Chapter 38

I’m going to be sick.

The thought reaches my brain well after my stomach spasms and vomit rises in my throat. I bolt for Sasha’s bathroom and barely make it to the toilet before I choke on the hot liquid filling my mouth. I hear the bathroom door shut while I’m rinsing my mouth out and assume it’s Sasha come to check on me. Instead, I turn around to see Rebecca sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

She’s composed herself. Face still red, eyes puffy. Her tears have dried. In their place, a frozen image of resignation.

“So it wasn’t you,” she says dully.

I wipe my face, smearing the makeup Sasha had just applied. “No.”

“I’m sorry I accused you like that.”

Closing the lid of the toilet, I sit down, still trying to get my own heart rate under control. Hurling did a lot to temper my panic, but the longer I’m upright, the faster the thoughts rush back to the surface.

“I understand,” I say.

If I’d been the first of us to see the video, I’m not sure I would have reacted any better. Maybe not charging through the house screaming, but certainly suspicious. Fact is, Rebecca and I have never been friends. She was the shyest of our pledge class back then, and after pledge week we hardly spoke again. Not for lack of trying on my part—it just always seemed when I walked into a room, she found her way to the other side.

Now, something’s changed. Besides the obvious, I mean. She sits there looking at me, defeated, like all this time she’s tried to outrun me and her knee’s finally given out.

“My parents are going to kill me,” Rebecca whispers, hanging her head. She sighs. A big burdened release, as if rather than fearing the consequences, she’s almost relieved to accept them.

“They wouldn’t really blame you for the video getting out, would they? They have to understand it’s not your fault.”

“You don’t get it.” Her fingernails dig into the folio cover on her iPad, leaving crescent shapes in the fake leather. “My parents are ultra conservative, Taylor. They hardly associate with anyone outside their church. My dad didn’t even want me to pledge a sorority, but I convinced my mom that Kappa was basically like joining a bible study group. She said they hoped it would teach me how to be a proper young lady.”

A frown touches my lips. “What does that mean?”

It’s hard to imagine my own mother ever going on a parent kick, trying to tell me what to do. I think the last time she told me to clean my room was when I lost the class ferret somewhere in the month-old laundry pile.

“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.”

I have no idea where she picked up the projectile banana.

Rebecca stands somewhat behind me once we’ve all gathered in the blue room. We wait a few minutes, everyone staring at each other, bracing for impact, while the last stragglers haul ass back to the house for the meeting. Abigail then takes the roll to confirm we’re all here before Charlotte begins.

My eyes meet Abigail’s from across the room. I try to read her for any hint or tell, but she’s impassive.

“Alright, it’s come to my attention that there’s a video going around.” Charlotte’s glare lands on Nancy and Robin, who at least have the decency to look contrite. “And apparently none of you thought it appropriate to make your house president aware of this severe breach of trust and privacy.”

Sasha works her way through the room to stand with me and Rebecca. She slips her fingers through mine, and I squeeze her hand, grateful for her presence.

“Robin, what’s the first tenet of the Kappa creed?” Charlotte demands.

Chewing on her thumbnail, a nervous Robin stares at her feet. “I will protect my sister as myself.”

Next Charlotte turns her blazing ire on the sister who’s turning beet red. “Nancy, what’s the second tenet of the Kappa creed?”

Nancy tries to speak but only air comes out. Then, voice shaking, “To act with honor and integrity.”

“Yeah,” Charlotte says, pacing the room like she’s got a loaded pistol, “that’s what I thought. But apparently some of you have forgotten that. So I want to know who the sister fucker is. Who is the selfish little shit who stole a private video from the Kappa archive and uploaded it to a porn site?”

A shocked silence crashes over the room.

It becomes evident then who had still been in the dark. Questioning eyes begin scanning the room, factions trading accusatory glances. I spot more confused faces than I expected. I guess I figured every girl in the house had already seen the video and was laughing about it behind our backs. But other than Nancy and Robin, I pick out only a few other girls who I suspect might’ve known.

Naturally, my examination of Abigail lasts the longest. A deep groove has cut into her forehead, but I’m not sure what it means. Is she stunned? Baffled?

Her green eyes keep sliding around to study the faces of our sisters. Searching for the culprit…or looking for allies?

“Nope, uh-uh,” Charlotte says, wagging her finger. “Don’t go quiet on me now. Your big-girl ass thought this was a good idea—you can’t walk that shit back now. Someone’s going to confess, or we will sit here all night. All day. Until the end of fucking time until one of you little brats tells the truth.”

Abigail just stands there, arms crossed. Not saying a word.

I can’t stand it any longer.

“Abigail,” I call out, and the oxygen is sucked out of the room. “Have anything to say?”

