Greek: Best Frenemies (7 page)

Outside, she found Cappie, her brother and Dale working with some kind of wire frame that was bent and rusted and looked as if it had been salvaged from a different item entirely. It did come out haphazardly into a box shape. “You're building a succah?”

“Hey, Case.” Cappie climbed over the rubble to kiss her. “No, it's way too low. And you can't build it until Yom Kippur anyway, and that's like six months away.”

“What is she talking about?” Dale asked. He had gloves and protective eyegear on over his glasses.

“Jewish ritual booth eaten in for a week during what Christians refer to as the Feast of Tabernacles but the Jews call Succot. It has to be constructed outdoors, and in the fall, after Yom Kippur,” Cappie said. “I used to be a Jewish studies major.”

“I remember that semester. You were spending so much time at Hillel, thinking it would earn you extra credit,” Casey said. “So, what are you building?”

“Rock'em Sock'em Robots,” Rusty said. “You know, the ones where they punch each other and their heads pop up?”

“Yeah, you can buy those on eBay.”

“Life-size. Hopefully.” Cappie put his arm around her. “It was Spitter's idea. And Dale's. We needed another Vesuvius. Without the eruptions.”

Rusty proudly held up a long pipe with various attachments to make it look more like a stick-figure man. “Imagine this with a lot of plastic and paint. And a head. Imagine it like the box, but bigger.”

“So, not at all what I'm looking at.”

“Not technically, but we'll get there,” Cappie said. “You never had one of those sets?”

“I did in kindergarten, but by the time I got there it was already broken and both guys were missing their heads. They just hadn't cleared it out yet. Lazy preschool cleanup committee.”

“That's it!” Dale said, standing back up from where he was kneeling. “That's the quote I was thinking of!”

“What quote? About kindergarten?”

“No, Aristotle. For Cappie's essay,” Dale said. “He said if every tool could do its own work—like a hammer could hammer a nail in by itself—then workmen wouldn't need servants. And slaves. He said slaves because it was ancient Greece. I can't remember where it's from.”

Cappie nodded. “The internet can remedy that. Thanks, Dale. Now if you gentlemen would excuse me.” He took Casey's hand and they ascended the stairs to Cappie's room for some privacy. It was in its usual state—terrible, with no apologies from Cappie, who had given up that game long ago. It did smell rather…chemical.

“Why does it smell like artificial lemon scent in here?”

“It's ‘lemon fresh,' but I don't think any actual lemons were harmed in the making of it,” Cappie said.

Casey looked around and found one of the chemical-scent dispensers plugged into the overstuffed outlet. “What's with the dispenser?”

“Scented candles seemed like bad luck for fraternities. Or sororities. I mean, we don't have sprinklers either.” He lay down on top of the covers and she joined him. They liked
just to sit, or more accurately lay, like that. “And it's a long story.”

“Your room did kinda smell before. And not of fake lemons.”

“Okay, short story. Summed up by you.”

She snuggled closer to him. He did smell better. “So you're working on a paper?”

“Kind of a special project. To boost my grade-point average into not-failing levels for a certain class.”

“You're failing a class?” she demanded to know.

Cappie rushed to assure her, “Hey, I am trying
not
to fail a class. Even if it involved begging the TA, then the professor, then agreeing to do a massive paper of term-paper proportions by Monday, because I need the credits from the class to graduate.”

There was a pause before Casey squealed. Not her most dignified response, but there didn't seem to be a lot of dignity involved in her life this week anyway. “You said the G-word!”

“Graduate?”

“You said it again!”

