Dirty Rush (12 page)

With that Jonah disappeared under the water, for what seemed like an eternity.

“I think Dave has a little crush on Jonah,” Meg said under her breath.

We all waited for Jonah to resurface. Even Dave seemed concerned that he hadn't come up for air.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” Dave screamed as he was pulled completely under the water. I was literally freaking out. Within seconds Dave reemerged, followed by a victorious Jonah, who had his boxers in one hand and Dave's in the other.

“Wait, this is kind of kinky, and I'm loving it for them,” Meg added.

After a few more minutes of coke-fueled horsing around, we convinced the boys to rejoin us on the boat. Coked up or not, Dave and Jonah had clearly had a moment in the water. They were freezing and complaining, but Jonah had a huge fucking grin on his face. I was really happy for him. I was happy for both of them, actually.

We all had a few more beers, Jonah and Dave warmed up, and then got into a petty argument:
Star Trek
vs.
Star Wars
vs.
Sharknado
. It was cute. We got back to the dock around 4:30, just as it was getting cold, selected the two most sober drivers (Jack and I), and drove back to campus. The night was young, and Omega Sig was throwing a huge party that we had to get back for.

“O
kay y'all, let's be cute and shut the fuck up now because Colette is gon' go ahead and get tonight's show goin',” Kenadie announced from the front of the room. I grabbed a seat on the floor next to the gigantic coffee table in the center of the room. On the table sat the current issues of
Vogue, Vogue Paris, Harper's, Town & Country, Forbes,
and
The Washington Post.
All of them splayed out with the type of precision you'd be hard pressed to find even in a fancy doctor's office (and this was true every day at any given hour). Also on the table, always, were two tall glass vases. One filled with fresh white gerbera daisies and the other with green jelly beans, which we
were condescendingly encouraged to enjoy if “we were into eating sugar.”

Maybe I was worn out from my week of classes or maybe I was preoccupied with wondering when I'd hear from Jack next; whatever it was, I must've been wearing it on my face because when Colette asked the group if we were ready to “stop being annoying and get into this shit,” she was looking right at me. I was still trying to get a read on her and that bugged me. It bugged me that I cared what she thought of me. Sometimes she'd be nice to me and other times she'd act like I wasn't in the room. I'm normally not self-conscious about pretty/bitchy girls, but Colette was different. She put me on edge. Maybe that's what she was going for?

The room fell silent.

“Alright. Silence your phones because I'm over the texting already. Yes, Meredith, that means you need to stop sexting your boyfriend.” Meredith quickly shoved her phone into her bag. “Okay, I'm gonna keep this short and sweet because we're starting thirty minutes late and I needed to start drinking like two hours ago.”

Colette seemed less rigid than normal. There was something vulnerable about her tonight. I realized what it was—I'd never seen her with her hair down before.

“We're gonna break down the next few days for you and then we can all get on with our super-exciting lives,” she continued. “Well, us
Actives
can get on with our lives. But I'm afraid you guys aren't gonna have much of a life over the next seven days, and I genuinely apologize for that.”

As if this wasn't completely unusual behavior, Colette
unleashed a fat, fake smile on all of us. And she held it. Eyes wide, teeth gritted. A weird tension quickly filled the room. It was kind of awe-inspiring, bizarre, condescending, and powerful all at once.

“Okay, you guys are getting split into groups of three. You'll spend the weekend attached to your group members by the pussy, doing whatever we ask of you as a group. You will learn to love each other, learn to hate each other, and hopefully, you'll learn how to get what you want from each other.”

Meg walked over to where Colette was standing. She was holding a white iPad with a green, pink, and silver Beta Zeta sticker on the back. She took over for Colette, who fell back and stood with the other Actives who were in a circle around us pledges. Like sharks eyeing their prey. Sharks in J.Crew.

“These little groups are actually of the utmost importance, and we chose them for a reason,” Meg announced. “So don't go fucking everything up by trying to be sneaky and switching so that you can be with your friends or whatever. We will find out, obviously. And we will make you look and feel fat in front of everyone, obviously. Cute?”

“Crystal cute,” we all responded in unison.

