I arrive at the sorority house just as the Pi Sigma Beta house president calls the chapter meeting to order. It’s my last year at college, and thankfully, I’m closing in on the end of my active membership in the sisterhood. Don’t get me wrong. There are benefits of membership, but most of those perks are only accessible after graduation. Especially if I’m to make my way in life without my father’s wealth. I have a business or environmental sciences career ahead of me. Or something in between. It helps to look the part by being involved with some of the women who will one day run this city or hang off the arms of the men who do.

At least they let me retain my membership even though I won’t live at my chapter house anymore. Thank God. Two years of insanity was enough. This feat—retaining my membership without living here—took a lot of convincing, negotiating, and agreeing to take on extra leadership roles. So here I am, in my senior year, balancing the roles of Sorority Alumni Director, Member Education Director, and Assistant Social Director. It’s a mouthful, but juggling these responsibilities is nowhere near as taxing as living among eighteen to twenty young socialites-in-training, many of whom would feel they will accomplish their life’s mission by becoming any wealthy or influential man’s mattress accessory.

Okay, so I’m a bit of a feminist. By my definition, I would be a two on a scale of one to ten for feminism—one being moderately aware of the concepts, and ten as a radical, card-carrying, bra-burning, defy-the-gender-stigmas, redefine-love-and-romance, forever-advocate-for-equity radical. But here among my Pi Sigma Beta sisters, I’m way off the deep end. I don’t delude myself. I love the opposite sex and want to find Mr. Right just like the next gal. Hell, I enjoy the feel of Mr. Right Now between my legs. I’m just not willing to go goo-goo eyes over just anyone. Call me picky.

Especially not after what Jace did to me.

For the sake of getting through my college degree without clawing my own eyes out from sorority frustration, I moved into the nearby dorm. My best friend, Vanessa, shares a tiny dorm room with me and helps me preserve my sanity. It’s not that dorm life is much of an improvement, but no one is looking to me for fashion mentorship, and I can be myself.

“All right, ladies,” Liana Silverman, incoming House President says confidently, looking around the room from her seat at the head of the large mahogany dining room table. “I believe we’re all here, except for the excused absences of Joanne Smith and Hanna Peterson. Anyone else missing?”

“Grace Thomas isn’t here,” says Michelle Denver, House Secretary.

“List her as an unexcused absence. She can make up for it at the next fundraiser. We have a quorum, so let’s proceed.”

I nod through the reading and finalization of the last meeting’s minutes, drone through the treasurer’s report, and all the other officer updates until it’s my turn. Given that I have three updates to deliver, my goal is to keep it brief and to the point.

But my President is anything but brief.

“Can you clarify?” Liana asks after my spiel.

“On which part?”

“Let’s start with recruitment, as Hanna isn’t here. You’re her backup today, right?”

“I sure am. Well, our new pledge candidate names list is growing. What’s working well is our new requirement for sophomores and juniors to provide three new candidate recommendations. Our girls are doing well out there. In terms of offers, four candidates moved to the ‘yes’ list, so yay!”

“Nice!” she says emphatically, mirroring my contrived zeal. “And the Education plan?”

“Our first post-bid day and post-pledge meeting is in a couple of weeks. Fifteen members are signed up, so I’d say we’re in good shape.”

“Excellent. And how’s the alumni event plan progressing?”

“Good,” I answer. “On track. Our main event is Alumni week, which has a firm kickoff date at the end of next March. We’re still in the process of securing a location, but I’d say we’re in great shape to make it a successful week. Once bid day is over, I’ll start recruiting some new volunteer to help with the planning. Some of the usual speakers have already contacted me about presenting. Stella Rogers will cover financial management fundamentals again, and she suggested a few speakers to cover newer topics like entrepreneurship, home ownership, and insurance basics. I’ll have a more detailed agenda update after bid day.”

“Perfect.” Liana continues with her updates on general business, and then, she turns to me again. “Are we all set for tonight’s pre-bid mixer?” she asks.

I nod, but inwardly roll my eyes that she would call tonight’s party a mixer. It’s the sorority’s version of a kegger, except we sisters have to prance around in formal cocktail dresses, designer shoes and more makeup than most sci-fi movie special effects departments, while everyone else is in casual varsity gear.

“Yes. All set. Joanne is coordinating, and she has a slew of volunteers, including me. It’ll be grand.”

That answer seems to satisfy her. Less than an hour after getting here, the motion to adjourn carries. I can finally leave. Sure, I’ll be back here tonight for the mixer, but small doses ensure my continued state of good cheer. And hey, maybe tonight I’ll get laid by a decent looking guy at the party. All I ask for is almost as much going on between his ears as in his pants. Okay, half as much.

* * *

Vanessa and I decide to walk from our dorm to the party. I may not want to be at my soro, but the upside is there’ll be lots to drink. Getting my buzz on will also make the night pass faster, so walking there and back makes sense. Vanessa and I are in matching form-fitted cocktail mini dresses with halter backs and plunging necklines. Mine is black, and Vanessa’s is cyan. Both outfits belong to Vanessa. I don’t have a single dress here at the dorm. My closet is packed with yoga pants, scrubs and tees, which I feel are perfectly fitting for the casual nature of campus life—for me anyway. I’m here to ace my courses and graduate summa cum laude, so I’ll have a fighting chance of making it on my own.

“It’s no fun getting here this early,” Vanessa tells me, smoothing out her perfectly pinned brown hair, which is in a tight and slick Asian-inspired top-knot updo high on top of her head. I admire my masterpiece for a moment. It looks hot as hell, and she managed to pull it off with only a couple hundred hair pins.