“I know, twice in one night. Don't push it.” Cappie smiled at her proudly, but it was clear that was as far as that line of questioning was going to go. Cappie was the sort of guy she could picture only in college, and not just because she'd met him in college, when they were both freshmen and he was roommates with Evan Chambers. True adulthood was not a place she could imagine him in. He was at home at the lazy KT house, with the endless parties and total lack of responsibility. But they were in their final semester, and they were back together after a two-year separation and she wanted more than
ever for him to graduate with her and not flunk his classes and be stuck for another year, even though it wouldn't shock her. It would just severely disappoint her, more so because Casey had tried to make it clear, without explicitly saying it, that she would not stick around the area or do the long-distance relationship thing for him. She was moving on, with or without Cappie, but hopefully with.

“You still there?”

“Yeah,” Casey replied. “So what's the paper about?”

“I have to submit a proposal tomorrow morning. I thought I'd focus on Aristotle, because it's Professor Izmaylov's first name. Or maybe he sees that all the time. I don't know. That's what you get when you're Greek and your parents name you Aristotle.”

“Was he the guy who—”

“—we met at the engineering awards ceremony last semester, yeah. He returned to teaching this semester. We must have inspired him, because he remembered me. And he's old.”

“Cappie!”

“I know, I know. Anyway, that's what Dale was talking about. They were doing the whole giant-robot thing and I like to multitask, especially when I'm under a deadline, so I'm going to write about robots. Or how robots are not people. And use way more quotes in my paper this time, because that's what got me in trouble last time. Not enough quotes.” He snapped his fingers. “Aristotle's
Politics.
That's where the quote is from! I knew I'd get it. I was just reading it.”

Cappie always amazed her with his brains, mostly because they were so firmly well-hidden within his thick skull. When he focused, he was a brilliant student. The problem was, he
rarely ever focused. “I don't know much about Aristotle, but I support whatever you say.”

“You know, you're technically a Greek.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm aware. Though this week isn't making me feel any better about it.”

“What, is Rebecca's superawesome campaign not so superawesome? Nothing says fun like kissing up to the Omega Chis.”

“Are you ever going to forgive them?”

“For getting my best friends expelled? No way in hell.” But it was best not to stay on that topic. “I thought you were excited about the sweetheart competition. The two thousand text messages on my cell phone say something to that effect.”

“I
am
excited for Rebecca. I'm not so excited about Rebecca's attitude.”

“Tons of roommates cheering for you? Having romantic gifts nobody wanted or asked for sent in your honor to the sleaziest house on campus? What could she possibly have a problem with?”

“It's not that. Everyone puts up with that. Rebecca's good under pressure, maybe better under pressure than anyone I know. That is, if she wants the pressure.”

“You mean, if she wants to be sweetheart?”

Casey thought about it. “Yeah. I guess I do mean that.”

“Well, did you ask her?”

“Ask her what?”

“If she wants to be sweetheart.”

“It's a moot point now. Evan nominated her and she accepted.”

“From what I remember of sweetheart nominations, it'd be pretty difficult not to accept. And she's still going out with
Evan, right? But does she actually want this fairy-tale contest with muffins and flowers and whatever caused Dale to smell so delicious?”

“But it's not like she has to lift a finger, really. The pledges are more than happy to do it for her. And it's good for the house. If ZBZ loses sweetheart, it's going to be a depressing place, and so far this semester, it's been pretty depressing.”

“Yeah, arson is pretty depressing I guess.” He tried to avoid it when she hit him with the spare pillow. “Ow! Okay, I promise not to bring that up again.”

“This will be like, the fourth time you've promised that. Why did I ever tell you?”

“Because how can you possibly keep a secret like that?”

“I'm keeping the Amphora secret just fine!” Last semester, she had stumbled upon a meeting of the Amphora Secret Society while following Cappie around.

“No, that's not fine, because you just mentioned it,” he said, but he wasn't completely serious or angry about it. He was more in the mood for laughing. “But seriously, burning a house down? How could I
not
mention it behind closed doors and with the person who told me?”

“It was an accident.”

“I believe you. You know that. That said, it was a pretty big accident.”

“Those scented candles are supposed to be safe!”

