The Alpha Bet Read online

  “You’re going to rush the Alphas?” Sloane asks, finally looking up. She has this really weird look on her face like I’ve just told her the funniest joke imaginable.

  “Yeah, she is. Do you have a problem with that?” Jentry blurts out before I can answer. I look over at her to see that her cheeks are flushed and that she’s holding her fork more like a weapon than a tool to eat with.

  “To each his own,” Sloane shrugs. “Just remember a haircut and some lip-gloss doesn’t change your entire personality.” She laughs and points to my chest. I look down to see that I’ve dripped marinara sauce all down the front of my new white blouse. I try to blot at the sauce with a napkin but I just end up smearing the entire front of my shirt with sauce. Suddenly the idea of trying to become an Alpha sister seems completely ridiculous. What was I thinking?

  “Hey,” Jentry says and tosses her balled-up napkin at me. “She’s just jealous of you.”

  “That’s right. I’m jealous of a girl who should still be wearing a bib,” Sloane laughs.

  I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it was the torture of my first eyebrow waxing at the spa, or maybe it was because I basically embezzled money from my parents for a makeover, but before I know it, I take my spoon, dip it in marinara sauce, and launch it toward Sloane. It splatters perfectly on her light pink dress. All of the girls start laughing and Jentry nearly falls out of her chair.

  Sloane sits stunned for a few seconds. When she finally looks up, her eyes sear into me. As good as throwing the sauce at her felt, my knees start to shake in fear seeing her face now. I can’t believe I just did that! I’ve gone my entire life flying under everyone’s radar and now I’ve just pissed off the meanest girl on campus.

  “You are so going to pay for that, geek.” She bolts out of her chair and takes off out of the restaurant.

  Her words etch themselves in my mind. Could she be right? Will the Alphas just look at me and laugh? Will all these changes still result in my hypothesis turning out false?

  “Don’t let her get to you, GK,” I hear Jentry’s voice whispering to me. I smile falsely and nod, knowing she already has.

  ****

  “Let’s watch a movie,” Jentry says. She busies herself looking through her DVD’s while I take a stain remover stick to my new blouse. I still can’t shake the things that Sloane said tonight. I’ve never had anyone be so deliberately mean to me before. But then again I’ve never thrown marinara sauce on anyone before either.

  “How about The Breakfast Club?” I hear Jentry ask from far away.

  Sloane was right about one thing. This stain proves that I’m still the klutzy girl I was before the new clothes, makeup, and haircut. I’ll never be able to look as poised and sophisticated as the Alphas no matter how hard I try.

  “Okay, what about Pirates of the Caribbean?”

  I’ve already lied to my parents, got into a food fight with a girl who lives two doors away probably making myself an enemy for life, for what? So that I can show up at rush and completely humiliate myself? The Alphas will probably laugh me off their doorstep.

  “Hmm…what about Willy Wanker and the Fudge Packing Factory?”

  “What?” I shout and spin to face Jentry.

  She’s sliding a DVD into the machine, laughing. “I thought that might get your attention.”

  “Are we really watching a…a…”

  “A PORNO!” Jentry screams. “I thought you might need a little pick me up.”

  “I can’t. I won’t,” I say, pacing the floor of our dorm room. I’d be a total liar if I didn’t admit to being a little curious though. I sneak a peek at the screen but it’s still black.

  “Chill out, GK. Come take a load off,” she says, patting the empty side of her bed.

  “Don’t you think this is kind of weird?” I ask, moving slowly to her bed.

  “What? Two chicks watching porn together?” She looks at me for a second with a completely straight face then starts cracking up. “It’s not really porn,” she says, gesturing toward the screen.

  She hits play before I can catch the name of the movie but I’m already breathing easier knowing it isn’t porn. I definitely want to become more worldly but I don’t need to learn everything my first week at college.

  Actor credits start flashing on the screen and I surprised to see Cary Grant’s name followed by Grace Kelly’s.

  “To Catch A Thief?”

