Chapter Sixteen

Monday afternoon, Three and I meet with Christopher to talk about what we found in the Sigma Rho house and the interview with Ellie.

"So with Ellie's confirmation and what you've found, that's three houses involved. Is this enough for you to write it up?" he asks Three, who leans against the edge of Christopher's desk. "Do you think we could put it in the next edition?"

Three rubs a hand over his face. "I don't want to rush it. If we believe what Ellie says, then there might be more to it. It'd explain why her suppliers have been able to get so big without anyone getting caught. This could go higher than we thought, and right now we don't have anyone on the record to substantiate that. Once we publish, it's over."

Christopher turns his attention to me, where I sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. "And there's no way your roommate will go on the record?"

"Not a chance, and especially not for him." I jerk my thumb at Three.

"Then what's your next move?" Christopher asks. "If we can't publish now, we'll have to wait until next semester."

"Will that delay the decision on the Campus Life spot?" I ask, purposely not looking at Three.

Christopher hesitates. "Sabina and I talked about that. You're both already contributing to the column, so… we may wait to decide."

"What?"Three and I say in unison.

"That's not fair!" I say. We have only so much time before our applications to the journalism school are due. I've been so worried about finishing our drug story in time to include it, I didn't consider what would happen if Sabina delayed the decision on Campus Life. If I lose the Campus Life spot, I won't have time to come up with anything else to pad my résumé—I'll have to rely on the articles I've written so far and this drug story, shared with Three. I don't want to end up looking like his assistant, and I don't know what they'll think of the rest of my material. I know my human-interest pieces are good, but what if the print journalism they're looking for is the pull-no-punches type of reporting Three has been doing?

Christopher shrugs. "We don't have enough to make a decision right now, and we really can't give one of you up yet. We'll bring on another grunt in the spring and announce after that. Until then, with both of you contributing, we won't have any lapse in coverage when Angelica leaves, so…" He frowns, looking from Three's tight expression to my furious one. "Hey, take your complaints to Sabina. She's editor-in-chief."

I don't move, glancing at Three. If one of us is going to complain to Sabina, it'll have to be him. I certainly won't risk it.

He returns my look with an unimpressed arch of his brows.

I shrug. Worth a shot—if not to get an answer, then at least to get him on her bad side.

"We can publish this next semester," Three says. "I think we'll have a bigger story by then."

As we make our way back to the grunt desk, Three leans down at my shoulder and says, "Hey, don't be too upset about the Campus Life spot." He pats me lightly on the back. "You weren't getting it either way. So this doesn't really affect you."

I stop, a sucked-a-lemon smile on my face.

Three drops into his seat, grinning up at me. He clearly has no issues letting me have the extra height on him, which irritates me to no end. He really thinks I'm not a threat. And if it weren't for Ellie, he would have never considered letting me work on this story with him.

He thinks her interview is all I bring to the table.

I can hardly focus on anything else for the rest of the day. Not as I work on my story for tonight's deadline—an in-depth article on a campus organization for Native American and Indigenous students, the first of its kind and run by the university's only Native American faculty member. And not later, as I go through the motions of my shift at the library—mostly avoiding Scott, who did not forget in the five days the library was closed that he hates my guts.

I'm still seething and trying, without luck, to plan how I can make myself a major player in this story, when I leave the library that evening and run into Lincoln outside.

"Hey," he says when he spots me. He's coming up the path, backpack slung over one shoulder. "How was your break?"

"It was good," I answer. "How was yours? Relax, recharge?" I study his face for any reaction to the word "recharge."

But he only smiles. "As much as I could. But the whole family was in town, so… not as much as I wanted. Two of my cousins just had kids, so it was the whole baby parade thing."

"Was it fun, at least? If not restful?" My heart hammers as I wait for confirmation, remembering what Hayes said about his Thanksgiving: maybe the best.

"Oh yeah, it was great," he says. "It's always good being home."

But that doesn't quite fit. I think back on what Hayes said about the holidays: I'm one of those anti–family time people.

Maybe I'm reading too much into it. Hayes might have only meant his parents. He clearly has a complicated relationship with them.

I realize I've let the silence stretch too long and clear my throat. "So, the library? First day after break?"

Lincoln sighs. "Well, finals are coming, and I've got a kickball tournament this weekend. Last one of the year. Gotta manage my time right."

"Yeah, you'd hate to get the gold medal in kickball only to fail your exams."

"My parents would murder me," he says with a smile. "My mom's already pissed I'm doing this. But, you know, what's a little parental disappointment for the sake of a win?" His smile rings false now, like something might be eating at him.