“I think the spray is better. The automated one.” He pointed to his. “Look. No accidental burning down of KT. Which I think would evoke less sympathy because we're guys and the house is already considered a biohazard, but it might help us win the sweetheart competition.”

“Ugh, don't remind me! If Gamma Psi takes it over the pity
vote I'll just…gah!” She didn't have words for it. “After they walked out on our social last semester…”

“Are you about to say you'd wish their house would burn down?”

“No! I am not that vindictive.” She calmed herself down. “I just get excited about certain things. Like sweetheart contests. And house standings. And ZBZ in general.”

“Wow. I've never noticed it, but now that you point it out—”

She hit him with the pillow again. “I'm allowed to be obsessed with my house.”

“You're sounding dangerously close to an owner, not a sister.”

It was true. She did think of it as her house and her responsibility, as if she needed to nurture and care for it. She'd always felt that way, since the moment she became a ZBZ, but she wouldn't acknowledge it openly even if Cappie was spot-on. “If everyone showed the same level of enthusiasm, I wouldn't have to feel this way. Besides, I have a responsibility not to leave the house heading into a gap year because of stupid decisions we made. Like my mean campaign against Frannie for president, which ended up making Ashleigh president. I mean, I'm glad she's president, but it wasn't our best moment as sisters. And Rebecca shouldn't be left to a house that's crashing in the rankings. I may hate her some of the time, or sometimes what feels like all of the time, but she's my Little Sister. She should succeed.”

“And if she doesn't want to?”

“Why wouldn't she want to?”

Cappie sat up. “If she doesn't agree to it on your terms. That means being sweetheart and whatever other honors you
worked hard for, like president, which I know from experience watching you is a lot of hard work. As opposed to this place, where I've been president for two years because we forgot to have elections and just decided to let everyone keep their positions.”

“I bet KT's harder to keep together than it looks.”

“Maybe, but at least we don't have to bake anything. Or order Dale to bake anything.”

“You know what Gamma Psi gave us when they turned down our offer for a social the first time around? Before we agreed to pay their utility bill? Cupcakes with frowny faces on them.”

“That sounds like the most delicious rejection ever.”

“Actually, it was. They were awesome. The cupcakes I mean, not the Gamma Psis.”

“Remind me to invite the Gamma Psis to a social. They won't go near our property, and the guys like cupcakes. I like cupcakes.” Casey swatted him again. “Stop hitting me!”

“Stop saying stupid things.”

“I thought you liked me for my acerbic wit?”

“Acerbic?”

“It was my word on the word-a-day calendar thing.
Acerbic.
Means sour, unripe or bitterly harsh.”

“Harsh is not the way I would begin to describe you,” Casey said and kissed him. Further kisses would have continued, but they were interrupted by a crash coming from the backyard and the string of unRusty-like curses that followed it.

“I should go check on my little brother,” she said.

“I should go check on my Little Brother,” he replied, and they dashed downstairs.

On the lawn, Rusty had a fist-shaped red welt on his forehead. “Good news—the punching robot punches.”

“We're still working on the lever for direction,” Dale said. “But it does rock and sock. And not, like, overly hard.”

“I'm so relieved,” Casey said and rolled her eyes.

The Coffee Farm was the one coffee shop open bright
and early, for all of the premeds and engineers and bio majors foolish enough to take 8:00 a.m. classes and the athletes up for 6:00 a.m. track runs and swim practice. That didn't mean that Ashleigh and Casey were there at eight, or at nine. But 10:00 a.m., for them, was a morning-bird hour. Or possibly a very late night. The point is, they were there, away from the house and its perpetual craziness and the rejected posters and signs they had to step over to get down the stairs. Rebecca mentioned it was a fire hazard and could cause the house to burn down, before making her merry way to the gym.

