Bloody Princess by Helen Scott
21
Lyric
The party is already raging by the time the other Pi Ep pledges and I get there since we had to clean up after dinner then get ready per Sister Paige's instructions. Some of the outfits she gave us to wear are truly hideous. I was assigned the seventies as my decade, and I've been given this god-awful powder blue jumpsuit to wear.
It’s way too long for me, and since the pants are bell bottoms, there’s a mass of fabric just pooled at my feet when I stand still. When I walk, I try to pretend I'm going to prom or something, even though I never did, and kick at the fabric before putting my foot down. It gives me a strange gait, though, and I don't really like it. Every formal gown I've ever worn has been perfectly tailored to fit me—hemmed, let out in some places, and taken in in others.
The worst part about the jumpsuit is that, because it's too big for me, the v-neck—which is probably supposed to be low on most people—almost goes down to my belly button. That, in turn, means you can see my bra, because there's no way I'm going without a bra. I don't care so much, but I feel like Paige is going to be super unhappy about it. The waist section is almost around my hips, and the two safety pins I was able to scavenge are currently holding the rolled fabric up around my waist, so at least the crotch isn't at my knees. The fluffy, wavy sleeves come down to my elbows, though. The whole effect makes me look like a kid playing dress up, which I do not appreciate, and which was probably half the point.
If I'm going to dress up, then I at least want to look good. I feel frumpy and like all my flaws are on display, which is not something I'm used to, but then, I usually dress myself. The only thing that makes me feel slightly better is that my pledge sisters have it just as rough, with everything from fucking Edwardian dresses to tight tube tops and micro mini skirts. None of us are comfortable.
It’s making the trip to the off-campus party house even more awkward than normal. Some of the girls are stumbling because of shoes that are too tall or too big—any number of things, really—while others are trying to hold their clothes in place to prevent indecent exposure.
We’ve been told to enter through the side door, and that we'll only get to enter through the front door once we've proven we aren’t wasting everyone's time. I don’t really care either way. As we approach the door, it definitely seems like the entrance to send people to who aren't welcome. There’s just a small set of wood stairs leading up to the top.
Two frat brothers are crowding the small deck area, and they stop us at the door, holding out a tray of shots. "Entrance fee is to drink one of these," the one on the left says as he slides the tray, covered with small, cloudy plastic cups toward us. The chunky red plastic of the tray itself definitely looks like it was swiped from the cafeteria at some point. "Line up and drink up."
I'm not about to let a shot stop me from getting in, so I step forward and pick up a glass. As I do so, one of my pledge sisters squeals, almost making me spill my shot all over myself.
"What the fuck is in these?" she demands as she lifts one of the glasses into the light coming from the lone bulb above the side door.
"A few things, but if you want in, and if you want your points, you'll drink up," the one on the right says.
His words make me wonder if the APT pledges are on a similar points system to us. I feel bad for them if they are. The guys have to get it worse than the girls, right?
The two men just watch us, and I hold my breath and open my throat as I down the shot. I swear whatever it is curdles in my mouth, and there was definitely something solid and fishy at the bottom of that glass. I don't know what it was, and I’m honestly not sure I want to know. As soon as I put the empty glass back down on the tray, the guy on the right puts his hand on my shoulder and practically shoves me past him.
One of the other girls immediately starts retching as soon as she tries to take the shot, vomiting in the scrubby grass off to the side of the house. I turn back, intending to help her, but the frat bro who had just pushed me inside says, "You leave, you lose your points."
Maybe if I knew these girls better, I'd give a shit, but I don't. The one thing I do know is that I'm facing an uphill battle with Paige since, for whatever reason, she's decided she doesn't like me. When I see another pledge sister, Victoria, walking toward me after having successfully downed her shot, I decide that I don't need to play goody two shoes right now and turn to head into the party.
"Keg stands!" an all too familiar voice shouts. "Pledges, line up!"
Guys start weaving their way through the crowd toward Atlas, his blonde hair shining in the low light of the party like a beacon. They are all in awful outfits, just like we are.
Victoria comes to stand by me with another drink in her hand already and mutters, "At least we're not the only ones." I can't help but agree with her.
One of the APT pledges is wearing a fedora and a poorly tailored pinstripe suit that makes me think he's supposed to be from the twenties. Another is wearing a flashy all white suit from the seventies, complete with wide lapels, matching bell bottom pants, waistcoat, and jacket. The two who look the most uncomfortable are in outfits that make them look like they just stepped out of period dramas. One would definitely be Jane Austin, and the other looks more American Revolution. There's one guy in an old timey bathing suit that looks more like what guys wear to high school wrestling matches these days, but it's so tight you can see everything.
And I do mean everything.
Another guy in seventies attire is sporting tight hot pants and a track suit jacket that's unzipped to reveal his surprisingly hairy chest. There’s some definite moose knuckle going on there. Though, unlike his buddy in the old-school swimsuit, he's proud of his outline. There are some hammer pants and jean suits in the line as well.
