The Alpha Bet (3 page)

“No, we were playing doctor,” Jentry responds, laughing into her plastic cup of beer. I was too chicken to order one myself. I was terrified they would ask to see my ID then they would embarrass me in front of Jentry when they found out I was only sixteen. I know I should be honest with her about my age but I’m just not ready yet. They never even carded Jentry. She exudes such an air of confidence that no one seems to question her. I imagine that she must go through her entire life feeling the way I did at my Scholastic Bowl tournaments. I was always so confident. It would be really cool to feel that way all the time.

“Was he, you know, your first?” I ask, getting back to Aaron. I roll the cool outside of my soda glass against my cheeks to control the blushing brought on by the memory of Aaron’s dragon tattoo.

“My first what? On campus?” She laughs, picking off a piece of pepperoni and popping it into her mouth. “Wait a minute. Are you a virgin?” She asks, her eyes huge.

I contemplate lying but I figure I’m going to need a lot of help from Jentry if I’m going to navigate the waters of college better than I did the ones of high school.

“Yeah, I am. It’s pathetic.” I confess, dropping my face.

“No, it’s not, and don’t let anyone tell you that it is,” Jentry says forcefully, surprising me.

“You really don’t think it’s pathetic?”

“What? That you respect yourself enough to keep it until you’re in love? Not hardly,” she smiles, going back to picking off her pepperoni. “In fact, I think it is so un-pathetic that just to show my solidarity, I’m going on a boy strike. Besides, who needs boys when we’ve got each other?”

“That’s really sweet, Jentry, but I’m sure you’ll make more friends,” I say, touched by her comment, but not dumb enough to believe that she’ll spend her time hanging out with me once she meets other girls.

“Of course I’ll make more friends, and so will you, but we’re roomies, so that means we’ll be best friends,” she says, smiling so genuinely that there is no way I could ever doubt her.

“I’ve never even kissed a boy,” I confess, not the least bit worried that she’ll make fun of me.

Her head pops up and she drops her slice of pizza. “Now that is pathetic,” she laughs. “Stick with me, GK. This is going to be the best year of your life.”

I smile and go back to eating my pizza. Move over, Grace Kelly. GK is here to stay.

“I’m so psyched about my classes,” I tell Jentry, as we haul our new textbooks back to the dorm.

“Sometimes you say the weirdest things.” She laughs, readjusting her heavy load on her shoulder.

“Do you need to rest a minute?” I offer, realizing that in my excitement I’m losing Jentry. I am still buzzing from picking up my first official class schedule. I swear I almost screamed when I found out that I had tested good enough on my entrance exams to be placed in a sophomore chemistry class. I stop to let her catch up, taking the opportunity to wipe my glasses off on the tail of my button-down oxford. They are fogged up from leaving the air-conditioned paradise of the bookstore and moving into the ninety-degree day. God knows I’m dangerous enough when I can see.

“Yes, please.” She laughs, collapsing under an oak tree on the quad. I put my bag down and slowly ease myself down. I’m wearing a jean skirt of Jentry’s that she let, or more like insisted, that I borrow. I think I was five the last time I wore a skirt so I’m hoping I don’t accidentally flash somebody.

“My parents are going to be excited when I call and tell them my books were only three hundred dollars. We had five hundred budgeted,” I say.

Jentry grabs my hand, and stares deep into my eyes. “GK, you never, ever tell your parents the real amount you spent on books. It’s the cardinal rule of college. That’s two hundred dollars you could use for new clothes or whatever you want.”

“I don’t lie to my parents,” I say, pulling my hand away from her.

“Fine, keep wearing granny panties and elastic pants,” she mutters, fanning herself with a spiral notebook.

I grab a hold of my thick mane of hair and pull it into a ponytail using a rubber band. It is so hot today that it doesn’t even make a difference. I glance longingly at Jentry in her tank top and short shorts.

“Stop staring at me, freak.” She laughs.

“Do you think I’d look okay in a shirt like yours?” I ask her, pulling on my blue oxford that has zero ventilation.

