Page 25 of Hush, Hush

“I hope I get picked,” I hear.

“Girl, me too. I need help paying the rest of the year’s tuition.” She lowers her voice. “My sister got picked one year. She got paid a shitton of money.” I take note of the number on her shoulder. I can’t recall whether or not I gave her a good score, but I’ll damn well make sure I do when I get back to my chair.

Since the bathroom is a bust, and I don’t really need to go anyway, I head back out. I watch the remaining girls from behind the curtains as they wait to own the stage. Right before they enter, a girl, who I’ll guess is the president of one of the sororities, pours a pitcher of water over their chests. Some want just their shirts soaked through, others ask for it all the way from the top of their head.

Peeking around the curtain, I stare up at the line of Knights. Mermaid girl is still perched on Keegan’s lap. She’s turned around now, blocking his view of the contestant who’s performing for him right now. My blood boils. He’s not even doing his job. He can’t even be serious about this. To top it all off, he’s doing it to hurt me.

Well, he said I could learn a thing or two, didn’t he? I think I have.

I waltz back into the bathroom, exclaiming, “I need a white shirt.” The girls stop and peer at me. Giving them a tiny smile, I say, “Sorry, I forgot mine.”

If they recognize me from being on the judging panel, they don’t say anything.

One woman rifles through her bag. “All I have is this one.” It’s a full-length, white t-shirt, the kind found in packs of three or ten at huge department stores. “But...” she tacks on. “…I also have these.”

She pulls out a pair of scissors.

“You’re the best,” I gush.

Taking them both from her, I cut off the sleeves, making the arm holes a fashion statement rather than boring, tidy lines. Then, I cut the very bottom of the shirt off before pushing through the crowd and sidestepping makeup piles littered like land mines on the floor to find an empty stall. I throw my shirt and bra over the divider and pull on the white one, tying it just under my breasts into a cute little side knot.

My fingers shake as nerves run through me like galloping gazelles. I bite my lip as I toe off my shoes and socks, leaving them there on the floor. Everything in me is telling me to do this, to give Keegan a taste of his own medicine, yet...maybe it’s not about that at all. Maybe it’s about letting my hair down for once. I’m a trained dancer. I can out-dance most of the girls that I’ve seen so far, and if I happen to make Keegan jealous as fuck in the process, then so be it.

The only problem I can see is that I don’t want any of the other Knights to know it’s me. They’ll be sworn to secrecy because what happens on Knight business stays Knight business. However, I don’t want this to be a memory in some of these asshole’s heads when I enter my career. Years from now, we could all be at the same fancy party and I don’t want these douches remembering what my breasts look like in a wet t-shirt.

I whip the door open and step out, my mind still nudging me with reasons to move forward. I just watched all of these girls step up to the plate. It would be counterproductivenotto follow after them. To think myself above them. I’m a supporter of women doing whatever they want. It’s not really them that I judge, it’s the guys who think up this bullshit.

Grimacing, I take in the room before asking, “Anyone have a mask? I don’t really want to show my face.”

“I do,” a feminine voice calls out. Her shirt is still stuck to her breasts, but her ensemble was the most proper we’d seen out of the girls. She grins. “I was in Phantom of the Opera as one of the masquerade guests. I just happen to have the mask I wore.” Digging through a brown bag at her feet, she picks through its contents until she holds out a red lace mask that covers both eyes and a section of one cheek.

“Thank you.” I pull it on and check the bathroom mirror. The cheek section of the mask simulates flames as I move my head back and forth. It looks like my face is on fire.

“They probably won’t pick you if you put on a mask though,” the girl offers tentatively like she might be crushing my hopes and dreams.

“That’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m doing this for me.”

“It’s so liberating,” a girl from the back speaks up. “I was really nervous, too, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought. They were really into it.”

I nod, knowing she’s right. I had a front row seat for all of it.

With my black leggings and tied off shirt, I look like a dancer. My taut, lean stomach that never went away from years of ballet practice is on display. From the outside, I appear calm and pulled together, but nerves are gathering, tightening the muscles in my core.

To hide my hair, I throw it up in a bun. With the lights and the shadows, I highly doubt anyone will know it’s actually me. If Keegan realizes, that will be the satisfying part.

“You better hurry up, girl. They’re winding down.”

I run out of the bathroom and get in line. There are only two girls in front of me, and they don’t dance for long. Two minutes, tops.

When I get to the front of the line, the sorority president lifts her brows at my mask. I shrug, and she responds in kind. I guess neither one of us care that much. “Where do you want it?” she asks as another sorority girl hands her the pitcher of water. I’d rather have her dump it over my head, so my breasts aren’t entirely exposed, but if I go back out there afterward with wet hair, the Knights will know.

“My chest,” I tell her, butterflies fluttering in my stomach like antsy bees.

“Here,” she says. She sets down the pitcher and picks up a pair of scissors next to her feet. “You’ll thank me.” She pulls my collar forward and starts cutting a V-neck into my shirt. The point of the vee settles between my bare breasts. Completely embarrassed now, I almost walk away. Before I can bow out, though, she throws the water at my chest and pushes me toward the stage.

I’m under the lights before I know it. The song pulses through speakers over my head. I stand there like a deer in the headlights for a split second before my body takes over through dance. I don’t look down at my shirt, but I feel myself nipping, the soaked fabric clinging to my breasts. They’re getting quite the show, that’s for sure.

For a moment, the crowd is eerily quiet before the guys start cheering. I pirouette across the stage, leap into the air and land on what happens to be the beat of the song. It’s almost as if I planned it that way. I stand, using the side of the stage as my focal point instead of the judges as I move to the music across the wooden floor. I throw myself into leaps and turns. The music overhead turns sultry, and I flow with it, dancing my fingers across the side of my breasts down my front and to my hips where I roll my body to the beat.

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