“Do you actually think Cappie's going to get here before noon?” Ashleigh was already done with her first cup of coffee. The Coffee Farm was smart enough not to have a “bottomless cup” policy. Or breakable cups. Ashleigh still had her doubts about Cappie, not wanting to see Casey's heart broken again as it was when he dumped her freshman year and when he almost got together with her and then almost sort of dumped
her sophomore year, or when he abandoned her after she proclaimed her love for him at the beginning of senior year.

Casey was thankful for Ashleigh's concern, mostly, but whatever Cappie lacked in stability, he made up for in his genuine feelings for her. For the most part. “He's been acting weirdly responsible lately. He even cleaned his room.”

“He cleaned his room?”

“He masked the typical Cappie odors with a refreshing chemical lemon scent. Not from a candle. From one of those automated pumps.”

“Wow. Drop another hint and I think he's a step away from a Roomba.”

“I know! Although those robots creep me out.”

“Me, too.” Ashleigh was chipper, but that was because of the coffee. Or, her natural chipperness was enhanced by the coffee. “What if they go somewhere and stop whirring because they're in silent mode and you don't know where they are? If the machines ever rise against us, I don't want to say I was captured by a Roomba. Or just cornered by one.” She looked around for what seemed like the eight-hundredth time. “Why did we invite Cappie? Correction, why did you invite Cappie?”

“Because he's my boyfriend and we share things and he knows Rebecca. And has known her. In the biblical sense.” There was no reason not to say it. Actually, there were plenty of reasons not to say it, but there was no reason to deny it, as it lasted almost a semester. But saying things out loud made Casey feel better. She was an expressive person. “And I have to talk to someone who's not a screaming pledge about this.”

“I have to admit, I've never heard Cappie scream.”

“I have. It's not shrieky. He's not one of those guys who screams like a girl. That's a deal breaker with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I grew up with Rusty. Enough is enough.” She smiled at Cappie's arrival. Half an hour late was astoundingly good for him. “Good morning.”

And he didn't even seem overly tired, either. He kissed her on the cheek. “Hey you.” He sat down, and it was hard to tell if he'd just rolled out of bed in those clothes, or if he had spent a lot of time dressing and looked as if he rolled of bed in the clothes he carefully put on. That was Cappie. “Ashleigh.”

“Cappie. Thanks for coming. I think.”

“You think?”

“If you're receptive to hearing about the trials and tribulations of ZBZ,” Casey said.

“You were inviting me for something else? Thank goodness, I thought this was an intervention.”

“For what?” Ashleigh had to ask.

“I don't know. My lack of ability to do laundry. Video games. Beer before it gives me a beer gut, not so much the addiction thing. But by all means, go ahead with your house's myriad of adorable problems.”

“Adorable?”
Casey and Ashleigh said at the same time.

“Jinx,” he said. “And yeah, what's more adorable than a stockpiling of muffins?” He cleared his voice. “Sorry, please go forward with your very serious problem.”

“The problem is Rebecca.”

“Okay, slightly more serious. Or way more serious, depending.”

“It's not, like, scandal serious.” Casey took a deep breath. “It's just Rebecca's attitude. It's…hard to deal with.”

“So, this is the part where I withhold comment—”

“About the muffins and the cards and the balloons, yes,” Casey replied. “We need to win the sweetheart competition for the house. Which makes it doubly important on her, because when we graduate, she practically will be the house. She's the most qualified.”

“And she did go all the way during rush week,” Ashleigh said. “She broke into that zoo for the scavenger hunt. Back when we thought getting arrested for opening a tiger cage was a huge scandal for the house.”

“Yeah,” Casey said. “The point is, we'll be gone next semester, and she'll be the face of ZBZ. Theoretically, as president. But she's been avoiding everyone and not accepting support, and with the house standing and the other houses putting in really good efforts and the Gamma Psi pity vote—”

“—even screwing Evan won't make her sweetheart?” He immediately apologized. “Sorry, Case. You know, you are actually a sweetheart. That's why you won. But shouldn't Evan have this all wrapped up anyway?”

