"Is this a joke?" I gape at the five girls who are holding me in judgment. They
have various hair, skin, and eye colors, and yet I can't tell them apart
because their expressions are identical. There's a whole lot of smug peeking
through the phony remorse they're trying to convey, as if they're truly
devastated by the news.
Ha. They're enjoying this.
"I'm sorry, Summer, but it's not a joke." Kaya offers a pitying smile. "As the
Standards Committee, we take Kappa Beta Nu's reputation very seriously. We
received word from Nationals this morning—"
"Oh really? You received word? Did they send a telegram?"
"No, it was an email," she says, completely missing the sarcasm. She flips
her glossy hair over one shoulder. "They reminded the committee that every
member of this sorority must uphold the behavior standards set by them,
otherwise our chapter will lose its good standing with Nationals."
"We have to remain in good standing," Bianca pipes up, pleading at me with
her eyes. Of the five bi-otches in front of me, she seems like the most
reasonable.
"Especially after what happened to Daphne Kettleman," adds a girl whose
name I can't remember.
Curiosity gets the better of me. "What happened to Daphne Kettleman?"
"Alcohol poisoning." The fourth girl—I think her name's Hailey—lowers
her voice to a whisper and quickly glances around, as if there might be a bug or two hidden in the antique furnishings that fill the living room of the Kappa
mansion.
"She had to get her stomach pumped," the no-name girl reveals gleefully.
Which makes me question whether she's actually thrilled that Daphne Kettleman
almost died.
Kaya speaks up in a curt voice. "Enough about Daphne. You shouldn't have
even brought her up, Coral—"
Coral! Right. That's her name. And it sounds as stupid now as it did when
she introduced herself fifteen minutes ago.
"We don't speak Daphne's name in this house," Kaya explains to me.
Jee-zus. One measly stomach pumping and poor Daphne gets Voldemorted?
The Kappa Beta Nu chapter of Briar University is evidently a lot stricter than the
Brown chapter.
Case in point—they're kicking me out before I'd even moved in.
"This isn't personal," Kaya continues, giving me another fake consolatory
smile. "Our reputation is very important to us, and although you're a legacy—"
"A presidential legacy," I point out. So ha! In your face, Kaya! My mom was
president of a Kappa chapter during her junior and senior years, and so was my
grandmother. Heyward women and Kappa Beta Nu go together like abs and any
male Hemsworth.
"A legacy," she repeats, "but we don't adhere as strictly to those ancestral
bonds the way we used to."
Ancestral bonds? Who says that? Did she time-travel from the olden days?
"As I said, we have rules and policies. And you didn't leave the Brown
chapter on the best of terms."
"I didn't get kicked out of Kappa," I argue. "I got kicked out of school in
general."
Kaya stares at me in disbelief. "Is this a point of pride for you? Getting
expelled from one of the best colleges in the country?"
I answer through clenched teeth. "No, I'm not proud of it. I'm just saying,
technically speaking, I'm still a member of this sorority."
"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean you're entitled to live in this house." Kaya
crosses her arms over the front of her white mohair sweater.
"I see." I mimic her pose, except I cross my legs too.
Kaya's envious gaze lands on my black suede Prada boots, a gift from my
grandmother to celebrate my admission to Briar. I had a good chuckle when I
opened the package last night—I'm not sure Nana Celeste understands that I'm
only attending Briar because I was expelled from my other school. Actually, I
bet she does, and just doesn't care. Nana will find any excuse to get her Prada
on. She's my soulmate.
"And you didn't think," I go on, an edge creeping into my voice, "to let me
know this until after I packed up my stuff, drove all the way down here from
Manhattan, and walked through the front door?"
Bianca is the only one who has the decency to look guilty. "We're really
sorry, Summer. But like Kaya said, Nationals didn't get in touch until this
morning, and then we had to vote, and…" She shrugs weakly. "Sorry," she says
again.
"So you voted and decided I'm not allowed to live here."
"Yes," Kaya says.
I glance at the others. "Hailey?"
"Halley," she corrects icily.
Oh, whatever. Like I'm supposed to remember their names? We literally just
met. "Halley." I look to the next girl. "Coral." And then the next girl. Crap. I
legit don't know this one. "Laura?"
