Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108049 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“I had my first girlfriend in eighth grade,” Rebecca says, meeting my eyes. “We were only together for a couple weeks when a girl caught us kissing in the band room and told her mom, who went to church with my parents. My dad bullied my girlfriend’s parents until they finally pulled her out of band and got her transferred out of any classes we had together. We were forbidden to see each other.” She shakes her head bitterly. “Every summer after that, my Dad sent me to bible camp. Started setting me up with boys from church. Usually some gay kid who was just as mortified and depressed to be forced to kiss a girl in painfully staged date pictures. By the time I graduated high school, though, I’d convinced them I was reformed. I could be trusted again. I figured living in a sorority house would at least keep my parents from dropping in whenever they felt like it to snoop through my room or hide cameras in my walls.”
“Shit, Rebecca. I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. A sad grin makes a fleeting appearance, then vanishes. “I’m sorry we never became friends.”
“No, I get it.” I bite my lip. “I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I get it.”
A lot of us are trapped in our own lives. Told we’re made wrong, deficient. As if being ourselves is somehow an affront to society. Some of us are constantly beaten with a stick of conformity until we learn to love the pain or give up altogether. I still haven’t figured my way out of that trap. Yet there’s nothing worse than when it’s your own family on the other end of that stick. Which pretty much makes Rebecca the strongest person I know—and one hell of an ally.
“So what are we going to do?” she says quietly.
My teeth dig harder into my lip. “Only a Kappa could have shared that video.”
“Agreed.”
“I have a pretty good idea who.”
I don’t remember who was holding the phone. One of the seniors, I’d guess. Except for rituals, all pledge activities were recorded for “posterity.”
The real question is, who had access to the video. I’ve never seen any footage from mine or another pledge week aside from the highlight reel that always runs at the first dinner after confirmations. It makes sense the person who would have control over that archive is the president.
And her VP.
Downstairs, Rebecca and I confront Charlotte in the lounge. She’s alone, curled up in a high-back chair with her laptop open and her headphones on. Considering the commotion a few minutes ago, I would’ve expected her to have circled the wagons, as it were.
“We have to talk,” I tell her.
Charlotte pushes one of her headphones off one ear, lifting an irritated eyebrow without looking up from her screen. “What?”
“We need to talk,” I repeat.
“Do we?”
“Yes,” Rebecca insists.
Charlotte’s gaze remains on the laptop. Lately she’s completely checked out. She’s graduating and Abigail was named her successor, so there’s not much left for Charlotte to do than hand over the keys and pose for a photo that’ll hang on the wall with the other former presidents. We’ve all noticed the change in her attitude in that regard. Full-on senioritis.
“Charlotte,” I snap.
Rolling her eyes, she slides the headphones off and shuts her laptop. “Fine. What is it?”
“This.” Rebecca shoves her iPad in Charlotte’s face and presses play again on the video.
At first, Charlotte appears bored, confused, glancing at us for an explanation. Then I watch the realization dawn on her. She scrolls down to read the comments. Scrolls up to look at the website name at the top of the page. Her startled eyes dart up to ours.
“Who posted this?” she demands, fire in her voice. Charlotte Cagney is a force to be reckoned with, which is why she was elected president in the first place. Everyone voted out of fear of what would happen to all those who opposed her. No one dared run against her.
“We came to ask you that,” I say pointedly. “You’re saying you don’t know?”
“This is the first I’m seeing of this.” She shoves her laptop to the side and stands. “I just got back from graduation rehearsal and was trying to study for finals. How did you find this?”
Rebecca’s lips tighten. “I just got home and found Nancy and Robin watching it in the kitchen.”
“Sigma has seen it, too,” I add. “So you can bet it’s all over campus by now.”
I see the sudden change in Charlotte’s eyes. From small kitchen fire to scorching inferno. She shoves the iPad at Rebecca and storms out of the room, still talking as if she hasn’t left us in her dust.
“Get everyone to the blue room,” she says. Then, shouting, “House meeting, motherfuckers!” Charlotte tears up to the second floor and starts banging on doors. “Everyone downstairs now!” Then back down and through every room. Beth and Olivia are with a group in the TV room, their backs turned, when Charlotte launches a banana at their heads. “Blue room. Get up.”