That sounds more like Hayes. The strings connecting them remind me of fishing wire—perfectly visible only in the right light.

I tuck my hands into my coat pockets. "Well, you can sleep easy knowing I won't be disappointed in you." I pause, pretending to think. "Unless you lose. In which case, I'm not sure I can continue to be seen with you."

His gaze brightens again. "You know what? You should come. I think I'd play better knowing I can get these kinds of inspirational pep talks between games." He changes course quickly, his expression turning sensible. I'm talking to RA Lincoln now. "Ah, but you should be studying for finals. So maybe just one game. Half a game, even, if it's boring."

I laugh. "You're really selling it."

"Well, you've been to one, so you know what it's about," he says, that ever-present smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

It would be a nice distraction from everything else—finals, the delay on the Campus Life decision, this story with Three. Especially how much he underestimates me.

Plus, Lincoln might be Hayes. And if I want to know for sure—turn that fishing wire to rope—then I need to spend more time with him.

"Count me in."

I spend the next week alternating between studying and planning my next move. Finals are coming, and whether I pass or fail statistics relies entirely on how well I do on this exam. I also have only one more chance to get a good story into the Torch before winter break. And I'm still so angry at Three, just seeing his smug face makes me want to scream. Even Lincoln's kickball tournament, which was cold, rainy, and miserable, wasn't enough to distract me. Although the fraternity team they played against was terrible—possibly drunk—and watching them wipe out every few minutes on the muddy field cheered me up slightly.

But a real bright spot opens up in my weekend when I hear about a party at Theta Kappa Alpha, one of the fraternities on my and Three's short list of potential dealers, and I begin to hatch a plan.

One I am far too chicken to attempt without help.

"A frat party?" Dara stares at me, mouth ajar. She's perched at her desk, tablet propped in front of her. Everyone is getting into finals mode now.

Madison is sprawled on her stomach on her bed, headphones in, as she clacks away at her computer. Her fingers still at Dara's words, and she pops an earbud out, looking over at us. "Did you just say you want to go to a frat party?"

I should spend the night studying, or working on my next human-interest piece for the Torch—a story about a twenty-four-hour diner called Claude's that used to be a campus-adjacent staple, especially during finals. It closed a few years ago after the owner, Claude Jacobson, passed away. He was famous for hosting Holidays for Everyone, a party and dinner for unhoused folks in the area. Since the diner's closure, restaurants across the city have taken up the tradition in Claude's honor—they call it Claude's Holidays for Everyone.

It runs entirely off donations, the rest of the costs covered by the restaurants, and I'm hoping my story might help inspire new donors, especially after Kate's GoFundMe was so successful.

I have great notes and some interviews done, but the draft itself is bare-bones. Finishing it will definitely eat into my studying time for finals.

But I need to go to this party.

I turn a big, cheesy smile on Dara. "I was hoping you'd go with me?"

Dara continues to stare at me. "To a frat party?"

Madison sits up on her knees, popping out her other earbud. "Can I come?"

Dara's look of shock swings toward Madison. I follow with an identical expression.

"What?" Madison brushes at her face, as though a stray crumb might be the source of our deep disbelief.

"You want to go to a party," Dara says.

"If you're both going," says Madison.

I look at Dara. "Are we both going?"

"Am I dreaming right now? Why would you want to do this?" Dara leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. "You hate frats."

"I thought it'd be fun."

"I'm sure it will be. I don't trust whatever this is, though." She swivels a finger at me.

I'm hesitant to admit I'm only interested in going for a story. I don't want Dara and Madison to think I only care about the Torch, the way my friends in high school thought I only cared about our school paper. Especially since I've already relied on them both so much with the human-interest pieces I've been working on. They're the ones who got me started on that path in the first place.

But I also don't want to lie. "Well, I need to get in for this thing I'm doing for the Torch, and if I'm going to be turned away at the door for being fat or ugly, I don't want to be alone when it happens." There. I said it. I could go alone, but I'm scared.

Madison makes a choked sound. "Wyn, oh my gosh."

"No one would do that," Dara says at the same time. "That does not happen. Wyn, what the fuck?"

Madison climbs off her bed. "You're not—"

"Don't say I'm not fat," I say with a brittle laugh. "I am, and I don't want or need to be told that I'm not."

Madison looks at Dara, who gets to her feet.

"You're not going to get turned away," Dara says. "They want those things looking as crowded as possible, and they aren't going to turn away a girl they think isn't attractive just so all the other girls can see it or hear about it and decide to never come back." She bops the side of her fist against my shoulder. "And you'll see that—when we go to this party."