It's like watching some weird kind of parade as they all line up and, one after the other, place their hands on the edge of the keg and launch themselves into the air, while one of the brothers holds them by the ankles. Atlas shoves the faucet bit into each pledge’s mouth and pulls the trigger, filling their mouths with whatever beer is in the barrel. When each pledge taps out, one of the brothers calls out their time, and they move on to the next pledge.
As my pledge sisters slowly join us, some looking more than a little green around the gills, I see Paige striding toward us and brace myself for whatever is about to happen. "Why aren't you in line?" she demands.
"You want us to do keg stands?" Victoria says, her tone making me cringe, as she sounds equally disgusted and annoyed. That's not how to talk to someone on a power trip like Paige is.
"Minus five points. Get in line," Paige snarls.
Victoria blanches and scurries forward. I follow suit, though I'm nervous. Out of all the things I've done in my life, and I've done a lot of fucked up shit, a keg stand has never been one of them.
Victoria is up first and barely makes it more than five seconds before she's spluttering and tapping out. When I step up, Atlas's gaze skims over me like I'm nothing more than another party goer. It pisses me off, though I know it shouldn't. The fact that I care at all is annoying as all hell, and it makes me want to say something to break the awkwardness that's come between us.
"You ready for this, Little L?" Keats' voice comes from just behind me, and I turn to find him there in his own seventies get up, which looks hilarious given his tattoos and scruff. Definitely not looking like he should be in Saturday Night Fever with that going on.
"Yeah, I think so," I reply with a cautious smile.
"You'll be fine. Hop on up, and I'll spot you while Atlas gives you the tap," Keats says, nodding toward the big silver barrel.
I do as he asks, since it's not like I have any other choice with Paige watching, and place my hands over the hand holds on the metal barrel before launching myself into the air. In reality, I don't need Keats to catch me, or even support me. I can hold a headstand for an hour, thanks to Sampson's assholery.
What I haven't taken into consideration is the fact that I'm wearing a thin balconette bra since it's one of the few matching sets I have with me, and I have no way of knowing when Paige is going to check to make sure we’re dressed appropriately. The moment I'm upended, I feel the pants pool around my thighs since they are so big, and I feel my tits spill free from my bra. Somehow, they are still contained by the jumpsuit, though I don't quite know how I got that lucky.
My big fluffy seventies waves fall down around my head and land on top of the keg, which isn't exactly clean, but I stop caring when Atlas' hand comes up to my mouth. I lock my lips around the black plastic. They brush against his skin, making him flinch like I’ve slapped him or something.
Before I can worry about it, the foamy beer fills my mouth, and I have no time to think about anything other than swallowing. I don't want to overdo it, but I also don't want to look like I can't handle myself, so I let it go for a while, chugging down gulp after gulp of the bitter liquid.
When the liquid stops, I'm surprised to find Keats lowering me to the ground. As he helps me stand back up, I realize I've been up there for longer than a regular freshman girl would probably be able to handle.
"Easy now, I didn't want you to puke everywhere," Keats says quietly as I straighten.
"Thanks," I mutter, unceremoniously lifting my boobs back into my bra, which makes Atlas' eyes go wide, along with those of a few other frat brothers who have been watching. It doesn't bother me. I just turn and walk away, intent on finding Victoria and not vomiting all the beer I just chugged.
I don't find her, and I half wonder if she's either already left or disappeared with one of the frat brothers. With no wing woman and no idea what I'm supposed to be doing as a pledge, I meander back to the kitchen area and watch a few of the other girls do keg stands. Selena, who is wearing the micro mini and tube top, definitely flashes everyone as she goes up, and she only stays up for a few seconds before she taps out. Taylor, in her nineties power pantsuit, is up next, and she does well, lasting much longer than Selena, which makes me feel better.
As much as I hadn’t expected the beer to have any effect on me, I start to feel kind of warm and fuzzy, just the beginning of a buzz. After the shot of disgusting bullshit at the front door, it makes a nice change.
I catch Atlas watching me once or twice and wonder what he's thinking. Was I up there too long? Is he checking up on me like a big brother? His words from the other night ring through my head. He said he sees me. That I'm my own person to him, not just Lyssa's little sister. With that in my mind, his glances when he thinks I'm not paying attention take on new meaning.
The music that's been bumping in the background cuts out, and Paige's voice screams over all the other noise, "Shots! Pledges, line up!"
I move through the crowd toward her voice and find her standing at a long table covered in shot glasses—enough that it actually makes me nervous for the other girls. The frat pledges line up as well, on the other side of the table.
"Find your partners, the people from the matching decade, and stand opposite each other in front of a line of shot glasses," Paige shouts with a big grin on her face, as though this is her favorite thing in the world—and maybe it is. I know practically nothing about her, other than she's not afraid to punish us if we piss her off.
I see the APT pledge in the white, wide lapel suit and stand opposite him, giving him a small wave. He grins at me, and I see his gaze travel over my body, lingering on my tits as he peruses me.
