I’m finally called to the actual Charter House about two weeks into the spring semester.

Walking up past the wrought-iron gates, the three-story cream-colored house rises up like some kind of building out of a Homes & Garden magazine. Ivy trailing down the sides, shrubs decorated with twinkling Christmas lights, red lanterns on the front steps, a swing with a plaid cushion dangling from the ceiling of the wrap-around porch. It was something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue, and it made one feel instantly chic.

The four remaining pledges had been given rule books and syllabi about Charter House, which I’d been studying on and off for a week. Not that I gave much credence to learning their way of life, no … I wanted to be prepared for any kind of quiz thrown my way. This wasn’t so much about fitting in as it was about beating Gretchen and her minions at their own game … just because I needed a little fun and spice in my life.

The handle is unlocked when I reach it, and since I want a little element of surprise myself, I push it open.

“I thought I told you, you need to keep her mouth shut. You had one job.” A hissing, angry whisper comes from somewhere within a room on the first floor, and I pause, not wanting to be detected.

“I did … or I thought I did. But she keeps crying to some kind of outreach group, even though she took the money.”

I couldn’t place my finger on either of the voices.

“Her very existence could threaten to destroy everything we’ve built, and I’m not about to be the Charter president who couldn’t keep her girls in line.” Gretchen … that was surely Gretchen.

My heart beat out of my chest, what were they talking about? I slammed the door shut, so that they would know someone was in the house.

Gretchen and a girl I didn’t recognize came barreling around the corner. The president’s expression is one of being caught red-handed, until she aligns her perfect features.

“Eloise, so nice of you to arrive early. Come on, let’s gather in the living room and wait for everyone.”

They didn’t speak another word to me as we waited, but I studied the decor and my phone. The house looked like that Texas woman from that popular American DIY show had hand-picked every item in it. White walls, gray suede couches, white flowers, gold accents, statement chandeliers. It was impressive, and I knew that most college students in the States were not living nearly like this.

I was scrolling through my Facebook feed, checking up on my old Winston classmates, when the other girls began to arrive, and solidified members of Charter House piled in.

“Your first task, get a bottle of liquor priced one hundred dollars or more.” Nina smiles like a cat who just caught a bloody canary, not even producing a simple hello before diving right in.

I roll my eyes, bored at the menial mission. “Easy. One phone call overseas and I’ll have a case of Dom Perignon here in an hour.”

“You don’t think we’re that stupid, do you? Each girl here has a connection just like yours. No … we picked those of you for this task because of your age.” Gretchen walks around stroking the Hermes scarf tied around her neck, looking like a dominatrix with a whip.

I twisted a lock of blond hair around my finger and then dropped it, noticing my nervous behavior and not wanting them to catch onto it. My age? So? I was twenty, who cared.

“Don’t you realize, Eloise? Come on, I thought you were smarter than that,” Nina purrs at me, her curly strawberry blond hair swishing just over her tailbone.

And then suddenly it clicks. “You have to be twenty-one to buy alcohol in this country.”

“That’s right!” Ciara, a petite Asian girl with long red nails that could definitely maim or injure, sings in an I-told-you-so voice.

“So, the four of you will have to go into the liquor store in town and buy a bottle of something worth one hundred dollars or more. Fake it, steal it, I don’t care what you do. Just get it done, or you won’t be asked back.”

With sisters like these, who needed enemies?

* * *

Abby and I stand outside the doors of Al’s Liquor Barn in downtown Thistle, shivering our arses off.

“How are we going to do this?” Abby sounds nervous.

“Well, I already used my fake ID at The Croc, and it was completely fine.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, because the bartenders there want sexy females sitting on the stools, and they aren’t as monitored by the police here. Al’s? They have called the cops on so many people.”

“All right, well, we’ll play it by ear.” I walk in, not wanting to think too much about this.

In my life, every time I wing it, everything usually works out okay.

The doors open with a beep, signaling our entry to the guy at the front checkout. He looks up, a bored townie scrolling through his phone, and we don’t raise any suspicion. Yet.

Abby is hot on my heels as we walk through the store, and I can hear her breathing wheeze out.

“You need to calm down. The more you look like a panda about to have a heart attack, the more eyebrows you’ll raise.”

“Sorry … my heart is just beating so fast,” she whispers.

We reach the liquor section of the store and browse the shelves. I settle on an expensive bottle of Ciroc-10, and Abby picks up a Johnny Walker Blue Label.

I go first, setting my bottle down when we make it to the cash register. “Hi, there.”

I lay on the charm, half-smiling at this chav guy in his dirty, brown hoodie.

“ID please.” He doesn’t even look up.

Bollocks.

I smile brighter, reaching for my wallet and handing over the small laminated card that cost me a hundred and fifty dollars in high school. It hadn’t failed me, although I’d never really had much scrutiny on it. Everywhere I went, velvet ropes were pulled back for those of my kind. It figured that this wanker at a bloody liquor store in Vermont was going to bust me.

“This is fake.” He holds onto my ID, and my heart plummets.

“No, it’s not.” I flutter my eyelashes.

“I ran it through the scanner, and it’s fake. Real convincing to the eye, but the markings are off.”

He still hasn’t handed it back, and although it won’t be hard to get another one, I don’t want to go through the hassle. Abby whimpers behind me, because she doesn’t even have an ID to hand him. I realize I’m going to have to go the full monty for both of us.

“We’ll flash you.”

Abby and the store employee both say, “what?” at the same time.

“We’ll show you the goods, let you see the bits, do I need to keep going?”

His eyes flash, but I can see he is interested. “You want to show me your tits … for alcohol?”

I nod, the scene so comical I have to laugh. “If you give me back my ID, and let us take these bottles without giving us the third degree, we’ll both show you some nipples for … ten seconds.”

“Eloise …” Abby laughs, but I can hear the panic in her voice.

For a moment, I’m not sure if he’s going to call the fuzz, or say bloody yes.

“All right, can I take a picture?”

Now he’s pushing his luck. “Nope, just a mental one. Are you in or out?”

Checkout guy looks around. “In … let’s do this.”

I move quickly, snatching my ID back from his hand and putting it safely in the bag. I pull a wad of bills out of my wallet and throw them on the counter … I’m not going to cheat the system twice by not paying for these bottles.

“Ready, Abby?” I grab the hem of my sweater, making sure no one is about to walk around the corner.

“I can’t believe we’re going to do this …” She giggles.

I laugh too, because this is so ridiculous, but it’s fun. As ridiculous as this task might be, and the Charter girls definitely wanted us to fail or chicken out, I’m actually enjoying the nonsense.

We count to three and then lift our shirts and bras to the sky, the material obstructing my face. I hope this guy is getting a good hard look, because after counting to ten in my head, I slam my sweater down, grab my bottle, and run out of the store.

Abby and I laugh like we’re off one’s trolley all the way back to campus, completely breathless by the time we deliver out bottles to Nina and take our victory.