I glance at Madison, whose cheeks are red. She opens her mouth, then shuts it quickly.

To Dara, I say, "So, you've been to a lot of frat parties, then?"

"Well, not in the technical sense, no," Dara says.

"What does that mean?"

"I've never actually attended one, but—"

I groan. "Dara—"

"It'll be fine! Look, this isn't totally my friends' scene, but we've been to a lot of other parties, so I stand by my logic. In fact, I'm inviting Kayla and Yasmin," Dara says, grabbing her phone. "Three Black women, two of whom are queer, a church girl, and a fat hottie walk into a frat party." At that, I laugh. Dara grins at us, reaching over to smack Madison's shoulder. "They're gonna love us."

Anxiety has me in a chokehold as we make our way up the front walk to the Theta Kappa Alpha house. I have to fight my teeth not to chatter, a combination of my nerves and the fact that none of us wore coats, not wanting to worry about finding them again at the end of the night. It's officially December, and the night air is frigid and clouded by our breath.

We follow another group of girls to the door, where a brother waves us in. Within seconds, the worst part of my night is over. Even as I pass him, he doesn't give me a second glance, and I have a brief flash of embarrassment for being so worried.

"Are we having the traditional college experience now?" Yasmin asks, curling her arm around Kayla's shoulders.

"Yes, I think the traditional college experience does hinge on bad beer and eau de unwashed boy," Kayla says, eyeing the pile of shoes by the front door. It smells like a locker room in here.

"Hey, it was on your list!" Yasmin argues. "You said you wanted to see a frat party."

"For science," Kayla says, inspecting her nails. "I like to observe."

"I'm very happy to tick this off my list too," Madison says cheerfully.

Dara looks at her in surprise. "What else is on your list?"

Madison flushes in the low light. "I'm sort of… making it up as I go."

"Just don't drink anything you didn't pour yourself," says Yasmin, "and never take drugs from strangers."

As Yasmin leads us in search of drinks, Dara says to me, "You're quiet."

"I'm thawing out," I reply, sticking close to her as we make our way through the crowd. I'm grateful Yasmin and Kayla are with us. They're both so outgoing, I can easily fade into the background. It's what I really need tonight. Because now that my nerves have subsided, my focus is entirely on finding the right moment to sneak upstairs.

I'm also keeping an eye out for Three, who would know as soon as he saw me that I'm up to something. There's no guarantee he'll be here, but there's even less a guarantee he won't.

We hunt down the keg, where I get a beer to nurse so I blend. Madison politely asks one of the guys at the keg if there's water available, which makes them howl with laughter.

"This beer's so cheap, it practically is water," one of them says to her, holding out the keg hose.

Madison hesitates, looking to Dara and me.

"You don't have to," I say.

"But you can if you want," Dara adds. "We'll take care of you."

Madison licks her lips, glancing at the guys around the keg. Then she takes a deep breath, lets it out, and says, "Sure! Okay!" She grabs a cup and holds it out. "Traditional college experience!"

Dara turns to me with wide eyes. "We've totally corrupted her."

"I wonder if she'll tell her parents," I reply. "Sunday's sermon will be all about how Jesus may have turned water to wine, but it wasn't to party with underage drinkers."

Dara snorts, smothering her laugh against my shoulder.

It takes a while for the party to get into full swing. I need everyone a little more drunk than they are at present, but not so drunk that the party ends and people start heading upstairs. It's a fine line, and one I'm not sure I'll be able to find with my very limited knowledge of frat parties, which I've really only learned from movies.

And yes, okay, maybe everyone is right that I watch too much TV.

I'm still waiting for the perfect moment when I spot Three through the crowd.

I don't know how I notice him in a sea of people, especially when most of the guys look just like him. But maybe… they don't look like him. Not really. Not to me.

Or maybe I'm so attuned to his presence, I can feel him enter a room.

Whatever it is, it's like an alarm. Time to move.

I leave the others where they're watching a game of beer pong, slipping out another doorway before Three spots me. I make my way around to the front of the house, where I wait until I'm sure no one is looking before I sneak upstairs.

The second floor is quieter, and all the doors are shut. I try the first one and poke my head in—empty.

I don't have Three's insider knowledge of who within the frat might be involved, but I'll search every room if I have to. I know what I'm looking for now, and if I can confirm the involvement of brothers at TKA, Three will have to acknowledge I've contributed more to this story than just following him around, gathering scraps.

It's time-consuming and high-risk, but I don't have a choice if I want to prove myself. If I get caught, I'll just play drunk. I'll act like I'm looking for the bathroom. Or better yet, I'll simply slur my words so they're completely indecipherable and let that do the work.

