turnpike

vii

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They're talking about me.

He and his brothers sit two rows back and off to the left, just far enough over that I can catch them out of the corner of my eye. They probably think I can't hear them, but even with the chatter that surrounds us, their words are easy to decipher.

It starts out innocently enough, with one of them inquiring, "Who's that girl you came in with?" It only takes me a moment to figure out who's asking.

I don't know many of his brothers by name, but Adam is one of the few. Before Pi Sigma Theta lost their house—all the way back when every member of the latest pledge class was still alive and the Rape Basement was fully functional—the brothers had roomed in quads, or, when space allowed, doubles. Adam had been one of the lucky few to snag a double, although on the nights when I came to visit, it was a very small triple.

I know better than to trust a Pi Sig, or any frat boy for that matter, but Adam has proven that he can keep a secret. It may have been because of threats and bribes from a certain ex-roommate of his, or maybe the two had some sort of brotherly understanding, but Adam has never breathed a word about the many nights I spent in the townhouse. Months later, he still hasn't.

"She looks familiar," Adam presses, still attempting to place me. "Have you known her long?"

I slide down in my seat, gently tapping my pencil on the edge of the desk as I pray for the exam to begin. At least then they'll be forced to shut up.

"Friend of Callie's. I've known her for a while."

"Sister?" Adam asks.

"Unaffiliated."

There are a few murmurs that I can't make out over the general volume of the crowd, but Adam's voice soon breaks through again.

"Oh, her. The same girl from when we still had the townhouse, right?"

I can't make out his answer, but there are a few chuckles to whatever it is. I swear I hear someone say, well, she was certainly one of them.

I press my lips into a tight line to keep from showing my discontent, just in case they're watching me like I'm watching them. I shouldn't be upset about the other girls he's been with; I've never had any true claim to him after all, but it still feels like a knife twisting in my gut.

After all this time, all this doubt, and all of our combined flaws, I still want to be the only one. But even with Callie out of the way, I'm not there yet. I'm not even close.

No, there's still Shelby and all the others he wants more than me. I'm the late-night call that comes when he doesn't know where else to turn and desperation declares itself the victor. When it demands a sacrifice I'm the lamb he brings to slaughter in an attempt to appease its undying appetite.

But it's never satisfied for long.

"Shit, it's been a while since I've seen her," Adam says as I squirm, wishing the TAs would hurry up and distribute the exam. "She coming to the party on Friday?"

There's a brief pause before I hear him say, "I doubt it."

"Well, did you invite her?"

"Hadn't planned to."

"If she's friends with Callie, she'll probably show up anyway," Adam points out. "Be careful."

"As long as I don't have to deal with Callie's bullshit," he says, lacing his fingers behind his head in a show of utter calm, "I don't give a fuck who shows up."

I have to bite my cheek when he laughs, a sound I've heard more from him in the past few days than I have in all the months we've been doing this. This isn't the Pi Sig I met so long ago, and I can't help but wonder if the old one will ever come back.

I pray he's gone forever.

This time, it's someone other than Adam who speaks up. "So you two really aren't getting back together?"

I shift slightly to get a better view of this latest participant. The boy is baby-faced and a little too curious, so I'm sure he's no older than a freshman. While he's on par with the rest of them in terms of looks—and money as well, I'm sure—that air of innocence, the one the others lost so long ago, still clings to him.

I'm sure it won't be intact for much longer.

I look back to their leader, eager for an answer, but what I get is a reminder that people don't change, especially not him.

"What did I just say?" the Pi Sig president snaps, dropping his arms back to the desk with a thud. "You deaf, jackass?"

The boy begins to turn the same color as their matching crimson shirts, clearly taken off guard. "No, I just—"

"You just what, Reagan?" he mocks, and it feels like he's almost enjoying this. In fact, I'm sure he is. He's always taken pleasure in the pain of others. "Decided to be a retard?"

The baby Pi Sig shakes his head, growing more and more flustered by the moment. "Come on, man, I didn't mean any harm by it. It was just a question."

Adam intervenes before they can take it any further, leaning forward so that Reagan is blocked from view—and from harm's way. "Shut up and mind your own business," he says, voice low as he addresses the freshman. "You should have known better."

Reagan doesn't seem to like this answer, and the next thing I know, he's on his feet with his pencil and Scantron in hand.

"I'll see you guys after class," he mumbles, cherub cheeks still flushed.

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose as their brother takes to the stairs and finds another seat a few rows up. I may not know Adam well, but his face is like an open book, and I can tell he's tired of the bullshit. More importantly, he's worried.

He has plenty of reasons to be.

It's then that Adam breaks, turning on the president and hissing, "Are you trying to fuck things up for yourself? The last thing you need is to make an enemy out of someone from that pledge class. You know what they can do to you. To us."

He rolls his eyes in response to his vice president's scolding, brushing it off as nothing. "Yeah, yeah."

"I'm serious, man," Adam warns. "Don't think they won't turn on you. If you push them enough, they'll rat without a second thought, and you won't be able to buy your way out of it this time."

"Chill out, Adam. It will be fine."

"You keep telling yourself that. Oh, and another piece of advice?"

"Please, enlighten me."

"Don't think she won't do the same."

Silence falls like a heavy curtain on stage, drawing the act to a close. The test booklet finally reaches my row, and when I turn to pass the extras to the next row back, he and I lock eyes. It's not a look of recognition on his part, and it's almost like he's staring right through me, just like on the first night we met.

It's uncomfortable and triggering, but I don't look away until I hear the professor proclaim in the background, "You may begin. Best of luck to you all."

I know I'm going to need this luck, both in my relationship with him and on this exam, but I doubt either will result in anything good.

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