Bloody Princess by Helen Scott
17
Lyric
When I wake up the morning after the party, I'm not in as rough a shape as a lot of the other girls. I'm also willing to chug water before I pass out to avoid a hangover as much as I can, which was what I did last night. After shotgunning beers with Keats and Atlas on the back porch, they’d taught me how to play what they called “real beer pong”, where they played with ping pong paddles and there were more rules than I could remember.
"Rise and shine, pledges!" a female voice calls out. I think it’s Francine, but I'm too sleepy to tell for sure.
The lights to the room we are all sleeping in flick on, and although they aren't fluorescent lights, they still sting my eyes as I open them. I blame the beer. I drank too much last night, and now it's going to fuck with me for the rest of the day. I find it funny that I can drink liquor and wine all day and be fine, but beer has a much different effect on me.
"Good morning," a couple of my pledge sisters mumble as they sit up from the blankets and pillows that had been hastily thrown together on couches and the floor.
"We've paid our chef to come in and make us a special breakfast, but this isn't a regular thing, so don't expect it every time you come over. Now, get up and get dressed, and come have your first breakfast as Pi Ep pledges!" Francine is entirely too chipper. I'd seen her drink more than a few shots last night, so I am a little surprised that she's not feeling any after-effects.
After a few seconds of eye rubbing and stretching, we all change and use the facilities before heading into the dining room. The scents coming from the kitchen should be illegal. Bacon. Sausage. Something sweet. All of it makes my mouth water.
Two tables have big signs that say "Pledges" on them. They’re toward the back of the room, which is fine by me. I don't like being in the middle of things, and I generally prefer not to be the center of attention since—when I am, it's usually painful in some way.
"Food is on the buffet over here. We serve based on rank, so seniors, then juniors, then sophomores, then freshmen," one of the sisters calls out to us as all the seniors start getting in line. They are loading their plates, and if they all keep going at this rate, I'll be surprised if there's any food actually left for us.
Still, we watch as they all line up, one group after the next, until the sister that had spoken earlier says, "Okay, pledges, your turn."
We all get up and start loading the china plates up with food before sitting back down. By the time we start actually eating, the seniors are finishing up their mountains of food, and the chatter in the dining room starts to increase significantly. As I watch the sisters getting more animated, I really look around. The room itself is classically decorated, with bright white wainscoting on the lower two-thirds of the walls, the top third of which is painted a dark teal and decorated with gold-framed mirrors and paintings. The large wooden tables all have fancy wooden chairs around them—which aren't very comfortable, I might add. There is nothing here that would be out of place in my parents’ home. That's how proper and boring it is.
I've just finished eating when Francine stands at the other end of the room, flanked by what I assume are the other council members. "Ladies!" Her voice immediately quiets the chatter, and I have to wonder what kind of repercussions there are for people who keep talking. "Now that you've had a taste of what it means to be a Pi Ep sister, we want to talk to you a little about what your pledge period is going to be like." Some of the sisters snap their fingers over and over again, I'm guessing instead of clapping. The buzz of excitement is back again, though, and I can feel it crawling along my skin. With one look, Francine silences the snaps. "As I'm sure you've all heard, there is a more intense week right before initiation that some people may or may not refer to as Hell Week. This is basically the finals week of pledging. If you're wondering what you'll be tested on, that's what you'll be learning at the new member meetings every Sunday before chapter meetings.
"Why do I bring up Hell Week? Because it's up to you how it goes. You pass the final exam as a class, but how much goes into that week for you is an individual thing. All of us have been through it, so don't feel as though we are attacking you or pushing you to do something that we would be unwilling to do ourselves. That's simply not the case.
"We work on a points system. Some activities, like new member meetings, chapter meetings, and a few social events, are required. Everything else is voluntary, but the more you do, the more points you rack up, and the less painful Hell Week will be. You're free to opt out of any activity at any time, except the mandatory ones—at least without a valid excuse. Of course, the less you do, the less points you'll have. I'm sure you're all smart enough to follow the logic there.
"Along with gaining points via activities, points can also be taken away if any of our older members see you behaving in a way that is unbecoming of the Pi Ep reputation. They can also be given and taken away at a sister's recommendation to the council. If we have reason to believe that you've been disrespecting your fellow Pi Eps, we can and will dock points. Likewise, if a sister asks you to do something and you do so willingly and respectfully, you'll gain points. Any questions so far?"
One of my pledge classmates raises her hand and bravely asks, "Couldn't that be construed as hazing? Especially with calling it Hell Week?"
The shift in energy in the room is practically tangible. The focus of the sisters is now on my poor fellow pledge, but to be fair, asking about hazing in a sorority you're trying to join probably isn't the smartest move. Especially when it's a sorority as selective as Pi Ep. Our pledge class consists of eleven girls. That's it. But instead of creating a reputation as a dwindling house, whenever they take a small class—just enough to fill quota, most likely—they are seen as being more exclusive. A house that requires its members to be of a certain caliber. It’s fantastic social engineering, if you ask me.
"If it was hazing, you wouldn't be able to refuse, which I just clearly stated you can, with the exception of a few mandatory events. Events which, I will add, are mandatory for all sisters, not just pledges. The only events that are required of pledges alone are the new member meetings. Does that help?" she asks with a smile, though from one punisher to another, I can see the edge of malice hiding just beneath the surface. I have no doubt that, though it may not be overt, the other pledge will have to face some consequences for asking such a loaded question. The pledge just nods, though, and Francine continues on, "Next Saturday is our first official social with the APTs. To prepare for that, we will be having our first line-up, where we can help you pick out your outfits and give you advice on your makeup and how to style your hair, that kind of thing. The line-up will be the first of many, so if you decide that sorority life isn't for you, that's fine, but please make that decision soon, so we don't waste our time on someone who isn't interested. Future line-ups will not be announced ahead of time—you will simply get an email with the time to be at the house and the outfit to wear. Again, this is optional. We have to keep it to short notice events to squeeze it in whenever a group of sisters has free time. As I'm sure you all understand, the juniors and seniors are extremely busy preparing for life after college. Any questions?"