  “I thought you might need a little reminder that you aren’t so different from your namesake after all,” she says, turning up the volume. “Don’t you listen to any of that crap that Sloane said tonight. The Alphas would be lucky to have you.”

  I’m touched beyond belief that someone who has only known me for three days would know exactly how to make me feel better. Mom and I used to watch old Grace Kelly movies every Sunday. I can’t remember why we ever stopped.

  “I think your mom was really on to something when she named you,” Jentry says looking from me to the television screen.

  It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

  Chapter Three

  Rush is here already. My brain knows that it is impossible for any forty-eight hour period to be longer than another, but my rush preparedness time seems so much shorter than the two days I had to go without Internet access because of a snow storm. I have never been this nervous before. I even tried mentally reciting the table of periodic elements alphabetically, my sure fire way of beating the physiology of nervousness, but even that didn’t work.

  “I don’t know about this,” I whisper to Jentry as we wait to enter the Alpha house.

  “It’s going to be fine. Just be yourself,” she says, winking.

  Doesn’t she know that’s what I’m afraid of? That I will be myself. Klutzy, socially awkward, sixteen-year-old Grace Kelly Cook.

  But wait, no one here knows that girl. I keep forgetting that until I prove them otherwise, I’m just another incoming freshman trying to impress them. I can do this. Besides, Jentry explained that rush at McMillan is very informal. There are only two sororities on campus, and each one hosts a get-to-know-you party. And since Jentry assured me that we don’t want to be Zetas (which I didn’t admit to her, but I Googled them, and not only are they skanks, per Jentry, they also have an embarrassingly low GPA average), so that just leaves the Alpha party.

  Surely I can manage to avoid an accident and make interesting conversation through one party. Beyond that, it’s pure statistics. The Alphas will pick the girls they like the best, then narrow their choices based on the number of spaces available in the sorority. Even if I’m a borderline choice, my GPA should push me over (the Alphas take their academics much more seriously).

  I take a deep breath and smooth down the outfit Jentry picked out for me. I’m wearing a navy blue sweater and a pleated plaid skirt with ivory-colored tights to hide all my bruises. The last thing I need the sisters thinking is that I’m some domestic violence victim. I even mastered the art of walking in kitten heels, although I have no idea why they are called that. Jentry and I have role-played hours of witty banter. I prepared for rush just like I would any important test, except this time I used makeup, styling products, and pop culture as study guides. I’m ready to rip open my test booklet and start filling in circles with my number two pencil, metaphorically anyway.

  I’m starting to feel normal again until I glance around at my competition. Girls are hurriedly fluffing their hair and re-applying lip-gloss, some look almost as nervous as me as they continuously wipe their palms against their designer outfits.

  I do a quick mental count of the girls in line. Thirty-three. So thirty-three girls vying for, wait, I just realized that I never asked Jentry how many pledges the Alphas could pick. I sure can’t figure out my probability of becoming an Alpha without that critical piece of the equation.

  “Hey, Jentry? How many girls will the Alphas pick?” I ask her.

  She looks around wildly, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was thinki
ng of making a break for it.

  “Um, I don’t know?” She answers.

  My nervousness has just hit a new plateau. Actinium, Aluminum, Americium, Antimony, Argon. I fidget with the name tag on my sweater just for something to do with my hands. I have to admit I am glad that Jentry talked me into using my full name for rush instead of the nickname she gave me.

  “How many?” I ask again, the familiarity of the elements calming me.

  “Two,” Jentry blurts out, cringing like I might hit her.

  “Do you know that I have a better chance of having a stroke? Right here. Right now.”

  “Grace Kelly, don’t do this to yourself,” she warns, uncharacteristically calling me by my full name.

  “What if they don’t like me?” I whisper. Jentry rolls her eyes at me. I wish I could have the confidence that she has. She is the only girl here who isn’t sweating profusely or beating herself up emotionally.

  “Everybody likes you. You’re impossible not to like.” She smiles back at me.

  “Sloane doesn’t like me,” I remind her, glancing over at the bronze, blonde-haired beauty.