"Tawny," she bites out.
Swing and a miss! "Tawny," I repeat apologetically. "You guys are sure
about this?"
I get three nods.
"Cool. Thanks for wasting my time." I stand up, push my hair over one
shoulder, and start wrapping my red cashmere scarf around my neck. A bit too
vigorously maybe, because it seems to annoy Kaya.
"Stop being so dramatic," she orders in a snarky voice. "And don't act like
we're to blame for the fact that you burned down your former house. Excuse us
if we don't want to live with an arsonist."
I struggle to keep my temper in check. "I didn't burn anything down."
"That's not what our Brown sisters said." She tightens her lips. "Anyway, we
have a house meeting in ten minutes. It's time for you to go."
"Another meeting? Look at you! A packed schedule today!"
"We're organizing a New Year's Eve charity event tonight to raise money,"
Kaya says stiffly.
Ah, my bad. "What's the charity?"
"Oh." Bianca looks sheepish. "We're raising money to renovate the
basement here in the mansion."
Oh my God. They're the charity? "You better get to it, then." With a
mocking smile, I flutter my fingers in a careless wave and march out of the
room.
In the hall, I feel the first sting of tears.
Fuck these girls. I don't need them or their dumb sorority.
"Summer, wait."
Bianca catches up to me at the front doors. I quickly paste on a smile and
blink away the tears that had begun to well up. I won't let them see me cry, and
I'm so frigging glad I left all my suitcases in the car and only came in with my
oversized purse. How mortifying would it have been to lug my bags back to the
car? It would've taken multiple trips too, because I don't travel light.
"Listen," Bianca says, her voice so quiet I strain to hear her. "You should
consider yourself lucky."
I raise my eyebrows. "For being homeless? Sure, I feel blessed."
She cracks a smile. "Your last name is Heyward-Di Laurentis. You are not,
and will never be, homeless."
I grin sheepishly. Can't argue with that.
"But I'm serious," she whispers. "You don't want to live here." Her almondshaped eyes dart toward the doorway. "Kaya is like a drill sergeant. It's her first
year as Kappa president, and she's on some crazy power trip."
"I've noticed," I say dryly.
"You should've seen what she did to Daphne! She acted like it was the
alcohol thing, but really she was just jealous because Daph slept with her ex-
boyfriend Chris, so she made Daph's life miserable. One weekend when Daphne
was away, Kaya 'accidentally'"—Bianca uses air quotes—"donated every piece
of her clothing to these freshmen who were collecting stuff for the annual
clothes drive. Daph eventually quit the sorority and moved out."
I'm starting to think that alcohol poisoning was the best thing that could've
ever happened to Daphne Kettleman, if it got her out of this hellhole.
"Whatever. I don't care if I live here or not. Like you said, I'll be just fine." I
put on the cavalier, nothing-in-life-ever-ever-gets-to-me voice that I've perfected
over the years.
It's my armor. I pretend that my life is a beautiful Victorian house and hope
that nobody peers close enough to see the cracks in my facade.
But no matter how convincing I am in front of Bianca, there's no stopping
the massive wave of anxiety that hits me the moment I slide into my car five
minutes later. It stilts my breathing and quickens my pulse, making it hard to
think clearly.
What am I supposed to do?
Where am I supposed to go?
I inhale deeply. It's okay. It's fine. I take another breath. Yes, I'll figure it
out. I always do, right? I'm constantly screwing up, and I always find a way to
unscrew myself. I just have to buckle down and think—
My phone blares out its ringtone rendition of Sia's "Cheap Thrills." Thank
God.
I waste no time answering the call. "Hey," I greet my brother Dean, grateful
for the interruption.
"Hey, Boogers. Just checking that you made it to campus in one piece."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Gosh, who knows. You might've run off to Miami with some hitchhiking
wannabe rapper you picked up on the interstate—or what I like to call a recipe
for becoming a serial killer's skin-suit. Oh wait! You already fucking did that."
"Oh my God. First of all, Jasper was an aspiring country singer, not a rapper.