She’s right about showing up early. It’s barely seven-thirty on a late August evening. It’s not even dark yet.

I look over at her and do my best to smile. “I’ll make it up to you somehow, bestie. Three of my volunteers haven’t replied to my emails or texts all week. Then, I didn’t hear back from Joanne after the soro meeting. I have no idea if she’ll show up, or what I’m walking into, so it’s all hands on deck.”

“It’s all right. The week before the semester starts is like this every year.”

“True, but Joanne is the Social Director. She should know better. Remember that I’m the assistant? That should suggest that I’d be the one flaking out and taking my time to get back to campus. Especially as I’m covering for three of the other directors.”

“This is what we get for not moving away for college. We live in town. Everyone expects we’ll be around…all the time.”

“Yeah. Sucks to be us.”

Vanessa pushes my windblown-styled hairdo to one side and squeezes my bare shoulder. “Two more semesters.”

That reminder helps to take the scowl off my face. “Thank the Lord.”

“So, tomorrow’s the big day, birthday girl!”

I nod. It’s yet another reason I’m not too excited about the mixer tonight. Getting all this work dumped on me on the eve of my twenty-first birthday sucks ass. “Yep. We’re still on for mid-afternoon shopping followed by drinks at Club Platinum, right?”.

“Of course. I can’t wait to celebrate.”

“Sweet. And you’re positive that your mom or my dad didn’t wrangle you into any kind of surprise party?” Not that I expect my father to do anything that involves his showing up, but he does remember the date and always manages to give me everything I could ever want for my birthday—but nothing that I really need or value.

“Positive. They haven’t texted or phoned, so it’s a good sign. They know you wanted something less…animated than last year.”

“I want something less animated every year. Low key is the new black,” I say with a slight smirk of a smile.

We’re walking up the driveway when my phone buzzes in my clutch purse. I cringe in anticipation of bad news, and am dead right as I unlock the phone screen and read the message from Joanne. “I’m screwed. Fuck.”

“What happened?” Vanessa asks.

“It’s Joanne. She’s not coming at all.”

“Crap. That sucks. Want me to see who I can round up?”

“Nah,” I tell her, stepping inside. “Let’s see who’s shown up already, and what work is still outstanding.”

Vanessa peeks her head into the living room. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

I realize she’s right after I check it out and make an assessment. Decorations are up. The DJ is here, and music is on. The four snack tables are packed, and in the kitchen, the ice cold kegs of beer and the extensive wine and booze stash are set up.

“You’re right. Looks like Joanne’s volunteers came through for us. I need two or three of them to keep the food and drinks coming, and maybe one or two for ongoing cleanup.”

A smile lifts up her face. “I’ll help. Hauling trash is probably the best way to steer clear of the drunken jocks and other dickheads. And one in particular.”

“Smart play, hun,” I agree.

Vanessa has been avoiding any emotional attachment to men since she dated and broke up with Kaden Wilmington, an ultra-rich and equally cocky polo superstar on the college team. Kaden was mostly upset that she dumped him before he got to pop her cherry. Not that it stopped him from bragging that he took her virginity. She didn’t care. She was just happy to be rid of him. Somehow, not everyone believed Kaden, which is why he has not left her alone, and makes a move on her each and every time he sees her.

“Do you think Kaden’s going to be here?” she asks.

“Anything’s possible. Just avoid eye contact if he shows up. He’ll have enough sorority sisters wanting a piece of him to keep him busy. Let’s get the second batch of food ready.”

She follows me back to the kitchen as I send a group text to thank the volunteers and update my soro president. “When do you think it’ll get busy?”

“Anytime now. People will start trickling in, and before we know it, it’ll go from dead as a doornail to killer packed.”

Vanessa smiles. “I’m ready for this!”

I groan, looking down at the floor. “I should have shown up in my foldable flats. My feet are killing me already.”

She grins. “Suck it up, buttercup. You need your practice.”

“Like a hole in the head.”

She gazes down at my shoes. “It’s a few hours. You’ll manage.”

“I’m not like you, girlfriend. I’m not built for these…glam-girl shenanigans.”

“You’ll thank me one day,” she says confidently.

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

A virtual conga line of soro sisters stream into the kitchen from the back door as I’m dumping two shopping bags of celery into the sink to start rinsing and separating. This bunch is from next door. Many of them are the ‘it-girls’ on the college party scene. I personal know at least half of them.

I smile.

There’s lemonade to be made from these sour stuck-up bitches.

“Welcome, ladies. Great timing!” I tell them. The more ladies occupying the main party area, the better for me. I point a celery stick at the corridor leading to the living area slash dance floor. “Drinks and snacks are out there. Remember to take and post lots of pics on your pages. And don’t forget to tag Michelle so the guys know the charity that tonight’s donations will go to.”

They barely manage a few distracted nods as they sashay their sexy little asses through the room, but these ladies know how our events run. Quid pro quo is the name of the game, so if they don’t help out, we’ll just return the favor for their mixer night. Sure enough, my phone starts to buzz non-stop with Instagram and Snapchat alerts. They’re tagging me and Michelle tonight, already plastering their newsfeeds and walls with food and booze pics, their designer dresses and shoes, and their suggested DJ playlist for the night.

Perfect.

Within an hour there won’t be breathing room in here. I can’t wait for this place to get in full swing, so I can relax and have a few drinks in a quiet corner somewhere.

I’m adding a third punch bowl to the beverages table when I stop short. Someone familiar darts past me out of the corner of my eye.

Jace saunters in.

My blood starts to boil.

Motherfucker.