. It flickers in the depths of my chest, small but resilient as I head back up to my floor and down the hall.
I open the door?—
And my world goes dark as a burlap sack is thrust over my head.