“Evan has his own problems,” Casey said.

“Yeah, I heard all about them.” His tone indicated that the Omega Chi's behavior last year—leaving Kappa Tau to the wolves known as the police during a prank so Evan could regain his standing in his own house as president—was not a place for the discussion to wander into.

“The point is, it's not guaranteed and I don't think she cares.”

“And you still haven't asked her if she cares.”

“She won't even look at me when I talk to her about the competition. I mean, what have I done?” Casey was innocent, or so she thought. The looks on Cappie's and Ashleigh's faces
indicated that maybe she wasn't. “Ash? You're with me on this?”

“Well, you have been pushing Rebecca for not being excited about this. Rebecca's never excited. She's more of a cool cucumber.”

“And you're president. You should be pushing for ZBZ—and Rebecca. And in this circumstance, Rebecca is ZBZ.”

“The burden of a Greek president is truly a great one,” Cappie said, speaking for Ashleigh and maybe himself, but perhaps not so much, or he wouldn't have agreed to be president of Kappa Tau twice. “I'm sure Ashleigh has plenty of other irritating responsibilities that severely cut into her video-game and beer-pong schedule. Almost to tragic levels. Or she has to put on her cougar-attracting outfit to talk a certain lady in administration out of a fine. Or—”

“Okay, I get it, your life is tough. The lives of all Greek presidents are tough.”

“Uh, yeah, minus the cougar-outfit part?” Ashleigh said, shooting a look at Cappie, who found something very interesting about his coffee cup at that precise moment. “Jeez, Case, you were president like, six months ago. Long-term memory a problem much?”

“Fine, fine. You both have other exciting things on your schedules. Like presidential orders and beer pong,” Casey relented. “I thought about what you've said, both of you, and I'm thinking maybe we should let Rebecca step down and Abby step up.”

“Abby?” Now Ashleigh did shriek. “The pledge? The one I have to keep shooting down when she raises her hand during meetings or they would never get done? As in, I think last Thursday's meeting would still be going on if I hadn't called a
moratorium on questions asked by Abby, and that was before the sweetheart competition?”

“She really wants the sweetheart position,” Casey said. “And she is a sweetheart, in her overexuberant way. She's gone out of her way to help Rebecca, way more than we would ever ask a pledge. She's running the whole campaign, and not because anyone asked her. Okay, so she is a little ADHD-riddled, but isn't ZBZ supposed to be for beautiful, excited, gregarious women? Isn't that what we want the image of the house to be?”

There was a significant pause before Ashleigh answered. Cappie calmly sipped his coffee, perhaps having the evolutionary sense to stay out of this one as Ashleigh went off like a siren. “How can you possibly say that? That Rebecca, a loyal active who's stuck with us through every scandal is less deserving of sweetheart than an overeager pledge? Rebecca, who I will point out, Casey, is your
Little Sister,
and was rightfully nominated just as everyone wanted her to be by the Omegas, doesn't deserve it because she's being herself? She may be the strongest presidential candidate, but maybe she doesn't like politics. Plus there's all those issues with her father that I can't even begin to imagine because I have a dad who didn't make my whole family a disgrace and ruin my childhood and a small portion of my ongoing adulthood by becoming a national scandal. We have normal dads and we had normal childhoods and we didn't have private jets and parents who weren't speaking to each other because one of them was screwing interns and it turns out some people who weren't really interns but part of some prostitution ring, which I don't know why it's called a ring anyway, isn't it just a bunch of prostitutes? What qualifies it as a ring? Who made that decision? And no,
Cappie, whatever you're going to say, don't stop me. Casey, if I had the childhood Rebecca had, and had to put up with her dad claiming he's all reformed and wanting her love again, I would be pretty damn cynical and wouldn't go near politics and campaigns with a ten-foot pole, even if it meant holing myself up in the abstinence dorm and never leaving except to go to class. She's done
way
more than her fair share without even considering her background. So even if she doesn't want sweetheart, she deserves to be a part of this discussion. And why am I even telling you this? Did you take the initiative by asking Rebecca what she wanted? Did you, with your sacred sisterly connection to her, notice that she hasn't said a word about any of this unless forced, and we all just
assumed
she was fine with it? If you really cared about Rebecca and not the house—which will be just fine and will not, like, explode if it doesn't win sweetheart—instead of telling her what to do and think, you would support her. She's our sister and we're supposed to support our sisters.”