  “Sloane is an evil Barbie-clone and the Alphas are going to see right through her,” Jentry says, catching Sloane’s eye and flipping her off. Sloane immediately throws me a death look and I quickly avert my eyes. Something about that girl really scares me.

  “I guess you’re right,” I say hesitantly, still remembering Sloane’s comment at the restaurant.

  A loud foghorn sounds interrupting my self-esteem crisis and all of the girls throw their hands to their ears. The large white door to the Alpha house is suddenly thrown open to a foyer and staircase decorated like a cruise ship. The Alphas stand at attention in crisp, white uniforms and navy captains hats. One-by-one, they come and take a prospective pledge by the arm and escort her into the house.

  Jentry gives me a wink and a half wave as a redhead with two long braids hanging down from under her hat escorts her into the house. I stand up straight with a smile plastered on my face trying not to faint as one by one the prospective pledges disappear into the house. I feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead. Waiting to be picked by an Alpha is the sorority equivalent of playing Red Rover when I was in elementary school. The other team never picked me because I was, and still am, so clumsy.

  Sloane breezes by me in a cloud of expensive perfume escorted by a pixie-like Alpha with short black hair and wide blue eyes. Her hat practically swallows her entire head as she walks by giggling something to Sloane. I nearly throw up as I realize that I’m the last one standing with no sign of an escort. All of the other prospective pledges are standing inside the foyer with their Alpha escorts watching me. I try to do a quick physics problem in my mind of how fast I could possibly run in kitten heels without killing myself.

  A shadow falls across the foyer. I look up to see one of the girls I remember from the Alpha posse I first saw on the quad. She is almost as tan as Sloane with shoulder-length curly blonde hair. She is the only Alpha wearing a white skirt with her uniform instead of pants. I also notice some patches on her shoulders, which I’m assuming indicate her elevated Alpha status. She smiles and seems to float over to me.

  “Hi, I’m Lindsay Landry. Welcome to the Alpha Alpha Alpha house,” she says sweetly, as she hooks her arm into mine and starts leading me into the house.

  “The sorority so nice, they named it thrice,” I chuckle nervously.

  “That’s funny,” Lindsay laughs.

  “I’m Grace Kelly. I was starting to freak out a little bit being the last one picked and all,” I confess, immediately wanting to duct tape my mouth shut.

  “We always save the best for last here at the Alpha house,” she says, putting me at ease. My nervousness quickly melts away but I still focus on walking very carefully. The last thing I need tonight is to fall down and make an idiot out of myself.

  “So, have you been an Alpha for long?” I ask, making small talk.

  “Ever since I got here three years ago. This is my first year as president though, so this year is even more special.” She beams as I glance over to make sure I heard her right.

  “You’re the president of the Alphas?”

  “Yep.” She smiles at me like she didn’t just drop a huge bombshell. I was already worried about impressing the Alphas, but now I have to impress THE ALPHA? How in the world am I going to pull this off? We approach the door and I see Jentry smiling brightly as she puts an index finger up to each corner of her mouth. My fear must be showing. I remember to paste my smile back on as we reach the threshold.

  How is it that I can memorize a quantum theory in twelve seconds but I can’t smile and walk in heels at the same time? My foot gets caught on the threshold and I fall hard on the Alphas pristine marble foyer nearly taking Lindsay with me. I feel the sensation of skin splitting which I am all too familiar with. I try to get up as several girls rush to help me, but I can only see out of one eye and nearly fall again.

  “GK, you’re bleeding,” Jentry says, digging through her purse. She finds a tissue and presses it against my left eyebrow. Something tells me that I won’t have to worry about getting my eyebrows waxed again for a while.

  The girls huddle around me with mixed looks of sympathy, revulsion, and pity on their face. My eye is throbbing but the pain doesn’t even compare with the hit my pride took. I should have known that this was a mistake. I’m never going to be some sophisticated girl that everyone on campus looks up to.

