Delta Delta Gammas have a hit out on her."
"Couldn't Devon make Cole tell her?" asked Melissa (I think). I was already regretting the absence of name tags.
"She wouldn't." All the actives looked at the speaker, in a beat filled with surprise, and a tension I didn't understand. The girl lifted her hands in a shrug. "That's what her big sis told me."
The curious eyes turned to Kirby, but her attention was on her plate. I knew I was missing something significant, and wondered if it was as simple as disapproval of Devon's relationship--her choosing a boy over her sisters--or some- thing else.
F F F
By the time I pulled into my driveway it was late, and I felt as if someone had stirred my brain with a spoon. The stairs to my room seemed steeper than usual; I practically had to drag myself up by the banister.
The upstairs loft is arranged so that the stairway opens into the sitting/study area, and a pair of French doors close off my bedroom. Hanging on the left side was what, in the dark, looked like a Christmas wreath.
September had flown by fast, but this was ridiculous. I flipped on the light; the wreath was made of crimson and blue fabric, thickly braided. Stuck on, quite artistically, were several ornaments: a lamp, a star, a compass, and what looked like an octopus. Oh yes, and the letters .
On the right side was a whiteboard framed in SAXi colors, also with the letters, with a dry-erase marker hang- ing from a string. Someone had written a note: "Maggie-- Welcome to the Sigmas! This door decoration is to help you study for your pledge exam! You'll learn what all of these things mean soon. U!"
Underneath was another note, in handwriting I knew. "Congrats, Magpie! Your new friends seem so nice! Love, Mom." Thankfully, she wrote out love instead of drawing a little heart.
I wondered if I would feel less creeped out if this were hanging on a dorm-room door rather than actually inside my home. It seemed like something I maybe should be wor- ried about under the circumstances, but I was so tired. I parked the thought in a corner of my brain to examine in the morning.
Stripping off my clothes, I fell into bed, relieved that the next day was the weekend, and I didn't have to speak Greek again until Monday.
F F F
I woke late, even for a Saturday. My head felt furry on the inside, and the sunlight that streamed through the sheer curtains hammered against my eyes. All the signs of a psy- chic hangover.
With a groan, I sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my hands through my hair. I hadn't dreamed, so it must have been the residual from yesterday's drama queen rally. A lot had happened, so much that my brain felt full, unable to process it all. I had pledged a sorority last night, yet there were no accompanying signs of imminent apocalypse.
I padded downstairs in an ancient Bedivere T-shirt, sweatpants, and socks. The living room was deserted, but Dad sat at the kitchen table with his laptop, papers spread around him.
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
With a grunt of reply, I headed to the coffee, which was tepid in the pot. Desperate, I filled a mug and put it in the microwave.
"How did it go last night?" he asked.
"Okay." I stood with my hand on the microwave and thought about that. The details were fuzzy, as if I was viewing them through a dirty window. Interesting. High emotion could make an unreliable witness. But I wondered if there was some kind of protection inherent in the pledging cere- mony.
Or maybe I just needed caffeine. The microwave beeped and I took out the mug, stirred in sugar and a lot of milk. "I found out my editor is dating one of the sisters. I wonder if he'll still want me to continue the articles."
Dad rose to get some orange juice out of the fridge. "I wouldn't be sorry if he didn't. You might get home before midnight once in a while."
"It'll be better now that Rush is over."
"Hardly. Now it will be meetings and parties. . . ."
"God, what a chore. How I suffer."
Glass
"Couldn't Devon make Cole tell her?" asked Melissa (I think). I was already regretting the absence of name tags.
"She wouldn't." All the actives looked at the speaker, in a beat filled with surprise, and a tension I didn't understand. The girl lifted her hands in a shrug. "That's what her big sis told me."
The curious eyes turned to Kirby, but her attention was on her plate. I knew I was missing something significant, and wondered if it was as simple as disapproval of Devon's relationship--her choosing a boy over her sisters--or some- thing else.
F F F
By the time I pulled into my driveway it was late, and I felt as if someone had stirred my brain with a spoon. The stairs to my room seemed steeper than usual; I practically had to drag myself up by the banister.
The upstairs loft is arranged so that the stairway opens into the sitting/study area, and a pair of French doors close off my bedroom. Hanging on the left side was what, in the dark, looked like a Christmas wreath.
September had flown by fast, but this was ridiculous. I flipped on the light; the wreath was made of crimson and blue fabric, thickly braided. Stuck on, quite artistically, were several ornaments: a lamp, a star, a compass, and what looked like an octopus. Oh yes, and the letters .
On the right side was a whiteboard framed in SAXi colors, also with the letters, with a dry-erase marker hang- ing from a string. Someone had written a note: "Maggie-- Welcome to the Sigmas! This door decoration is to help you study for your pledge exam! You'll learn what all of these things mean soon. U!"
Underneath was another note, in handwriting I knew. "Congrats, Magpie! Your new friends seem so nice! Love, Mom." Thankfully, she wrote out love instead of drawing a little heart.
I wondered if I would feel less creeped out if this were hanging on a dorm-room door rather than actually inside my home. It seemed like something I maybe should be wor- ried about under the circumstances, but I was so tired. I parked the thought in a corner of my brain to examine in the morning.
Stripping off my clothes, I fell into bed, relieved that the next day was the weekend, and I didn't have to speak Greek again until Monday.
F F F
I woke late, even for a Saturday. My head felt furry on the inside, and the sunlight that streamed through the sheer curtains hammered against my eyes. All the signs of a psy- chic hangover.
With a groan, I sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my hands through my hair. I hadn't dreamed, so it must have been the residual from yesterday's drama queen rally. A lot had happened, so much that my brain felt full, unable to process it all. I had pledged a sorority last night, yet there were no accompanying signs of imminent apocalypse.
I padded downstairs in an ancient Bedivere T-shirt, sweatpants, and socks. The living room was deserted, but Dad sat at the kitchen table with his laptop, papers spread around him.
"Good morning, sleepyhead."
With a grunt of reply, I headed to the coffee, which was tepid in the pot. Desperate, I filled a mug and put it in the microwave.
"How did it go last night?" he asked.
"Okay." I stood with my hand on the microwave and thought about that. The details were fuzzy, as if I was viewing them through a dirty window. Interesting. High emotion could make an unreliable witness. But I wondered if there was some kind of protection inherent in the pledging cere- mony.
Or maybe I just needed caffeine. The microwave beeped and I took out the mug, stirred in sugar and a lot of milk. "I found out my editor is dating one of the sisters. I wonder if he'll still want me to continue the articles."
Dad rose to get some orange juice out of the fridge. "I wouldn't be sorry if he didn't. You might get home before midnight once in a while."
"It'll be better now that Rush is over."
"Hardly. Now it will be meetings and parties. . . ."
"God, what a chore. How I suffer."
Glass
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