She flinches. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I’m just checking my watch and, oh, look, it’s spiteful-bitch-thirty, so maybe you have something to add to this conversation.”

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she turns to me in slow motion, staring at me as if I’ve grown a second head. And maybe I have. This one’s fed the fuck up.

“You’re accusing me?” Abigail’s voice jumps two octaves as her face crinkles in denial. “I didn’t have anything to do with it!”

“Really? Because you’re the only person in this room who’s made it her unending mission to ruin my life, so…”

“Only two people have the password to the server where the archive is stored,” Charlotte says, her attention now trained on Abigail. “You’re the other one.”

“I didn’t do it.” She tosses her hands up, pleading. “I swear. Okay, I admit, there’s a beef there, but I would never upload revenge porn of another woman.”

“Even a woman you hate?” I snap back.

Abigail drops her hands. For the first time in years, she looks at me with sincerity. “Not even my worst enemy. That’s not who I am.”

Silence falls over the room. My gaze remains locked with the platinum blonde who’s made my life miserable for so long.

Fuck me, but I believe her.

“Then who is it?” I challenge. “Who wanted to humiliate me?”

Because I know this was about me. Rebecca and I might have remained obscure to one another since freshman year, but I can’t think of anyone who even mildly dislikes her enough to humiliate her like this. The target had to be me.

“I have the password saved on my phone,” Abigail says, growing visibly anxious. “If someone broke into my phone…”

I’m not sure she means to do it, or is even consciously aware, when her gaze slides to Jules, who’s trying to blend into a potted plant at the back of the room.

When Jules realizes she’s been singled out, she reveals a panicked expression that is quickly overcome by betrayal.

“Did you hack my phone?” Abigail asks her best friend, a note of horror in her tone.

At first it appears she might deny it, but then the pretense falls. Jules huffs, rolls her eyes. “It was just a joke, okay? They both had their clothes on. What’s the big deal?”

Abigail’s jaw falls open. “Why?” she demands. “Why would you ever do something like that?”

Jules offers a shrug, her body language trying to downplay it all. “The other night, remember? Kev said something like, I wonder how many views Taylor’s tits would get on PornHub. So later I was over at the Sigma house visiting Duke, and Kevin was there. He and I were talking, and I was like, well, I can totally get a video of her tits. And the next time you left your phone out, I tried a few passwords until I got it unlocked.” Jules shakes her head defiantly. “Like it wasn’t a big thing. Just a dumb prank. Why is everyone getting so bent out of shape?”

“Christ, Jules, would it kill you to grow a mind of your own?”

“Fuck off, Sasha. Taylor started it by kissing Abigail’s ex! She’s the sister fucker. And she would’ve left Kappa by now if she didn’t have you always fighting her battles for her.”

“You’re a real cunt, Jules, You know that?”

My eyes widen, because that one came from Rebecca.

“Oh, stuff it up your cooch, Rebecca. If anyone wanted to yank it to a ten-year-old boy they’d become a priest.”

“All of you, shut up!” Charlotte shouts. She closes her eyes, massaging her temples like a mother just before she blacks out and smothers her new baby in its crib.

“I call for an emergency vote.”

I frown at Abigail’s declaration. I look over to see her nudging Olivia beside her, who seconds the motion even though she hardly seems to understand why.

Charlotte gives a slow nod. “Okay, call your vote.”

“All in favor of revoking Jules’s membership in Kappa Chi sorority and evicting her from the house, raise your hands.”

Wait.

What?

For some reason, I assumed Abigail would protect Jules, and Charlotte would protect Abigail. I’d been the sorority punchline for so long that I forgot about all my old hopes and dreams of sisterhood, of having close friends to support me and watch my back.

But Abigail’s declaration brings some unexpected redemption to the Kappa house, as everyone bands together during the vote. Rebecca’s hand is the first up. Followed closely by Lisa, Sasha, Olivia and Beth. More hands rise, each encouraged by the growing majority. Until finally, my hand goes up.

“Good, its unanimous,” Charlotte says with a nod. “Julianne Munn, by unanimous decision, the membership of the Briar chapter of Kappa Chi have lost faith in your commitment to our shared tenets of sisterhood, and you are hereby excommunicated and banished from the grounds.” Our president pauses, staring at Jules when she doesn’t respond. “Well, get the fuck out.”

“Are you shitting me? This isn’t fair,” Jules argues, looking at Abigail to save her. She searches the room, shocked and dejected when no one comes to her rescue. “Seriously? Fine. Fuck you all. Have a nice life.”

Jules storms up the stairs to her room while the rest of the sisters sit dumbfounded at what’s just happened. I know the feeling.

“Taylor,” a sheepish voice pipes up. It belongs to Nancy, who eyes me sadly from across the room. “I’m really sorry we were watching that crap. We were trying to figure out how to say something when Rebecca caught us.”