  “Alphas, take your pledges into the talent show,” Lindsay commands, taking charge. Slowly, the crowd files into another room. I see Sloane hold her thumb and index finger into an L, and giggle, before she disappears.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Lindsay says, pulling me to my feet and taking me into a bathroom at the back of the house.

  She eases me down on a closed toilet and starts rifling through a medicine cabinet.

  “You don’t have to do this. I could just leave,” I say, trying to spare her from having to cut me loose later. I’m sure it’s pretty obvious that I’m not cut out to be an Alpha.

  “What? You think a little scrape is going to scare me off?” She laughs. “Check this out,” she says, lifting her skirt above her knee to reveal a large scar. “Freshman year. The Alphas had a hayride and I fell off the hayrack. Look at this one,” she says, unbuttoning her shirt part of the way and slipping a tanned shoulder out. A faint scar of at least ten stitches runs through the middle of her perfectly toned shoulder blade. “Diving accident, Alpha pool party, my sophomore year. Wanna see more?” She asks eagerly.

  “No, that’s okay,” I laugh. She starts dabbing a cotton ball saturated with first-aid wash on my cut. It stings like crazy but I force myself to hold still.

  “Everybody thinks the Alphas are so perfect, but we’re not. We’re just regular girls that are lucky enough to be in a very special sorority. Why do you want to be an Alpha, Grace Kelly?” She asks, unwrapping a bandage.

  I’m a little taken back by her question. I mean three days ago I wouldn’t have known an Alpha from a Zeta. But now that I do, I guess I can’t imagine not being a part of something so unique. All the other extracurriculars I’ve joined in the past have been a bit tainted by too much testosterone (science club, debate team). Bonding with other girls is really important to me now, especially after having so much fun with Jentry.

  “I’ve always been really good with grades but not with people. I really want college to be different. I want to belong to something really special for once. And for some reason, I just know that I belong here,” I answer truthfully.

  She stops wiping my cut and smiles at me.

  “Good answer,” she replies, putting the bandage on my cut. “Good as new,” she says, washing her hands. I stand up carefully and survey myself in the mirror.

  “Oh my God,” I yell. The bandage is so big it covers all of my left eyebrow and part of my lid. Lindsay spins around splattering my sweater with her wet hands.

 
“What’s wrong?” She cries.

  “I look like a pirate and not in the good Johnny Depp way,” I say, putting some of my new pop culture knowledge to work. I would cry if I wasn’t afraid the bandage adhesive would go in my eye and blind me for good.

  “You look fine.” She laughs, trying to dry off my sweater with a hand towel.

  There is a knock on the door and Lindsay opens it. My Rho Chi, Marjorie, steps in and takes in the bandage. She doesn’t bother to hide her laughter. Rho Chi’s are sorority sisters who unaffiliated themselves from their sororities until rush is over. They have the responsibility of guiding the prospective pledges through rush without showing preference for any particular party. Marjorie is a terrible Rho Chi. I overheard her say that the Alphas are an inferior sorority. I don’t think she even knows what the word means.

  “Come on, pledge Cook. It’s time to join the party,” she says, taking me by the arm.

  “Thanks, Lindsay,” I say, trying to keep up with Marjorie without tripping again. She drags me into a room holding a piano and nothing else. I can hear laughter coming from the front of the house.

  “Listen, Grace Kelly. I know this was an accident, but if anything else happens, I’m going to have to pull you from rush. I can’t have you being an embarrassment,” she says, and then storms off. I stay in the room for a few minutes catching my breath. My stomach is still tingling from being alone and actually having a conversation with the Alpha president. She is so nice and made me realize that the Alphas aren’t going to pass me up just because of one little accident.

  I follow the laughter into an elaborately decorated great room. I’ve never been on a cruise before but I can’t imagine anything more closely resembling a lido deck. My mom would completely love the creativity that the Alphas put into decorating. She is constantly filling our house with new decorations that she copies off of Martha Stewart. A pang of guilt hits me in the gut but dissolves just as quickly when a sorority sister shoves a tray of fruity drinks garnished with pineapple wedges toward me.