“Not as good as me, but then again who would?” She cracks herself up again. I pull a notebook out of my book bag and start to fan myself like Jentry. I turn my head to study the other students on campus. More upperclassmen are arriving every day but campus is still pretty sparse. Some students are listening to their Ipods while downing bottles of water, others are making out in front of everyone, others are just like us, trying to escape the brutal heat while hauling a hundred pounds of books back to their dorm.

“I could use a beer right now,” Jentry says, wiping the sweat from her brow.

“I wouldn’t turn down an iced tea,” I reply, cringing when I realize how immature my choice of beverage must sound to Jentry.

“Waiter, one Bud Light and one iced tea, please,” she jokes, flagging down an imaginary waiter. She doesn’t seem to care one bit that I didn’t want a beer.

“I can take our books back to the dorm if you have other stuff to do,” I offer. I can’t help feeling that Jentry is taking pity on me by spending so much time with me. Surely she will want to start making friends with other girls soon.

“Are you trying to ditch me?” She asks, clutching her chest dramatically.

“Of course not. I think it’s really sweet that you’ve been spending so much time with me but I know you are probably ready to meet some other people.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I really like you?” She asks, her eyes bugging out.

Actually, it hadn’t. It’s not that I don’t consider myself likable, it’s just that people like me and people like Jentry don’t usually intermingle unless there is a lab or class project involved. As much as I would like to change the way that people see me, hanging out with Jentry isn’t going to magically do that for me. They might put up with me if I was Jentry’s friend but I want people to like me for me.

“I know you do,” I finally answer. “But I’m not sure you’ll want to spend your weekends the way I do.”

“You can get good grades and have a life, you know.” She says matter of factly.

I had figured out the good grades part, it was the life part I was having trouble with.

“I can help you,” she says, reading my mind.

“Why?” I ask bewildered. I wouldn’t be one bit surprised to see a camera crew jump out from behind one of the quad oak trees to tell me I’ve been chosen for some new reality show where a cool girl mentors a geek.

“Why not?” Jentry replies, so genuinely that I don’t want to jinx it by questioning her more.

“How?” I can’t fathom how Jentry thinks she can reverse sixteen years of social awkwardness but I am willing to try if she is.

She doesn’t say a word but points toward the middle of the quad. I notice a group of freshly glossed, perfectly tanned girls strutting toward us. I can’t concentrate on their almost seemingly synchronized movements because my eyes focus in on the huge letter A they all have on their pink tanks tops.

“What did they do?” I ask Jentry, mortified for them. The posse of modern day Hester Prynne’s don’t look like they are being publicly ostracized, actually it is quite the opposite. Everyone who crosses their path is smiling and waving, but I still feel that they must have done something horrible to be marked with the A’s.

“They’re Greek,” Jentry explains dreamily.

“Huh,” I grunt, confused. I always though people of Greek origin were dark-haired and dark-eyed. I would have guessed these girls to be of Swedish or Norwegian descent.

Jentry looks like she drank a bit too much of her imaginary beer. Her eyes are glazed over and for a minute I’m afraid she might be suffering from heat exhaustion. Then I follow her eyes and can almost feel myself getting sucked in right behind her.

The five girls stop right in front of us. One of the girls hands me a blue piece of paper then extends one to Jentry. I’m too awestruck to thank her. I’m not sure what it is that has me so completely spellbound. All five of the girls are striking, but none of them are prettier than Jentry, although I guess I could be bias. They just seem to travel inside this vortex of campus celebrity. There isn’t a person walking by that doesn’t take notice of them. I wonder what it would feel like to have people look at you that way? To be worshipped and revered?

“Hi, we’re the Alpha’s,” the pixie-looking girl that handed me the flier says. “And we want to invite both of you to rush in a few days.”

“Hope to see you there,” they all singsong in unison before trotting off in a perfect vee formation.

“Oh my God! Those were the Alphas, the best sorority on campus,” Jentry exclaims, clutching her flier with a death grip.

“What’s a sorority?” I hate it when I don’t know the answer to something. Jentry turns to look at me, an amused look playing on her face. She obviously thinks I’m joking until she sees my clueless expression.

“Seriously?” Jentry asks, astounded. “Oh my God, GK. You have lived such a sheltered life.”

Like she has to remind me.