Second, I was with two other girls and we were driving to Daytona Beach, not
Miami. Third, he didn't even try to touch me, let alone murder me." I sigh.
"Lacey did hook up with him, though, and he gave her herpes."
Incredulous silence meets my ears.
"Dicky?" That's my childhood nickname for Dean. He hates it. "You there?"
"I'm trying to understand how you think your version of the story is in any
way more palatable than mine." He suddenly curses. "Aw fuck, didn't I hook up
with Lacey at your eighteenth birthday party?" A pause. "The herpes trip
would've happened before that party. Dammit, Summer! I mean, I used
protection, but a warning would've been nice!"
"No, you didn't hook up with Lacey. You're thinking of Laney, with an 'N.'
I stopped being her friend after that."
"How come?"
"Because she slept with my brother when she was supposed to be hanging
out with me at my party. That's not cool."
"Truth. Selfish move."
"Yup."
There's a sudden blast of noise on the line—what sounds like wind, car
engines, and then a barrage of honking. "Sorry," Dean says. "Just leaving the
apartment. My Uber's here."
"Where are you off to?"
"Picking up our dry-cleaning. The place Allie and I go to is in Tribeca, but
they're awesome, so worth the trek. Highly recommend."
Dean and his girlfriend Allie live in the West Village in Manhattan. Allie
admitted to me that the area is way fancier than she's used to, but for my brother
it's actually a step down; our family's penthouse is on the Upper East Side,
making up the top three floors of our hotel, the Heyward Plaza. But Dean's new
building is near the private school where he teaches, and since Allie has a lead
role on a television show that shoots all over Manhattan, the location is
convenient for both of them.
It must be so nice for them, having a place to live and all.
"Anyway, are you nice and settled at the Kappa house?"
"Not quite," I confess.
"For fuck's sake, Summer. What did you do?"
My jaw falls open in outrage. Why does my family always assume that I'm
in the wrong?
"I didn't do anything," I answer stiffly. But then defeat weakens my voice.
"They don't think someone like me is good for the sorority's reputation. One of
them said I was an arsonist."
"Well," Dean says not so tactfully. "You kind of are."
"Fuck off, Dicky. It was an accident. Arsonists intentionally set fires."
"So you're an accidental arsonist. The Accidental Arsonist. That's a great
name for a book."
"Awesome. Go write that." I don't care how snide I sound. I'm feeling
snarky, and my nerves are shot. "Anyway, they kicked me out, and now I have
to figure out where the heck I'm going to live this semester." My throat catches
on a lump that appears out of nowhere, and a choked almost-sob squeezes past it.
"Are you okay?" Dean asks immediately.
"I don't know." I swallow hard. "I… This is ridiculous. I don't know why
I'm upset. Those girls are awful and I wouldn't have enjoyed living with them. I
mean, it's New Year's Eve, and they're all on campus! They're doing some
charity fundraiser thing instead of partying! That's so not my scene."
The tears I've been holding at bay are no longer controllable. Two fat drops
slide down my cheeks, and I'm so glad Dean isn't here to witness it. It's bad
enough that he can hear me crying.
"I'm sorry, Boogers."
"Whatever." I angrily swipe at my wet eyes. "It doesn't matter. I'm not
going to cry over a few mean girls and an overcrowded house. I won't let it get
to me. Would Selena Gomez let it get to her? Absolutely not."
There's a confused beat. "Selena Gomez?"
"Yes." I jut out my chin. "She's a symbol of class and purity, and I try to
model myself after her. Personality-wise. Obviously, when it comes to style, I
will forever strive to be Coco Chanel, and I will forever fail because nobody can
be Coco Chanel."
"Obviously." He pauses. "Which era Selena Gomez are we talking about?
Justin Bieber or The Weeknd? Or Bieber part two?"
I frown at my phone. "Are you for real right now?"
"What?"
"A woman isn't defined by her boyfriends. She's defined by her
achievements. And her shoes."
My gaze lands on my new boots, courtesy of Nana Celeste. At least I've had
smashing success in the shoe department.
The rest of it, not so much.
"I guess I can ask Dad to call the housing people and see if there's
availability in any of the dorms." Once again, I feel defeated. "I really don't
want to do that, though. He already had to pull strings to get me into Briar."