This time, there are none. We could have heard a pin drop. It doesn’t even sound like the sisters are breathing. When Francine is satisfied that we are all suitably intimidated, she says, "After you finish your breakfast, please help us clean up. Then you're free to go. By the time you get back to your rooms, you'll have an email with our social schedule for the rest of the semester. Keep in mind, these are just official events. There will also be a schedule that is exclusive to you, as pledges. Again, everything is optional, but please keep the point system in mind when you decide not to participate."
All the sisters in the room snap their fingers furiously, as if they can snap us into being the perfect pledges. Francine and her fellow council members walk out, followed by what I think are most of the seniors and juniors. As the last junior is leaving, she clears her throat and stares pointedly at anyone still sitting at a table without a pledge sign.
Once they are all out of the room, one of the other pledges, who looks a little like Sophie Turner says, "So, I guess when they asked us to help...they meant do it for them?"
"Probably. Do you think this is how the next few months are going to be?" another replies. She has a short, messy blonde bob—the kind of look I could never pull off—and is rail thin, like a model.
"Of course. We're going to be their bitches. I have no doubt," says the pledge who asked the question earlier. I'm glad she at least understands what's up. I'd hate for someone to go into this with blinders on. She has a very Cara Delevingne vibe, with dark eyebrows, light eyes, and a super pouty bottom lip. Plus, her attitude just screams “don't fuck with me”.
"At least we can opt out of stuff," says the pledge who looks like Sophie Turner.
I don't particularly want to hang around and debate how we are going to be treated, so I start picking up plates and carrying them through to the kitchen, which looks like a bomb went off. As though my action spurs them into motion, the rest of my pledge sisters start doing the same thing as we try to figure out how to work the industrial dishwasher and whether or not we are supposed to clean the kitchen stuff as well. By the time we're done, I'm ready to drop. I'm so tired, but I have managed to learn each of their names and feel as though I'm actually starting to get to know them. Plus, now I have a whole list of people to pass on to Mel so she can get her research mojo going on.
What I don't expect is to get back to my dorm room and find a box on my bed. There's no label. Nothing to say that it's for me, other than the fact that it has been left on my bed. I move it to the foot of the bed using a coat hanger and sit at the head debating what to do about it. It's taped shut and clearly hasn't been opened, so I don't know what to make of it.
The door swings open, and Evie gives a little yelp of surprise as she walks in with her towel wrapped around her body and sets her shower caddy on the floor on her side of the room. It's leaking water still, but she never seems to care. "Sorry, I just didn't expect you to be back yet."
"Yeah, I didn't know when I'd be back either. Do you know what's with the box?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light while cutting to the chase.
She shakes her head. "A courier dropped it off this morning." Her curiosity is written all over her face, and I'm not sure whether it's something that I am safe to open in front of her or not. After a moment of deliberation, I decide it's worth the risk. If it's from Mel, she'll make sure it looks innocuous to anyone who might stumble across it, and if it's from my father or Sampson, they know the risk they’re taking. Plus, if I don't open it, it'll just increase Evie's curiosity.
I get up from my bed and grab the box, moving over to my desk, where I can slice the tape open. As soon as the tape is parted, the top flaps spring open, displaying a cute little stuffed toy. Big ears pop up out of the box, and it's holding a card that says, "I want to listen to every story you have to tell me."
My heart beats hard in my chest a couple of times before I connect the dots in my head and realize that this has to be from Mel. I pull the toy out, and as I wrap my hand around the bulk of its body, I can feel something solid inside. It's not perfectly hidden, but no one would think to check if they just opened the box, which I would guess was what Melody was more concerned with. I know exactly what Mel is telling me with the note the rabbit is holding as well. The solid thing—or things—I can feel inside the bunny plushie are the listening devices she told me to plant in the guys’ rooms so we can hear exactly what’s going on.
"Someone's trying to make up for something," Evie mumbles from across the room, the smile evident in her voice. It draws me back from planning how I'm going to get these into the guys’ rooms and refocuses me, even if only momentarily.
"Stupid family thing," I mutter as I fluff out the rabbit's paws and ears before setting it on my desk next to my computer. My words ring in my head, though. There is a certain level of truth to them. This was, is, a family thing. Whether or not it's stupid depends on who you ask. Mel and I agree that we owe it to Lyssa to find out who killed her and make them pay, but I'm sure if the situation was presented to my father, he'd have a much different opinion on the subject. I also owe it to Mel to figure out who hurt Lyssa. After all, she's given up her whole life to help me with this.
When I’d found Lyssa's diary, I'd been caught in a maelstrom of anger and grief, the likes of which I hadn't experienced since my mother's death. At the time, I'd debated keeping the diary a secret—after all, Lyssa had hidden it, so she clearly hadn’t intended for it to be found. Mel found me before I could make a decision, though, and when I showed her what I'd read, she was torn apart. She cried harder after reading the diary than she had after the funeral.
Our father may have split us up, may have fragmented our family, but there was nothing like death to bring people together. It had happened before with my mother. Her death had galvanized me into becoming a tool for my father to use. I only wish I’d known then what I know now. If I had, I would have done things differently.
