Chapter Seventeen Maya

Chapter Seventeen

Maya

October 2011

Over the next week, Daisy prepped me on everything related to Sterling Club bicker, which was quickly approaching. I sat on her bed while she stood with a chart she’d made with printed photos of everyone in Sterling Club and what I should know about them. Jill and River have an open relationship; Amelie’s dad just got arrested for securities fraud; Everett is a genius, but he’s also addicted to coke. We went shopping, and when I gasped at the price tag, Daisy whispered, You can keep the tag on and return it after.

It was then that I realized Daisy wasn’t like them. She looked the part, but the Chloé purse she carefully kept in its original bag, the Byredo perfume she used until it was gone, the way she’d carefully apply her drugstore makeup. No. Daisy wasn’t from this world any more than I was, she was just better at pretending.

“Sterling is members-only tonight, Ivy is list, and TI is on pass, two of any color,” Daisy said.

She showed me their chest of multicolored paper tickets, which we’d use to get into the clubs that were on pass and not list. We danced, drank beer, and ended the night with a giant bowl of microwaved ramen. During these nights, I became someone else. I shed the protective layer I’d hidden behind. I learned to let go, to dance, to flirt, to kiss strangers…and I felt freer than I’d ever been. I would do anything to keep feeling this way, to keep living this life…and that meant getting into Sterling no matter what.

—

One cool Saturday morning in mid-October, the weekend before bicker, I stood in Cecily’s room wearing a Princeton football uniform that was at least three sizes too big. Cecily adjusted the helmet as Kai and Daisy stood behind her with their fists to their chins, heads tilted to one side. I could barely see them past the cage of the helmet.

After fiddling with the chin strap, Cecily stepped back and joined Daisy and Kai with the same puzzled expression. “There’s something that doesn’t read ‘men’s football’ to me.”

“Maybe try more pads,” Kai said, grabbing a stack of them and stuffing them under the uniform, against my chest. The cold pads scraped against my skin as I fidgeted. As much as I tried to breathe through my mouth, it wasn’t enough to prevent the body odor stink of the dirty uniform from penetrating my nostrils.

“Whose uniform is this?” I asked, adjusting the chrome visor. Daisy had explained that if I did this one task, the three of them would do everything in their power to get me into Sterling. And hearing how unpredictable the bicker interview process could be, I didn’t want to chance it. You couldn’t ask for a better guarantee than having Cecily, the president-elect of the club, on your side.

“I stole it from the third-string kicker,” Daisy explained. “We hooked up last night on the hood of his car in the lot behind Ivy.” I gave her a look and she shrugged. “What? I was a literal nun all summer. Something had to be done.”

“I got it,” Cecily said, and disappeared into her closet. She emerged moments later holding a mouth guard. “Try this.”

I slipped the mouth guard in my mouth, and the girls hollered. “That’s it!” Daisy said, turning me around to face the mirror.

Staring back at me was a scrawny-looking third-string kicker with a long brown braid hanging out of the helmet. I stuffed my hair back in, took the mouth guard out, and smiled. “It’s perfect.”

Kai shoved a pill bottle into my hands. “You know what to do,” she said.

I looked down and read the label: Stimulant Laxative.

Earlier today, Cecily told me what Alex Bain did to her at the end of sophomore year. He had led her on, acting like they were serious when he really just wanted to hook up with her. When they did finally have sex, he had taped the whole thing on a video camera hidden under a pile of clothes in his room and then showed the entire football team. Cecily couldn’t even report it to the school because she knew they’d never kick out their star football player.

I’d never seen her so upset. Cecily, who was always poised, well-spoken. Strong. As she told the story, I felt myself growing more and more angry. How could we let him get away with this? Although what he’d done to her was much worse, I couldn’t help but remember how I felt the day I stood there soaking wet with beer as everyone pointed and laughed. The shame, the resonant fury.

Payback’s a bitch, Alex. And this time, I’ll be the one laughing.

—

The stadium was packed with students and alumni. an excitement flowed through the stands as fans gripped their beers and sounded their noisemakers. Princeton football was 5 and 0 this season and this was the biggest game yet. We were playing our archrivals—Harvard—and if we won, we’d clinch the Ivy League. As the band played the school fight song, the crowd erupted in cheers.

Wearing my gear, I’d managed to sneak into the huddle in the tunnel that led out to the field. My heart thudded as Alex Bain, the quarterback, gave a pep talk. Daisy had persuaded the third-string kicker to stay home in exchange for front-row tickets to a Patriots game, which Kai bought for this purpose. And here I was in his place.

“Let’s go out there and fuck shit up. Every play. Bring the pain, hit hard, let’s leave it all on the field.”