And I'd rather not live in a dorm if I can help it. Sharing a bathroom with a
dozen other girls is my worst nightmare. I had to do it in the Kappa house at
Brown, but the private bedroom made the bathroom situation easier to swallow.
No way will there be any singles left in the dorms this far into the school year.
I moan softly. "What am I supposed to do?"
I have two older brothers who never, ever pass up an opportunity to tease or
embarrass me, but sometimes they display rare moments of compassion. "Don't
call Dad yet," Dean says gruffly. "Let me see what I can do first."
My forehead wrinkles. "I'm not sure you can do anything."
"Just hold off on calling him. I've got an idea." The squeal of brakes fills the
line. "One sec. Thanks, bro. Five-star ride, for sure." A car door slams.
"Summer, you're coming back to the city tonight anyway, right?"
"I wasn't planning on it," I admit, "but I guess I don't have a choice now. I'll
have to grab a hotel in Boston until I figure out my living arrangements."
"Not Boston. I meant New York. The semester doesn't start for a few weeks.
I figured you'd be staying at the penthouse until then."
"No, I wanted to unpack and settle in and all that crap."
"Well, it ain't happening today, and tonight is New Year's Eve, so you might
as well come home and celebrate with me and Allie. A bunch of my old
teammates are driving up too."
"Like who?" I ask curiously.
"Garrett's in the city for a game, so he'll be here. And the current Briar
brigade is coming. You know some of them—Mike Hollis, Hunter Davenport.
Actually, Hunter went to Roselawn Prep, think he was a year behind you. Pierre
and Corsen, but I don't think you ever met them. Fitzy—"
My heartbeat stutters.
"I remember Fitzy," I say as casually as I'm capable of—which is not casual
at all. Even I can hear the excitement in my voice.
Who can blame me, though? Fitzy is short for Colin Fitzgerald, and he just
happens to be THE UNICORN. The tall, sexy, tattooed, hockey-playing unicorn
of a man who I might have a teeny-weeny itsy-bitsy crush on.
Okay, fine.
A big motherfucking crush on.
He's so…magical. But he's also out of reach. Dean's hockey friends are
usually all over me when they meet me, but not Fitz. I met him last year when I
visited Dean at Briar, and the guy barely glanced my way. When I saw him
again at a birthday party for Dean's friend Logan, he said about ten words to me
—and I'm pretty sure half those words were hello, how are you, and goodbye.
He's exasperating. Not that I expect every male in my vicinity to fall at my
feet, but I know he's attracted to me. I've noticed the way his brown eyes
smolder when he looks at me. They frigging smolder.
Unless I'm just seeing what I want to see.
My dad has this super-pompous saying: perception and reality are vastly
disparate. The truth is usually found somewhere in between. Dad used that line
in his closing arguments for a murder trial once, and now he busts it out any time
it's even remotely applicable to a situation.
If the truth lies somewhere between Colin Fitzgerald's outward aloofness
toward me (he hates me), and the heat I see in his eyes (his fiery passion for me),
then… I guess split the difference and say he views me as a friend?
I purse my lips.
No. Absolutely not. I refuse to be friend-zoned before I've even made a
move.
"It'll be a good time," Dean is saying. "Besides, it's been ages since we were
in the same place on New Year's Eve. So get your butt to New York and text
when you're here. I'm at the drycleaner's now. Gotta go. Love you."
He hangs up, and I'm smiling so broadly it's hard to imagine I was in tears
five minutes ago. Dean might be a pain in the ass most of the time, but he's a
good big brother. He's there for me when I need him, and that's all that really
matters.
And—praise the Lord!—now I have a party to go to. There's nothing better
than a party after a shitty day. I need this badly.
I check the time. It's one p.m.
I quickly do some mental math. The Briar campus is about an hour away
from Boston. From there it's a three-and-a-half, four-hour drive to Manhattan.
That means I won't arrive in the city until the evening, which won't leave me
much time to get ready. If I'm seeing my unicorn tonight, I plan on dolling
myself up from my head down to my toes.
That boy isn't going to know what hit him