Shocked into a stunned silence, Casey looked to Cappie, who was checking his text messages by all appearances, either because the situation was awkward or because he was distracted. Or wanted to be.

“I'm sorry,” Casey said. “You're…you're right. I've been a really bad Big Sister. I just…don't know what to do. Rebecca's so hard to read. And you're right—and Cappie was right—I should have asked her.”

“Sorry, but it had to be said. Also, I shouldn't have gone for the triple espresso,” Ashleigh said. “Sorry, Cappie.”

“I'm cool. I mean, in comparison to you guys, definitely. No offense.”

“None taken,” Ashleigh said.

Casey was still a little angry at him for not supporting her, but could she really expect him to, after that? She couldn't even think about Cappie. This was about Rebecca, and they were both right. They had both tried to tell her the same thing, in very different ways, which was that she wasn't listening to Rebecca. Rebecca, who may have dated not one, but two of Casey's exes and exchanged a lip-lock with Ashleigh's ex, but who had stuck by them through every disaster and even gone undercover with the IKIs for the sake of ZBZ. She helped them cover up the fire, keeping the secret better than anyone even if she openly played with Casey's and Ashleigh's emotions about it. She was a ZBZ, and she would be one until she died, not until a better offer came along or she got sick of them. If she wasn't sick of them now, she never would be. She deserved better, especially from Casey. Even if she didn't want to be sweetheart, she deserved better than being pushed aside for Abby. “I'm sorry for even suggesting Abby. I don't know what I was thinking. This competition is making everyone crazy…and some of us stupid. Please don't tell Rebecca.”

“It's forgotten. Cappie?”

“What was I supposed to forget?” It was hard to tell if he was joking or not paying attention. He finally looked up from his phone. “Sorry. Cartwrights. They have a thing about needing to talk to me. Which I sometimes really, really love. I totally do,
Casey.
”

“Rusty's about to spontaneously combust again?” Casey was happy for the change in direction. They all needed it. “Just tell him to take a couple of puffs on his inhaler. But not anything else. Or at least, if he's puffing on anything else, don't tell me about it.”

“Don't worry. The house has been under watch since the
police-car incident,” Cappie said. “Suspicious smells would not be in our best interest, except for the rat that died behind the sink, which we can't do anything about. Or, I think it's a rat. It could be a raccoon.”

“Gross!” Ashleigh said, apparently just as eager for a change in conversation and tone. “The university has an exterminator.”

“Yeah, and he's not speaking to us. Prank gone bad, long story. Funny story, actually, but long. And no, Case, I don't think it's an asthma thing. The robot project is not going to plan. Huge shocker there.”

“You're building robots?” Ashleigh asked.

“Robots that fight. Or punch each other in the face. But, you know, life-sized. It's supposed to be the new Vesuvius, and Rusty was hoping they would be ready tomorrow.”

Ashleigh looked at him. “Shouldn't you be helping him? I mean, if you weren't at this. Which we totally appreciate.”

“Yeah, listening to us moaning about house problems should not be your number-one priority,” Casey said. “Sorry.”

“I am Boyfriend Man. I go where I am needed and ask no reward for my endeavors,” Cappie said with a deep voice, then returned to his normal one. “Besides, I felt bad for kind of criticizing Casey last night. Thanks for backing me, Ashleigh. Even if it wasn't your intention. That it happened unintentionally was good.”