Honestly, Gods are iconic
I do not feel like going home.
Unexamined thoughts. Moving on.
This is inconvenient because I live there.
I used to have a best friend whose house I could crash at on nights like this. I could turn up without warning, steal half her bed and refuse to discuss whatever had happened until the next morning. Sometimes, lunch. Once, every three days.
Apparently, I have not made a replacement best friend at Princeton yet.
In fact, the only girl’s name I know here who is not directly related to me is Jenny. The Jenny who pulled my hair tonight because I made out with her boyfriend.
So that friendship is out the window, although I do admire her energy.
If I am being completely honest, before learning Jake had a girlfriend, I probably would have blown him.
Or at least seriously considered it. He asked twice.
The second time he said please, which demonstrated manners, if not character.
I appreciate the enthusiasm. Within the legal limits, obviously. It’s twenty-first fucking century.
But Will had been staring at us from across the room for at least ten minutes after Jake pulled me into the corner. Not jealousy. God, no. I could tell that much. More like the hawk-eyes of a security guard. So I guess I was a good girl and didn’t invite more drama?
Growth.
By the time I reach the house, I have successfully avoided examining my behaviours or acknowledging that my scalp still hurts. So that was a very productive forty-minute meeting with my mind while I had no idea where I was.
The moment I step inside the house though, another meeting has taken place because four heads turn toward me in perfect synchronisation.
“Where the hell have you been?” Lizzie demands from the middle of the living room. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? It was your first party here and you disappeared.”
Oh. Right. Phone.
I greet her with the largest smile I can produce and run straight into a bear hug. “Sorry. I walked home, got lost, then ordered an Uber. But I made it!”
I release her and step back, arranging my face into something cheerful, apologetic and entirely unconcerning.
Lizzie does not look convinced. Neither does Will.
“You got lost?” he asks from the sofa.
His voice is low, gentle, but something in it still cracks straight through my skull.
“Only a little.”
He is leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking deeply unimpressed with my continued existence.
“Maddy, you could have texted.” His voice is not gentle anymore. It is clipped and irritatingly reasonable.
This is why I did not want to come home.
I moved in two weeks ago, but I am the only freshman in a house full of seniors, which means everyone has apparently agreed to treat me like an unsupervised child who has wandered away from a field trip.
I take my phone from my bag before he can complain some more.
The screen lights up.
DJ— three missed calls.
Will— two missed calls.
Lizzie— eight messages.
Nate— four messages and one photograph of a sad-looking dog with the caption this is us waiting for you.
The house group chat has become a crime scene.
Why is everyone suddenly so concerned about my whereabouts?
We are technically just housemates.
What can I say? I’m a lover girl but I got a spicy little attitude.
Completely unrelated, but that my mind wants me to have this thought. So, we’re having this thought.
Will is clearly not appreciating my lover girl attitude, both at the party and now, because he is still staring at me. His jaw is tight, and he has the expression people wear when they are trying not to call someone an idiot before gathering all the facts.
“I’m sorry,” I announce. “I was busy thinking.”
Then I give them the sweetest smile I own. DJ nods at me while Nate disappears into the kitchen, probably to find water or avoid laughing.
Lizzie softens her eyes. Will does not.
“I went outside after you,” he keeps his gaze on me. “Why did you bolt?”
“I didn’t bolt. I was walking home.”
“You clearly didn’t know where home was. It’s a twenty-minute walk and you’ve been gone for an hour and a half.”
“That only became clear later.”
Nate makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh and immediately disguises it as a cough. Traitor. I would invite that laugh right now.
Lizzie opens her mouth to say something else but I’m already moving towards the stairs. “I’m going to shower.”
“Maddy—”
“Love you.” I look at everyone through my lashes, give them my sweetest apologetic smile and run up before another person can say something else.
I spent most of my childhood moving between England and the United States.
A few years here. A few years there. Wherever the family business needed Dad to go, all of us went with him.
Mum. Dad. Logan. Collins. Lizzie. Me. I never minded.
When the entire Fairfax circus came with you, anywhere could become home within forty-eight hours.
Princeton, though, was supposed to be different.
It had always been my first-choice college, partly because Collins graduated before I arrived, so I didn’t have to convince my parents on college choice.
And most importantly, I’d be by myself, alone for the first time.
I didn’t know before I started that he would leave a trail of drama behind his graduation.
Because he was sleeping with half of Princeton girls, and disappointing all of them.
“You’re Collins Fairfax’s little sister?”
I heard the same sentence or some cursed variation of it seven times during my first week.
Usually followed by one of three expressions: Interest. Horror. Or the narrow-eyed look of a girl remembering something Collins had done without calling her afterwards.
Could my brother not have left behind a scholarship fund instead? A commemorative bench? A beloved campus tradition?
No. He left sexually frustrated women and rumours about a bathroom in one of the academic buildings.
Then Dad arranged for Lizzie to transfer here from Harvard for reasons nobody in the family would bother to explain to me. So much for independence.
Now Lizzie has DJ, this house, and a really good best friend who is hot, loyal, so funny and disgustingly emotionally mature. I am not terribly jealous of her. I simply want everything she has and occasionally resent her face.
Never mind.
I’m determined to make the most out of whatever Princeton could offer me anyway. New friends. Opportunities. Maybe tomorrow.