The guys whooped their approval and jumped up and down. I awkwardly joined in. Someone slapped me hard on the back, knocking the wind out of me. Everyone shouted, thudded their fists against their chests. Someone slapped my butt and a yelp of surprise escapedme.

Music boomed and the announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers as we ran out onto the field. “Welcome the Princeton Tigers!” The crowd erupted in cheers, and my whole body tingled with pride. So this is what it feels like. Players ran in dizzying patterns, tossing the football back and forth.

I anxiously scanned the crowd. Cecily, Daisy, and Kai were in the front row with giant signs and Tigers gear. They were shouting at me, but it was impossible to hear over all the noise. Daisy signaled toward a table where Gatorade drinks sat with players’ numbers written on them. A #2 and #12 sat side by side. What number was it? Pulse racing, I turned toward the field to scan the players for Alex, but all I saw was a blur of orange-and-black-spandexed men.

“Palmer, there you are.” Someone slapped me on the back. My stomach dropped as I whipped around. Surely I was about to be caught.

But to my surprise the trainer kept talking, seemingly unaware that I was definitely not Palmer. He was a fast-talking man with a nasal voice and rectangular glasses. “I thought I told you to sit this one out. Your shin splints aren’t going to get better if you keep pounding on ’em.”

I nodded and gave a quick grunt, like I’d heard the other guys do.

He squinted at me. “You sure everything’s okay?” My palms were slick with sweat as I nodded enthusiastically.

“Hey, Carl, can I get taped up? My ankle tape’s getting loose again.” It was Alex’s voice.

I couldn’t believe I was so close to him. I hadn’t really looked at him since that night at Cottage—his sweep of blond hair and freckled skin, that cocky grin—and a tremor of anger rippled through me again.

Clocking the number on his jersey, #2, I quickly turned back to the drink bottles and grabbed #2 off the table. Jogging past a row of cheerleaders to the far corner of the field, I bent down like I was tying my shoe. I felt sick with adrenaline as I unscrewed the cap, took out the laxatives, which we’d crushed and put in a napkin, and poured it into the Gatorade. My hands were slick with sweat as I screwed the cap back on and gave the drink a shake.

“Hey, Palmer, the fuck you doing?” I heard another voice, this time angry. It was another kicker.

Unable to get away this time, I made my voice low and hoarse and gestured to my throat. “Sick as fuck,” I said, shaking my head. I clutched my stomach and pretended to heave.

“Oh shit,” the guy said, taking a step back. “Never mind, man. You just chill. We’re good.” He disappeared off into the mass of players on the field.

Alex was getting taped up on the bench when I finally handed him the bottle, which he accepted without looking up. “Thanks, man.” And a spike of adrenaline lit my insides as I sprinted away.

—

“Did you do it?” Daisy asked, after I’d changed back into normal clothes and joined them in the stands.

“Yeah,” I said, catching my breath. “I poured in the whole thing.”

I watched Alex launch a perfect pass into the end zone. All around us, the crowd cheered.

“Maybe it takes some time to kick in,” Kai said. I wrung my hands nervously. I was sure I’d shaken it well. But what if Alex hadn’t drunk enough of it?

The announcer’s voice crackled over the intercom. “Princeton and Harvard tied 14–14 as we go into the fourth quarter.”

My heart wouldn’t slow down. I’d never been so invested in a football game in my life. “Tigers interception on the ten-yard line!” the announcer shouted, and the crowd erupted. Alex came onto the field for the next play. After the hike, he gripped the ball and was backing up like he was about to throw it. A wide receiver stood wide open in the end zone, waving his hands in the air.

Cecily gripped my forearm and I held my breath. Instead of throwing the ball, Alex fumbled and his knees buckled together, like a little boy who needed to pee. There were confused cries from the crowd. “Not sure what Bain is doing right now,” the announcer said.

My heart beat fast. I held on to the railing as Alex sprinted in the wrong direction. Everyone was confused for a moment, but then a Princeton running back picked up the ball and dodged his way into the end zone and the crowd cheered.

Alex was on the far side of the field, grabbing his backside as he waddled the rest of the way off. Daisy and I exchanged a look before breaking down in a fit of laughter.

Kai handed me a beer and clinked her glass against mine. “Good work out there, babe.”

“You did it,” Cecily said, hugging me.

“Fuck Alex Bain,” Kai said, her beer high in the air.

“Yeah, fuck Alex Bain,” I said, swelling with pride.

Daisy was laughing so hard, tears formed in her eyes. I couldn’t help but grin as I watched Alex disappear into the tunnel. Revenge is so sweet.

After that, Sterling Club bicker was just a formality. I knew I wasin.