"When the buzzer sounds, you and your opponent will go head to head. The first one to take all the shots wins. Once the first row is done, the next will start. The winning team gets to go home, and the losing team has to stay to clean up after the party," Paige says.
The guys on the other side of the table exchange cocky glances with each other.
"You can sub out for another player if your team is struggling," Atlas says over the noise, and I don't miss the way his eyes dart to me. He thinks I'm going to struggle?
For the first time, I really look at the shot glasses, not just the amount of them, and see a variety of colors of liquids. I doubt they are all liquor based on color, but I could be wrong. Victoria and her opponent are first up, and when the buzzer sounds, she knocks them out as quickly as she can, but she’s not fast enough to beat the frat pledge.
Daisy is up next, and she does surprisingly well, beating her opponent. Then, it’s my turn. As soon as the buzzer sounds, I down one after the other, not even noticing flavor or consistency. When I put the last shot glass down, bottom up on the table, I know I've won by the cheer my pledge sisters give me.
Amy is next to me, and when I look over at her, she has wide, scared eyes. "I can't do this," she whispers quietly.
I'm not sure if I'm making the right decision, but I nod and say, "I've got you. Don't worry."
She and I quickly change positions, and when the buzzer sounds again, I down the shots, same as before, and win. My head is starting to feel a little light, and I know I'm nearing my limit before I start to actually feel fucked up.
Lili wins after me, but Anya loses. When it gets down to it, there are two lines left, but no sisters to drink them. As I look along the line of us, I see that Natalie and Adriana are missing. My guess is that they couldn't handle the entrance shots and never made it in.
"Ladies," Atlas begins, drawing our attention. "Since you're down two members, you will have to pick up the slack somehow. Our weakest links are at the end to help make this more even. This is what it's come down to, though: Whoever can win these last two lines will be the deciding factor since the teams are even right now. You have one minute to decide who is going to take these shots."
Someone starts playing the Final Jeopardy music.
When I turn toward my pledge sisters, I see everyone watching me. I glance between them and ask, "You want me to do one of them?"
"You won both your rounds, and I really don't want to clean up a frat house," Taylor says. She already lost once, and I doubt she'd win given a second chance, based on her previous performance, so I'm not really surprised by her answer.
"I've had a lot to drink," I say, pausing to burp. It’s the truth. I’m actually starting to feel a little tipsy, which is rare. Once I move my hand from my mouth, I add, "I'll do one, but I can't do both." Mainly because Taylor is right, I don't want to clean a frat house, especially an off campus house where they can do whatever the fuck they want.
"I could do the other," Victoria says, her speech slightly slurred.
I shake my head. "You're too drunk. Daisy? Lili? How are you feeling?"
"I can do it," Daisy says, her words significantly clearer than Victoria's.
"Good, 'cause I can't." Lili sways slightly as she speaks, as though her body can't stand up straight and talk at the same time. While she’s talking, Atlas calls out, "In your places!"
I stand in front of the last line, knowing that I can win if Daisy loses, which is important. If the two guys on the other side of the table think they have it in the bag, they might not try so hard. I sway on my feet a little like I'd just seen Lili do, and I watch from my peripheral vision as one of our competitors nods at me and the other follows his line of sight.
Atlas is watching me with concern as I stand and hold onto the table with one hand before turning to face him. When I find him still looking at me, I give him a smile and a nod, trying to let him know I'm okay. A moment later, he sighs and sounds the buzzer. Daisy does her best, but loses by one shot. She takes the last one so I can start.
The guys across the table are cheering, thinking they've already won, but I down my line of shots much faster than my opponent. My pledge sisters behind me squeal with glee as I put my last shot glass down.
"I think that's a first," I hear Keats say to Atlas. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be loud enough for me to hear it or if I'm just especially good at picking out Atlas and Keats' voices from the crowd.
"It's a tie," Atlas calls.
Before he can say anything else, Keats steps in and adds, "To break the tie, we're going to have a dance off!"
Is he fucking kidding? A dance off? The bro across from me can barely stand, which doesn't seem fair. I'm also not sure how stable I'll be once this last round of shots kicks in.
A pathway forms from the table to the makeshift dance floor, and as he and I teeter through the wall of people, the opening beats from “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent start bumping through the crowd. When we get to the circle, the guy I'm supposed to be dance-battling with just starts humping the air as though that's what he considers dancing.
I have no idea if I'm supposed to wait for some kind of signal or for a second song, but I don't want to lose because I just stand here watching, so I start to sway. There are many things that Sampson taught me, including how to do a strip tease that'll have a man almost losing it in his pants, and how to move my body in a way that makes mens' brains turn off.
I'm not worried about winning the dance off, not when most of the guests at the party have a dick, and I'm me. It might make me sound like a cocky bitch, but it's the truth, and it took a lot of pain and tears to get to this point. I'll use every tool in my arsenal to win. The only thing I worry about is revealing my skill set too soon, but a little dancing never hurt anyone, right?
