Dirty Rush (7 page)

“Fuck it,” I said, cautiously squirting a shot of the drink into my mouth. It tasted like Red Bull and NyQuil. “I guess there's no harm in pre-gaming before the pre-game,” I said, putting the bottle in a cup holder in the dashboard.

“Cute,” said
Stephanie as she handed me her cigarette, offering me a puff.

“Oh, I don't smoke, but thanks.”

She threw the cigarette out of the cracked window. “Neither do I.”

S
tephanie and Olivia's place was the back apartment of a beautiful three-story, white-brick, ivy-covered building with an enormous front porch and awning. As we walked toward the front door Stephanie told me that their parents chose this particular apartment because it felt secure from “rapists and campus molesters.” I just nodded and smiled. I also noticed that Stephanie was barefoot.

The decor of the apartment was shabby chic gone overboard. I have absolutely no right to judge anyone's taste in interior decorating, but Jesus. I'd never seen so many tasseled lamps, floral patterns, and professional family photos in my life. The twins also had two pugs named Lolita and Lolito, whom they affectionately called “Lita” and “Lito,” which seemed super grown-up for two college girls.

As soon as we walked through the door, Steph beelined to the kitchen, and I heard someone scream “TAY!” from down the hallway.

It was Meg. She was wearing BZ sweatpants, a BZ hoodie, and a full face of makeup, and her hair had clearly been blown out professionally within the last two hours.

“Hey, Meg,” I said. It was actually nice to see her.

“Was Steph nice to you? She's been in a weird mood because Olivia's
been in a weird mood. The two of them share a psyche, I swear.”

“She was great. Got me here safe and sound. But my best friend, Jonah, has a swim meet like right now. He's gonna kill me.”

“That sexy little fucker will tooooootally understand. There will be a hundred swim meets to go to!” She grabbed me by the hand. “And just so you know, this outfit I'm wearing is only fine because I'm indoors, but you can't walk outside with letters on your shirt and letters on your pants. It's called ‘double lettering' and makes you look like a tard. Also, stitched letters are basically seen as way more formal, so if you're wearing a stitched letter shirt your makeup better be done and you better be wearing nice jeans or leggings that look good. No sweats. Plain PR shirts you can be more casual in, but you still shouldn't look like shit. Got it?”

“I mean . . . no?”

“Cute. You'll get a care package when you get your official bid. The girls are out back on the patio, I'm just going to go pee. I'll meet you out there.”

“Okay . . .” I started walking down the hall, which was lined with photos from BZ events. It hit me that these girls one-hundred-percent thought I was planning on pledging.

“Just turn left at the end and follow the sweet sounds of sisterly love,” Meg called out just before shutting the bathroom door.

I muttered a quiet “Thanks . . .” and followed her directions. There were about five girls out back, sitting around a big table drinking from huge wineglasses. I had already met
most of them (Olivia, Colette, and Sabrina), but the other two didn't look familiar. I must've been standing awkwardly in the doorway because when Colette realized I was there, she started laughing, offering me a pout as if to say, “You look lost and pathetic.”

“Come here,” Colette said, beckoning me over to the group. As I got closer, I realized that there was another group of maybe five girls around the corner, sharing what looked like a blunt.

“That's our pot-smoking contingent. I didn't vote for them,” she said, standing and kissing me on the cheek as she handed me a wineglass. “Drink up, the Omega Sig boys want us there early tonight for some reason.”

They were going to Omega Sig. That's right, Jack had mentioned there was another party tonight.

“Hey,” I said turning to Olivia, “thanks for having me over. Your place is really cute.”

Olivia smiled brightly. “Of course. Sorry I was a cunt and couldn't get my shit together to pick you up.”

“Oh, no worries.” I smiled back. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

“I took a shower, drank some milk, and feel like a totally refreshed woman now. So, let's fucking party because this week rode me hard . . . without a condom.”

“Oh, please,” Stephanie chimed, appearing behind me with wineglass in hand. “You had, like, one class. We didn't do anything this week besides drink, go back home for Dad's tennis tournament, and drink.”

