The blister that later formed on my thumb, round and clear, a little bubble I proceeded to pop with my fingernail. The sting of it like a punishment I didn’t want to forget.
“So, tell us about your friend.”
Lucas arcs his arm with inflated finesse and I watch as the ball slaps straight into the center cup. He grins, all his attention directed at Sloane.
“Why don’t you ask her?” she says, picking up the cup and downing it in a single gulp. “She’s right here.”
“Touché,” he says, looking at me next.
“I’m from the Outer Banks,” I say, not knowing how else to fill the sudden silence. I twist the ball in my hands, trying to remember the rules from the handful of times I played at a house party with Eliza. I’m suddenly grateful for those nights now, saving me from having to ask, and I do my best to mirror Lucas’s stance, extending my arm long and high—but when I release it, it soars straight over their heads and onto the floor.
“We have a pledge coming in from the Outer Banks,” Trevor says, jogging across the room to grab the ball. “He’s here this weekend, actually. Went on a beer run with some brothers. He’s a legacy, so, you know. Special treatment and all that. At least for now.”
He looks at Lucas and smirks and I listen to him chatter on about recruitment, relieved to have the conversation steered so quickly away from me. Greek life isn’t everything at Rutledge, but there’s a decent amount of it given the size. It’s still early in the summer, meaning most incoming freshmen won’t start rush until fall, but apparently Kappa Nu has lined up a few summer events to get early commitments. The strategy, essentially, is to take them out and give them the time of their lives: bottomless booze, all-night parties, older girls. Show them the college nirvana that could be theirs if only they pledged their life and loyalty to Kappa Nu—and then, once school starts, the hazing begins.
“Speaking of which, there’s a party tonight,” Trevor continues, tossing the ball again. It lands in my cup this time and I pick up the beer and down it quickly, the warm, flat liquid like malty urine. I peel a strand of hair from my tongue and I can sense Sloane staring at me, her eyes on the side of my face. “Y’all coming?”
“We’ll be there,” I say, not waiting for Sloane to speak first.
The game stretches on for another thirty minutes: the toss of the ball, the slap of the beer. Foam spraying across the table, my forearm, my shirt. Trevor and Lucas are all too willing to talk about themselves, which means Sloane and I are mostly just drinking, her chiming in with the occasional laugh or disparaging quip. Standing next to her is an immersive study in effortless cool—and judging by the way Lucas looks at her, whatever she’s doing, it works.
We’re getting ready to start a new game when the front door bangs open and another group of guys gush in. They’re all talking over one another, laughing, each one carrying a cardboard case of beer in one hand and a handle of liquor in the other.
“Come over here and meet the girls!” Trevor yells, waving them closer. “If you commit to Kappa Nu, they’ll be your new neighbors.”
The way he says it makes me flinch, like we’re two slabs of meat being dangled in front of a pack of animals. Sloane makes an effort to catch my eye, rolling hers.
“This is the shit we deal with for cheap rent,” she whispers, and I let out a laugh.
I look down at the table and decide to busy myself with racking the cups; I want to act disinterested, bored, the way Sloane does, too, even though I can see the group of them moving closer in my peripheral vision. The nearness of them makes my neck grow hot. I grab a few cups and accidentally tip another one over in the process, the remnants of backwash beer trickling down my hand. The room is spinning gently, I realize, the last hour going by in a daze. I don’t know how much I’ve had to drink—a few beers, at least—and I concentrate again on the table, trying to keep my legs from tilting.
“This is Sloane,” I hear Trevor say, my eyes still glued to the table. I register a few mutters, Sloane dispensing all the right lines, until finally, I feel their collective attention turn toward me. “And this is the new girl from OBX. Where’s Levi?”
The shock of the name makes my head snap up; surely, I’ve imagined it. It can’t be. He can’t be the incoming freshman from my hometown; the one visiting for the weekend that Trevor wanted me to meet. I blink a few times, trying to reorient myself as I look at the boys, their smug expressions and too-short shorts, when my attention lands on a familiar face in the back.