“Good, good, great. Okay, so here are your groups, followed by your team assignment.”

She started calling out the groups. Everyone pretended to be excited with their matches. Some groups were assigned to clean the house bathrooms with a bar of soap, a cup of water, and a toothbrush. No thanks. One group was assigned to buy, boil,
and peel three hundred eggs. I didn't exactly get why, but no one asked questions or batted an eye.

I, not surprisingly, was in the last group to be called.

“Last but not least, we have . . . where was I . . . oh, Jane Brandt, Leyla Johnson, and Taylor Bell. And you guys . . . will be on DD duties until Sunday morning. Cuuuuuute.”

Ugh. We got DD, which meant the three of us were assigned to cart girls around from party to party, or party to apartment, or party to wherever. This was the worst option. I would've rather gotten the eggs, to be honest.

Also, this meant that we had to hang out alone at the BZ house with Nancy, the house mother. Nancy was kind of weird and socially awkward. She was always hanging out in the great room by herself, watching
Dancing with the Stars
or
The Bachelorette.

My eyes darted across the group of girls. Leyla happened to be sitting a few girls away from me on the floor. We exchanged a smile. She was half-Japanese and had even prettier hair than Colette. Jane Brandt, a redheaded babe who reminded me of Emma Stone but less annoying, was the other pledge on my team. Jane was one of my favorites in the class, so that was a relief. I met her at one of the first events of the year. She'd asked to bum a cigarette (which I didn't have) at one of the Omega Sig parties, which turned into a kind of amazing conversation about our mutual love and respect for Gwen Stefani's ability to stay cool for so long. Neither of the girls were people I'd consider a friend yet, like Meg or even the twins. So yeah, we didn't exactly go
way
back.

“We
know that things have been super crystal cute up in here lately, but this weekend is gonna be a little different. You're gonna need to earn your keep around here,” Meg announced.

“Yeah!” said an overly zealous Stephanie as she walked over to join Meg at the proverbial head of our class. “We aren't gonna make you show us your vaginas or slaughter any pigs, but trust when I say that if you want to get through this with any sort of respect or dignity you will get one thing clear. We are Actives and you are pledges. Period.” The Actives all took a drink from their wineglasses. Vodka and Adderall water, I assumed.

There was another moment of weird silence. Meg laughed at Stephanie and a few girls chuckled from the crowd.

“Well? Aren't you gonna fucking clap or something? This is exciting, bitchfaces,” I heard Colette say from behind me. The girls erupted into a frenzy of smiles, screams, and clapping. The Actives started emptying the room and Leyla scooted over to me.

“Hi, I'm Leyla.” She smiled.

“Hey. I think we've met a couple times.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. I'm terrible with names.”

“It's cool.”

“And faces.”

I couldn't tell if she was for real, so I just grinned.

“So . . . what is your name?” she asked.

“Um, Taylor.”

“Jennifer?”

“Uh, Taylor,” I said, trying my best not to sound like a bitch. “I'm Taylor.”

“Cool, cool. You have really pretty hair.”

Before I could respond, Meg was standing behind Leyla and I realized that we were some of the only girls left.

“Okay, now's the time when
we
go get wasted and live our fucking lives to the fullest,” she said, “while you guys hang out, chat with your team, and wait for our drunk texts to beckon you. Love love!” She winked at me. “And make sure you find someone with a car within the next hour . . . ish! And seriously, try to
enjoy
being designated drivers for the night!” Meg flitted off toward Colette's room. Jane came walking toward Leyla and me, rolling her eyes.

Once my “teammates” and I decided that we'd use Jane's car for the night's obligations (she was the only one of us with a car, so . . . naturally), we sat around for about three hours and did what Meg told us all to do: wait. Would I have rather been in my room asleep? Yes. But was part of me somewhat excited to see these girls at their worst without having to worry about me being my worst? Another yes.

“Dingggg dingggg!”

My phone went off in my bag. A text from Meg. I checked the time; it was 11:35.