“A sorority is a social organization of women who unite for sisterhood,” Jentry explains. “Ah, who am I kidding? They are a bunch of really cool chicks who get together and party for four years. Oh, and they do lots of philanthropy and stuff, too.” She laughs.

“Oh.”

“And the Alphas are THE best sorority on campus,” Jentry clarifies.

“How do you know all of this?” I ask amazed.

“My friend’s sister from back home was a Delta Zeta at Southern. She taught me all about Greek life.”

“So what’s rush?” I ask, glancing down at the blue paper the Alpha sister gave me.

“Rush is the process you have to go through to be selected into the sorority. It’s not really the same here at McMillan because they only have two sororities and we definitely don’t want to rush Zeta Sigma Alpha. Every chapter on every campus of that sorority is bad news.” I nod my head like I have some idea what she’s talking about even though nothing could be farther from the truth.

“I don’t really think those girls would have any use for me unless their GPA’s need a boost,” I say, shoving the flier into my bag of textbooks. I can always use it for scratch paper.

“Stop whining, GK. They’d be lucky to have us,” she says, her eyes gleaming.

“Oh, no. There is no way I’m going to humiliate myself like that.”

“You asked me earlier how I could help you get more of a life. GK, this is how,” Jentry stresses, shaking the flier in front of my face.

“But I don’t know the first thing about this stuff.”

“You know stuff about cold fusion and I know stuff about the hottest sorority on campus. I’ll help you.”

I don’t bother telling her that I don’t know the first thing about cold fusion because I can tell there is no way I’m going to talk her out of this. And when I start envisioning a house full of girls that are as close as sisters, I’m not sure I want to talk her out of it. Jentry is right, if I really want to make some changes there is no better way than to rush the Alpha’s. Once I make the decision that I’m actually going to do this, I’m so excited I feel like I’m about to burst, which I know isn’t scientifically possible, but it still feels that way.

“I want to be an Alpha.” I proclaim, jumping up. My foot gets tangled in my book bag and I slam back to the grass, my legs sprawled out for the world to see my granny panties. I hear a whistle from somewhere close by.

“Oh, man. We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Jentry says, helping me up.

****

“What is wrong with your face?” Jentry cries out, as she barges through the door.

I run to the mirror expecting to see that I’ve broken out in hives or something but it’s just me staring back at myself. Well, not really normal me, but me amplified a bit.

“What?” I ask, inspecting my face. “You don’t like it?” I sort of borrowed some of Jentry’s fancy makeup. I’ve never used makeup before except a little bit of blush but I Googled, ‘how to apply makeup’, and I think I did a pretty good job. I didn’t understand why some of the results kept saying that people shouldn’t be able to tell you are wearing it and it should look natural. I want people to know I’m wearing it, so I put it on twice as thick.

“You only have three eyelashes,” Jentry points out, gesturing toward my over-mascara’d lashes. “Let me guess, Google?” She asks, laughing.

I drop my head and nod numbly, embarrassed that I thought I actually looked good.

“GK, you’ve got a serious Google fetish. You have to understand that sometimes you just have to practice things before you can perfect them,” she says, pulling a wipe out of a plastic dispenser. She starts wiping the excess makeup off my face. Her comment cheers me up. She is absolutely right about practicing. My freshman year in Biology 101, I went through five frogs before I finally figured out how to dissect one correctly. After a couple more attempts with the makeup, I should have it mastered.

“How about for real life stuff, you ask me? I’ll be your real life Google. You’re gonna have to keep Googling that science crap though because I don’t know squat about that.” She laughs.

“Thanks, Jentry. I’ve never had a friend like you before,” I say, tearing up but forcing myself to hold back so all the layers of mascara I have on don’t run.

“Don’t go getting all sappy on me,” she says, winking. “I take it the makeup experimentation has something to do with rush?” I nod, hating that I’m so transparent.

“Listen, GK. I think you are perfect just the way you are but if you really want to make some changes, I can help you.” She offers.

“Will you really? That would be so awesome,” I squeal.

“Beauty can be painful,” she says grabbing my shoulders. “And I don’t want to hear any whining,” she adds forcefully.

“Yes, ma’am,” I salute her, jumping around the room excitedly.