Inside the room, I do a quick search of the drawers, unearth some dirty laundry, and pick through the closet. When I find nothing, I try the next room. I look under the dresser, check more drawers, reach under the bed despite all my brain's warnings to not do that. I find nothing. No indication of anything more nefarious than a lack of regular cleaning.

I'm silently cursing, wondering if this is all a waste, when I step into the hall and gasp.

Three waits on the other side of the door, back against the wall and arms folded.

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice is low and unhappy, and the look on his face is anything but playful. Like the day I stole his glasses, there's no question—he's truly angry right now.

I quickly shut the door behind me and glance around.

"Just me," he says. "Lucky for you, or you'd be screwed right now. What were you thinking?"

"I'm investigating," I whisper. "You seem to think I can't—"

He groans, knocking his head back against the wall. "That's not what I think—"

"You basically said as much!"

"Okay, fine, can we fight about this somewhere el—shit." He freezes as voices boom up the stairs. The panic in his eyes is quickly snuffed out by the light of an idea, and he grabs my arms, flipping us around. "Put your hand up my shirt."

"What?"

The voices grow closer. They're about to turn the corner.

"Unless you want it the other way around," he whispers urgently.

I shove my hand up his shirt so quickly, it bunches in the crook of my elbow. My fingers close around his bare shoulder, skin burning hot. And as he presses me into the wall with his hips and buries his face in my neck, I burn just as hot, if not hotter.

What the fuck.

He doesn't kiss me. Even as he nuzzles into my neck, his mouth never touches me.

"Hey, hey, hey," one of them slurs.

Someone else laughs.

Three pulls back slowly, lifting his head. His gaze is a little unfocused, and the anger has melted from his expression. My hand slips from beneath his shirt as he turns toward the voices, smiling sheepishly. "Ah. Sorry."

I hate that he's such a great actor, because he has that blushing, aw-shucks, who-me thing perfected.

I don't dare look over, and not only because I don't want them reading my face.

"Don't mind us," the second guy says, laughter still in his voice. From the corner of my eye, I count three of them.

"Do mind us," says the third, a little more stern. "You wanna hook up, take her home, bro."

I stare at Three's profile as he replies, but the first two guys' laughter has turned to buzzing in my ears.

At me, I think. They're laughing at me.

They're laughing at this. Three and me. Because clearly I'm not—

Because I'm not the type of girl that gets brought upstairs at a party.

It's worse than being turned away at the door. And I want to tell myself I'm overreacting. That it's baseless anxiety again.

But when I finally get up the nerve to turn my head, the two of them are nudging each other and laughing, and when they catch me looking, they cover their mouths in a half-assed disguise. Because they don't care if I know they're laughing at me.

I shove Three away from me and turn, starting for the stairs. The third guy, who's in the middle of telling Three off for being disrespectful after they let him into the party as another frat's pledge—blah, blah, blah—doesn't stop talking as I start down the stairs.

I hear the guy shout in outrage a moment later, and I'm halfway down when a hand catches my elbow.

"You're welcome," Three says, pulling me along with him.

I yank my arm out of his grip. "I do not—and will not, and will never—thank you for that." We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I shoulder past him.

"Oh, I'm sorry I saved your ass." He follows so close, I can feel the heat of him at my back.

I whirl to face him. "I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene, and I certainly didn't need you to do—that."

He gapes at me. "You mean convince a bunch of brothers you were harmless? So they wouldn't throw you out on your ass or worse when they caught you doing—whatever the hell you were doing—I have no idea, honestly!"

"I was investigating," I whisper fiercely. "Doing the exact thing you think I can't do without you, and I was fine—"

"You were about to get caught!"

"If anyone suspected I was up there, it's because they saw you follow me." I notice a few people looking our way, sensing the drama, and try to smooth my expression. "And I don't know how you knew I was here, or where I went—"

"You thought I wouldn't notice you the second I walked in?" He levels me with a disbelieving look.

"Of course. I'm sure you'd notice me right away, wouldn't you?" I bite my lip, turning my face away briefly. When I look at him again, his expression has shifted, confusion creeping in. "I know I don't belong at a party like this. I knew it before I even got here. But I'm not some useless hanger-on for this story, and I won't let you treat me like one. I think you and me being up there to do—that—is just as unbelievable as me being up there, alone, wasted. And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather worry about saving myself than be humiliated by you."

I turn to go, but Three skirts past me, blocking my way. "Hey," he says, dipping his head close to mine. "There is nothing unbelievable about you and me."

I drop my gaze, glancing away.