Olivia made an “oops” face that slid effortlessly back into her perfect grin as she held up her glass for a toast. “Here's to
another year of craziness, boys, positive mental health, and negative STD tests!”

“What the fuck?!” Meg howled as she joined our four-way cheers, clinking with each of us. “You are so fucking bizarre, Olivia. I love it.”

We all sat down around the table and I was introduced to Kenadie, a really cute blond girl with a sparkling cross hanging from a small chain around her neck, and Lauren, a big girl with broad shoulders and her hair in a high pony. She reminded me of the field hockey goalie from my high school. I tend to like girls who inhabit larger bodies because they're typically less prissy and less sensitive than the petite ones.

“Hi, I'm Taylor,” I announced with a friendly wave.

Meg, who'd pulled up the seat next to mine, put her arm around my shoulder. “Taylor is Kelly Bell's sister and she will be a third-generation Beta Zeta, the fifth in her family. We're lucky to have her, so be nice, lesbos.”

Colette's eyes darted toward Meg. “She could be. I won't have you sluts courting this poor girl, and there will be no dirty rushing. Cute?”

And then the entire table replied in unison: “Crystal cute.”

I nudged Meg and leaned in toward her. “What's dirty rushing?”

“According to university/Greek law, we're technically not allowed to express interest in you during rush because technically you're supposed to meet every sorority before making your final decision, but technically I don't really give a shit, and neither does Colette.”

“Oh . . .”

“She
just acts that way to keep everyone's status in line, I guess. It's for the best. Anyway!”

“Anyway,” I took a sip of my drink, which despite its vessel, was definitely not white wine. “What is this?”

“Grey Goose and organic coconut water. It's vitally important to hydrate before a night out. It can save you from a trip to Planned Parenthood in the morning, so drink up.”

As the words came out of Meg's mouth, Miley Cyrus's “Party in the U.S.A.” came on the stereo, causing an outbreak of squeals. Jonah would just die if he saw me right now.

“So,” Stephanie said to me, “what's really going on with you and Mr. Swanson?”

“You mean Jack?”

“No, Jack's dad. Yes, bitch, Jack!”

“Oh . . . I don't know. He's really hot, but I don't know,” I confessed. This was about as honest an answer as I could think of.

“So, do you like him?”

I looked down. “I don't know him yet. I guess he's . . . interesting to me,” I said, then looked back up at her.

“And you think he's hot?” Stephanie was not smiling. Not because she wasn't happy, but because she seemed to be thinking really hard.

“Yeah, I guess. Yeah. Yes. He's hot, but like . . .”

“What is there to know besides that?” Steph asked, cocking her head to one side.

“Besides Jack being hot?”

She nodded eagerly, “Right.”

“Well . . .”

As I took a sip of my drink and looked back into Steph's
purely optimistic gaze, I wondered if she'd ever been in love for real. Then, for the tiniest little second, I wondered if Jack had.

“Hello!” she said, waving a hand in my face. “Did you OD on that Xanax juice, or are you still with me?”

“I guess I just normally like to know if a guy is an asshole before falling for him. You know?”

“I guess,” she scrunched her face.

“Like, if I hadn't stuck with
The Carrie Diaries
through the prom episode, I would've never known that George was actually kind of a pompous dick.”

Steph stared at me blankly.

“So . . . you're smart,” she finally let out.

We both laughed. There was something about Steph that I genuinely liked. Yes, she seemed like the kind of girl who was just floating through life, but she wasn't an idiot. The dumb girls I'd known in high school weren't also sweet, they were just dumb. Steph was funny and caring and optimistic.

“Anyway,” I continued vaguely, “I don't really know if anything is going on, or will go on between us ever in the future.”

Meg turned toward us.

“You know that Jack and I used to date and I'm totally not over him, right? Like, what the fuck, Tay.” Meg stared at me like I was some sort of swamp monster for three full seconds. Before I could have a full-blown heart attack, she broke into a huge smile. “I'm just kidding!” she guffawed. “We never dated. We fucked once, though. I think I already told you that, right?”

She hadn't.