“Shep sent me the link like five seconds before you got home,” Robin adds, glancing at Rebecca. “We weren’t laughing about it, I swear.”

Rebecca and I each respond with a nod. I’m not quite sure I believe them, but at least they apologized.

After Charlotte dismisses everyone, Abigail gets my attention, weaving her way through the room.

“Taylor, wait up. I want to talk,” she pleads.

I’ve got less than zero interest in what she has to say. She chose this one moment to grow a conscience and do the right thing. Good for her. But I’m not giving her a pat on the back for it. We aren’t friends.

Instead, I rush up the stairs with Sasha. Rebecca disappears into her room. I wish I knew how better to comfort her, but the minute Sasha and I are alone, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I remember it’s my birthday and that Conor is on his way over.

He’ll be here any minute and I’m a fucking mess from the inside out.

“I can’t do this,” I mutter, stumbling into Sasha’s bathroom to wipe the makeup from my face.

“So let’s get the hell out of here,” she says, standing in the doorway. “Tell Conor to meet us at your place with some liquor and we’ll stay in and get loaded.”

“No, I mean I can’t see him.”

The idea of facing him after this has me feeling queasy again. Like the slightest nudge could send me hugging the toilet.

“Do you want me to call him, say you’re sick or something?” Our eyes meet in the mirror. Reading my face, Sasha’s expression sobers. “Are you going to tell him?”

Tell him what? That I’m now a trending topic on one of the world’s most popular porn sites?

That when he tells his mom and stepdad about me, they can go online and see my tits?

That every one of my mom’s Rate My Professor reviews will now include a link to her daughter?

Bile rises in my throat as panic once again attacks my insides.

Oh my fucking God. This is going to affect my entire life. What happens when elementary school principals and parents get a look at Ms. Marsh and her famous rack and I’m banned from every school district across the country because a woman’s body is more dangerous than a hand grenade?

“Taylor—”

I push Sasha’s hand off me and lunge for the toilet again, where I kneel there dry-heaving.

I didn’t choose this. To be put on display. To be the object of humiliation. The thought of Conor having to deal with it too makes me want to cry again.

His teammates will see the video. Spank it under the covers then smirk every time they see me. Hang screenshots in the locker room. He doesn’t deserve to have a fucking embarrassment, no, a joke, for a girlfriend. And then what? He’ll forever have to keep defending me? Keep being infinitely patient and understanding during the numerous freak-outs I now envision in my future?

I can’t live like that, constantly feeling like everyone I meet is seeing me naked and knowing I’m embarrassing my boyfriend even if he pretends otherwise. I can’t. I can’t see him anymore.

I fucking can’t.

“Take me home,” I say, rising on wobbly legs. “I’ll text him on the way.”

Sasha nods. “Whatever you need.”

Once I’ve gathered my things, we head downstairs. But the universe hates me, so I’m not surprised to discover that Conor is early.

He’s striding up the darkened driveway as we open the door. Dressed in a sharp black suit somewhere behind an enormous flower arrangement. I never get tired of seeing him all pressed and polished. He’s like sex personified. A walking fantasy.

And I’m walking away.

He smiles wide when he sees me, then notices my rumpled state and gives a sheepish look. “Shit. You’re not ready. I’m sorry, I should have done another couple laps.” He’s adorable when he’s excited. And here I am about to take him out back with a shotgun. “I was getting a little overanxious. But I can wait.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, “I have to cancel.”

The words come out in someone else’s voice. Distant and strange. I feel myself shutting down even as I stand under the lights of the house. My mind is peeling away from my body, recoiling from everything.

“Why? What happened?”

He sets the huge flower arrangement on the ground and tries to reach for me, but I step out of his grasp. If I let him touch me, my resolve will crack. I’m not strong enough to withstand Conor Edwards’ touch.

“Taylor, what’s wrong?” The hurt in his eyes is immediate and gutting.

I can’t form the words. I remember how frustrated I was last month when he wasn’t communicating with me, and yet here I am, doing the same thing. But his shit was righted by the simple act of telling his family the truth, removing himself from Kai’s influence.

My shit isn’t going away. The truth won’t help a goddamn bit, because the Internet is fucking forever.

How the hell do I ask him to tie himself to that bullshit long-term? He’s been so patient and encouraging already, but this is too much for anyone to handle. It’s too much for me.

I see the alarm on his face, and I know what comes next. The pain, the betrayal. I don’t want to do this to him. He deserves better and probably always has. We were a mess from the start and maybe it’s fitting it should be just as messy at the end. He won’t understand, but he’ll get over it. They always do.

“I’m sorry, Conor. It’s over.”