Three catches my jaw in his hand, turning my face toward him again. The intensity in his eyes is jarring, and I flick my attention down, catching on his mouth before quickly settling on his throat.

"Sure," I whisper. "Except that you hate me."

"Right." His voice has sobered, losing its heat. He gives my jaw a brief squeeze before dropping his hand. "Except that you hate me."

I frown, opening my mouth to protest—that's not what I said.

But he's already moving past me, melting into the crowd, disappearing from my sight no matter how hard I search.

I end up finding Dara and Madison instead, where they're dancing in the living room. Madison's cheeks are flushed, her eyes glassy.

"Oh good, you're back!" Dara grabs me. "She's totally drunk. We should get her home." She pauses, glancing over my face. Then she smirks. "Were you with Three?"

"No." I look around, searching for Yasmin and Kayla.

"They left," Dara says without needing to ask who I'm looking for. "I guess some people are doing coke in the den, and they didn't want to be around if that gets out of control."

I look toward the stairs, a stabbing in my gut. I know there's something up there. But whatever chance I had to link TKA to the other houses involved has withered up and died.

"They said to tell you bye, since we didn't know where you went," Dara continues.

I drag my gaze back to her. "Sorry. I didn't mean to leave you."

She grins. "All good. I got to watch our girl have the time of her life." She nods at Madison, who's still dancing. "But I think we should probably head out before it gets intense in here." Dara waves to get Madison's attention. "You good to go?"

Madison nods, beaming. She throws her arms around both of us. "I just love you two!"

I shoot Dara a look over her head, and Dara laughs.

"We love you too, Mads," Dara says. "Let's go home."

"I love drinking," Madison says as we head for the door. "I don't know why some people in my church act like it'll—it'll—ruin your life or something!" At the door, she throws her arms up. "I drink alcohol and Jesus still loves me!"

A few people nearby whoop.

Dara and I wrangle her out the door and into the cold.

On the way home, it seems like every thought that enters Madison's head immediately exits by way of her mouth. "I've never had a hangover before. Are you supposed to eat a raw egg in the morning? I think I saw that in a movie once. Ooh, can we watch a movie when we get home? I want to watch Mamma Mia! You know, my parents wouldn't even let me watch it because it glorifies premarital sex and it's—well, it's very sexy at times! I didn't know ABBA was so sexy. Oh my god, I can't stop saying ‘sexy'—what's happening to me?" She starts giggling, covering her mouth. "I used to sneak-watch it with my friends from choir. I'm not normally sneaky, but I just love musicals! I really want to try out for the musical next semester. I know my parents don't agree, but I want to do it!"

"You absolutely should," Dara says, always encouraging.

Madison chatters away about the musical until we near the dorm, but when we step into the lobby, she promptly loses her energy. In the elevator, I feel her drooping against my side.

"You want help getting her into bed?" I ask Dara as we enter the suite through their door.

"Nah, I got her," Dara says. "Did you get everything you needed tonight?"

I think of touching Three's bare chest, his hot skin under my hand. The way he looked at me afterward, those blue eyes so dark and intense.

Then Dara adds, "For the Torch?"

I nearly choke out a laugh, but I'm too exhausted. "It was a bust." I swallow, forcing a smile. "Thanks for coming with me. I really appreciate it."

Dara nods, but there's a thread of unease in her gaze that makes me wonder how much of the night she can see on my face right now.

"Hey, Wyn!" Madison catches me in the bathroom, grabbing my arm.

I turn back. "What's up?"

"Thank you for inviting me tonight," she says, leaning in to hug me.

"No problem." I pat her back lightly. "I'm glad you had a good time."

She pulls away, putting her hands on my shoulders. "And I want you to know—when I said you aren't fat—I didn't mean—"

"It's fine." The words scrape out of me, raw.

"You're beautiful." She takes both my hands and holds them to her chest. "You're beautiful, Wyn. And I'm so sorry if I've ever made you feel less beautiful than you are."

Something in me is cracking.

I open my mouth to give the knee-jerk answer again. It's fine. It's okay. But then I hear Three's voice: Don't say "it's fine" when people apologize to you, Evans. It minimizes your feelings.

"Thank you," I say instead, squeezing her hands. "I appreciate that."

She smiles, nodding as she releases me. She makes it one step back into her room before she turns again and adds, "And Jesus thinks you're beautiful too!"

On the other side of the wall, Dara laughs.

Madison giggles.

And I find myself smiling, despite the deepening ache in my chest.

I manage to keep smiling as I get ready for bed, washing the makeup from my face and brushing my teeth. I smile right up to the moment I climb under my sheets and roll toward the wall.

And then I promptly burst into tears.