“Yeah, I guess Jack's a really nice, super-sweet guy,” Meg continued, “but I'm
more into dumb jocks with massive shoulders that I can boss around twenty-four/seven.”

“Whereas Jack Swanson is an actual human being,” Steph stated flatly.

“Not a frombie,” Meg added.

“A what?”

“A frombie. Meaning frat zombie,” continued Steph. “There are tons of crazy-hot frat guys with good hair, big dicks, and nice smiles and whatever—”

“But most of them lack a soul and are total fromb-faces for suuuure,” finished Meg.

It was like they all shared one brain but used their own mouths.

“So what you're saying is . . . Jack's not a frat zombie?” I asked the group.

“Right,” they confirmed, in unison.

“It's almost weird because he's so hot you wouldn't expect him to be cool,” said Olivia, who had just sat down next to us. “I almost want to say he's the Ryan Gosling of CDU. Is that insane?” she asked, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

“Yeah, it's freakin' insane, but it's kinda true!” shouted a voice from behind me. It was Kenadie. She put her hands on my shoulders. “Tay-Tay, I wouldn't know firsthand, but there are a bajillion reasons why you should date Jack. One, he's not a frombie. Two, he has big ol' friendly dimples. Three, he doesn't have herpes. Four, I heard his dad was an early investor in Vita Coco . . .”

The list went on forever and all the while the other girls just gathered around me nodding, including the big girl Lauren, who
came out from the apartment and sat herself directly across from me at the table and proceeded to shotgun a full can of beer in two seconds. It was actually amazing and no one batted an eye. The rest of them were really in their girly, gossipy element and I couldn't help but take the bait and fall into the trap of totally gushing to them.

“Okay,” I said as coyly as I could, “we've been texting a little bit, but—”

“Taylor!” screamed Stephanie. “Why didn't you tell me that as soon as you got in the car?”

“I don't know! I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I didn't think you guys would be interested,” I lied.

Before anyone could respond, Colette came over and broke up the circle.

“We're out of vodka, which means I'm gonna be bored in about five minutes, so who's coming on a liquor run with me?”

I didn't want to go.

“We'll come!” Kenadie offered, squeezing my shoulders.

I hadn't shared a small space with Colette yet, and I wasn't exactly in the mood for a barrage of backhanded compliments from a girl with virtually perfect hair. But Kenadie had already volunteered us and I didn't want to be rude.

“Have fun,” said a smiling Olivia as she tossed her car keys to Colette. “Colie's a much better driver than my sister, so don't be afraid.”

“I'm not afraid,” I said. But I was.

Colette sped the Lexus SUV out of the twins' driveway and we were off to the Town Pump, which, according to Kenadie, was equivalent to an alcoholic's candy store. On the ride over,
she regaled me with stories of growing up in an ultra-conservative Christian household in South Carolina. From the front seat, she went into detail about her father (a preacher/“her spiritual rock”) and how she wasn't allowed to hang out with boys in high school because her parents were afraid she'd get pregnant. Her southern drawl made her sound like she was talking in questions, which was confusing sometimes.

“Yeah, my dad is like super protective of me? I'm his only child, so he watched over me like a hawk. Or like Jesus. Or like a hawk with Jesus's soul and my dad's face? He even had a GPS thingy installed in my car so he'd know where I was at like every damn second.”

Her accent was so sweet and syrupy, I'd never heard anything like it in person.

“So, does your dad know that you're dating boys now?” I asked.

“Oh, no. I wouldn't rilly say I'm datin' exactly.”

“Oh?” For whatever reason, I pegged Kenadie to be a freak-off-the-leash, ex-good-girl type of situation.

“Kenadie's a virgin, aren't you, Ken?” said Colette, making a sharp right turn into the liquor store parking lot.

“Sure am,” she confirmed.

“Um, wow,” I said. I was pretty shocked that any of them were virgins, especially the sex-deprived Christian belle of the bunch. As Colette pulled into an empty parking spot, her phone chimed. She looked at it and handed it to Kenadie, ordering her to “Deal with this, please.”

“What's up?” Kenadie took Colette's phone and looked at the text.