“Maddy?” A knock lands softly against my door.
“Nate? Come on in.”
He opens the door and glances at my laptop. “You’re studying?”
“Nah. I’m staring aggressively at notes on attachment style.”
If there's anyone I can freely joke around the house, it’s definitely Nate. He’s funny, makes excellent food and has terrible taste in movies but we could work to improve that. Nobody’s perfect. Even Nate.
Nate already takes a seat on the edge of my bed. “You’re ok tonight?”
“Yep. Completely fine.” I answer quickly and brightly.
“Can we make an agreement?” His expression does not bite on my cheerful voice.
I swivel my chair slightly towards him. “That depends. Is this about your refusal to watch films produced before 1997?”
He ignores my accurate commentary.
“Next time you want to be left alone, send one text. You don’t have to explain anything. We won’t follow you. Just tell us you’re alive and whether you need a ride.” His voice remains soft, but his eyes remain steady.
I expected a lecture.
Hell. I have even prepared several jokes for a lecture.
I do not have anything ready for an idea delivered in reasonable volume that makes my gut twist into guilt because I couldn’t reply to a few messages.
“I didn’t mean to ignore anyone,” I give him a faint smile but the line sounds defensive even to me.
“One text,” he repeats. “It can be an emoji.” Nate tries for humour.
Success. My eyes turn cheerful immediately. “Which emoji?”
“Send a pineapple.”
“Why a pineapple?” I laugh.
“I don’t know. You’re the crazy one.” He laughs, too.
I squint my eyes at Nate.
“Do we have an agreement?” He asks again.
I nod once. “Agreed. A pineapple means I need to be alone and have not died.”
“Good.” He stands, then pauses. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yep. Thanks for checking, Nate.”
He accepts the answer without pretending to believe it.
“Games?” he turns back to me. “Will and I are playing Fortnite downstairs.”
I turn back towards my laptop, then immediately abandon the idea of studying. “Yeah. I’ll game.”
My phone blinks with another message from Lizzie so I give Nate a thumb up. “Give me ten.”
Nate brightens. “Cool.”
He leaves and closes the door behind him so I can deal with the sister situation.
I do not want to answer to Lizzie’s messages right now but she has been texting four in a row, which means I either reply or she’s knocking in thirty seconds. So I open our thread.
Lizzie: Will told me what happened at the party
Maddy: snitch
Lizzie: I’m glad you told the girl
Maddy: somebody had to
Maddy: wish I did it privately though
Lizzie: Probably would have been better
Lizzie: Still better than saying nothing
Maddy: true
A pause.
Lizzie: Are you okay?
Maddy: terrific
Lizzie: Wish I was there to yank her hair back
I smile. I might be a littleeeeeeee toxic but I’d do anything for my sister. And clearly, so does she.
Maddy: wish I kicked his balls
Lizzie: Me too
Lizzie: I’m going to sleep
Maddy: nite nite
Lizzie: Night
Lizzie is the only person on earth who would not blink if I brought home a man with tattoos covering his entire face and announced that I loved him. She would invite him to dinner, ask what wine he preferred and quietly investigate his family history before dessert.
Another message appears before I put the phone down.
Lizzie: Apologise to Will
I stare at it.
Lizzie: Running wasn’t cool he isn’t family
Yeah. She’s probably right. I can’t entertain the idea that a guy I share a kitchen with hates my guts even more.
Family has to come looking for me. It is probably in the contract Mum made everyone sign at birth.
He called twice because… Actually. I don’t know why he called.
Will is not family. Will had a car, an assignment from Lizzie and an understandable fear of being murdered if he returned without me.
Either way, I owe him an apology.
But why?
Let’s assume people are like Gods. Because he clearly looks like one.
Nobody looks at Greek Gods and goes, OMG, Ares the God of War, does that mean he’s like angry all the time?
Nope. They go he’s so strong, and fierce, and dangerous. Until he beats the shit out of everyone.
We look at Aphrodite and think, wow, she’s the prettiest. The Goddess of love. But she also cheats on her husband and has like five hundred lovers. But yeah. She surely makes everything beautiful and that’s what we’ve clearly been focusing on.
Gods are disasters. And yet, and yet, we all collectively retell stories of their beautiful strengths and call it their inevitable characters.
We think they’re iconic.
Fuck it.
Today, I’m choosing to be a Goddess.
Do I cause chaos? Yes.
Do I look absolutely fucking amazing when I do it? Yes.
Do I also tell the truth about a fucking cheating boyfriend to a girl I don’t even know? Yes.
So I march my excellency downstairs to beat both Nate’s and Will's ass in Fortnite.
Today, I am the Goddess of War.
Before I even reach the steps, an Instagram notification flashes across my phone.
@jennyxoxoxx: hey crazy bitch. thx for telling me about jake tonight
A second message appears.
@jennyxoxoxx: still mad at u for kissing him back tho
I stare at the screen.
The first unrelated girl at Princeton to message me voluntarily is the one who assaulted me three hours ago.
Progress.
Another DM right before Jenny’s.
@s.mattjk: i fell for u
I check the profile before reaching the sofa where Will and Nate are currently shouting at each other over fictional kills. s.mattjk? That handle gives nothing away. Ah. The guy from a few days ago. Who knew a legendary blow job could inspire emotional availability from boys.
@xxxmadeline.ff: omg get up x