M
eg 11:35PM
Tayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

M
eg 11:35PM
Tayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

My Friday night had just started. For a few minutes, my texts weren't going through so Meg continued to text me my name with six thousand y's, which was funny for a second until it was just annoying. Finally I called her. Meg was clearly having a good time wherever she was.

“Get
the fuck OFF of me, ohmigodddd, are you grinding? What year is it?! Hello? Hello?”

“Meg! It's Taylor.”

“Tayyyyyyyyy—”

“You texted? Do you need a ride?”

“Yes!” she screamed into the receiver, then out to the crowd: “Guys! Are we over this? Can we go? Shots??”

“What?” I yelled back.

“Shots!!!!”

There was a noisy pause while Meg took a shot.

“OKAY YEAH, Tay. Come to Omega Sig. Text when you're outside.”

“OKAY,” I shouted back, “see you in like ten.”

“Bring two large Pellegrinos and a bag of salt and vinegar chips because Olivia is fat,” she added before hanging up.

I turned to Jane and Leyla, who were sitting on the kitchen counter, both scrolling through Instagram.

“Omega Sig. Meg. Now.”

A
s we pulled up to the house, Meg and the twins ran up to Jane's VW Cabriolet and piled in, basically turning it into a clown car. Jane and Leyla were up front and the four of us in the teeny backseat.

“Olivia's gonna be sick,” Steph announced as the doors were shut and the engine started to purr.

Jane turned to face us in the back, “Um . . .”

“No, it's fine,” Steph assured us, “just drive suuuuper slow and try not to make any turns.”

Jane rolled her eyes and offered an insincere “Got it,” before pulling away from the house. “Where are we going?” she asked.

Meg was texting someone furiously but managed to tell Jane to take us to this bar, Bankshots, while the twins were still fidgeting around, trying to get comfortable.

Meg threw her phone in her bag. “On second look, Liv, you look fucking queasy as fuck, babe. I mean, you always look good, but your eyes are a little bit rolly-backy in your headsy.”

Jane turned the corner onto Princeton Avenue. Olivia, who was half on my lap and half on her sister's, grabbed my thigh for support as we rounded the corner. Her cheeks puffed out like little balloons. This was more serious than I realized.

“Roll down the window!” I screamed toward Jane.

“What??” Jane screamed back, keeping her eyes on the road. “No screaming in my car! Please! No screaming.”

“Okay, sorry! But please, Olivia is basically puking back here.”

“I don't think there are windows that open back here,” said a slightly amused Meg.

“No! There are no fucking windows back there. I literally just cleaned this car, oh my God. Is she sick? Should I pull over?!” Jane was freaking out.

“Guys, I'm also a little nauseous. If she vomits I'm totally gonna vomit too,” Leyla said.

“Oh my God, shut UP, Leyla,” Meg barked.

“Yes, ma'am.”

We were cut off by a red truck. Jane slammed on the accelerator
and swerved the car, whipping us all to the left. Olivia grabbed Steph's bag and a shower of puke came gushing out of her mouth like a faucet into the bag.

“Ohhhhhhhh!!!”

“Ewwwwww!!”

“What's happening?”

“Ew, sick. Ewwwww sickkkk!!”

The car burst into mayhem. Arms flying, legs pushing against mine. I would have told Jane to pull over but we were now on a busy two-lane road and pulling over wasn't really an option.

“Please, roll the windows down. Please. I'll be fine if I can just . . .” Olivia's voice trailed off.

“It's okay, Liv. We're almost there,” Steph said, consoling her sister and rubbing her head. It was actually cute. Then she turned to us, “Jane, scratch what I said about going slow. I think Jenna Westerly is at Bankshots trying to suck James's dick, so I need to be there like immediately.”

“Okay . . .” I could tell Jane desperately wanted to lose it, but she knew she couldn't because she was a pledge.

“ 'Cause legit, I will slap Jenna. I bought her an iced latte and asked her soooo nicely not to flirt with him last week at the library. Like he's the only guy. Just, please.”

She looked genuinely concerned, more with the Jenna Westerly situation than the fact that her Longchamp tote was filled with vomit. Meanwhile, Olivia's cheeks were bloating again and I could tell that this time it was worse.