Page 39 of Love is Angry

Chapter 18

Madison

For all her efforts, Mackenzie fails to intimidate me. But Rita’s plea does stick with, and I decide to please the Master of Ceremonies and her five Acolytes, as she likes to call them. They’re basically five truck-sized jocks with broad shoulders and enough muscle mass to crush a watermelon with their bare hands. The capes make them look even bigger, but I suppose that was the desired effect.

We’re away from the road, now. It’s just us, twenty-three anthropology majors, following the Acolytes and the Master up a narrow and treacherous path. Every five feet or so, it breaks, or a root gnarls over it, or a jagged rock juts out. Clearly, it’s the path less traveled through these otherwise untouched woods. The darkness thickens around us, but the Acolytes and the Master carry old-timey oil lamps, much like the ones used in 19thcentury mines.

I’m walking right behind the Acolytes, followed by Rita and Lindsey. Cameron is right behind them, followed by Jessie, Kyle, and the others in our year. Rhue stays at the back, paying close attention to everything and everyone. The few glimpses I catch of him tell me that he’s on edge. His eyes are narrow slits thatglisten whenever they meet the light from the lamps, but other than that, there is little else to see of him in this almost black expanse.

“Can I ask a question?” Rita speaks up.

The seniors don’t even bother to look at her, but we keep going deeper into the woods. I’m no longer certain I know where we are or how far until we get back to the cars. I think it’s part of their purpose, to isolate us and maybe scare us a bit, force us into submission. I’ll play along, sure, as long as I will be made to feel like a part of this world. I’ve been on my own for too long. Loneliness doesn’t suit me anymore.

“Excuse me?” Rita insists, and the Master stops walking. It forces us all to a sudden and rather awkward halt as we bump into one another. Rita’s yelp is muffled by my shoulder, and I’m nearly plastered against the human wall that is Acolyte Number 5.

Mackenzie turns around, and her lamp shows us just how bored she is with such questions. “Fine. Ask.”

“Is it just us? Where are the others?”

“It’s just you. We divide the specializations among us. I got the short end of the stick here, obviously. I’ll do what I can to get the political science majors next year,” Mackenzie replies, then gives Rhue at the back a long, pensive look. “You would’ve integrated much better there.”

“Where are we going?” Lindsey asks.

Mackenzie rolls her eyes. “That’s enough questions for now. Follow me and stop questioning my orders!”

It’s odd to see her like this. Every other time we’ve crossed paths, Mackenzie has been nothing but kind and friendly and welcoming of everyone. Of course, this is a hazing ritual. There are “ancient” customs to be observed; among them, I presume, being the utmost respect granted to the Master of Ceremonies.

“You ladies are lucky, though,” she says as we resume our walk through the woods. “This is only the second year that we’re allowed to be a part of the hazing ritual. Up until the year before last, hazing rituals belonged solely to the fraternities and were handled accordingly. Unfortunately, leaving men in charge of such tasks proved to be too much for too many years. Numerous hazing rituals resulted in grave injuries and two accidental deaths since this school’s fraternities were founded.”

It’s an awkward topic, I realize, though the Acolytes dare not speak up. It’s the tension coming off their bus-size shoulders that I’m picking up on. My guess is these guys were hazed by some seniors, at some point, according to the old model.

“Ever since we took over, however—and by we, I mean women,” Mackenzie continues, “the hazing rituals have changed dramatically and for the better. First and foremost, the process is inclusive and non-discriminating. It is optional, not mandatory, though refusing to participate does get you a bad rep throughout the school. The kind of rep you’ll never live down.”

“Well, then, I guess we anthropology majors should be proud, then, since none of us refused the call,” Cameron chuckles.

“Silence!” Mackenzie snarls, and it sounds harsh enough to make him obey.

I give him a brief glance over my shoulder and realize that he is actually intimidated. It’s almost cute. But then the path ends and we end up on the edge of a clearing, where a bonfire is raging in the middle. Old logs, pieces of furniture, dried moss, and bark were used as kindling, chunks of them crackling and burning brightly as embers form at the bottom.

I see fire extinguishers not too far from the hot center of what appears to be a solemn gathering. It’s not just Mackenzie and the five anymore. Oh, no, there are dozens of Acolytes waiting,positioned in a wide circle around the bonfire. A drum beats lazily in the background, its rhythm echoing outwards.

“That being said, the hazing rituals are just as terrifying and just as difficult––if not more––than what our strictly male predecessors put together,” Mackenzie continues as she walks toward the bonfire. All the Acolytes kneel before her for a long minute. “It is a trial that brings out the best and the worst in people. It is our mission to understand what this next generation of Cornell geniuses is capable of. Therefore, while we appreciate your choice to attend tonight’s festivities, all I can say is––” She pauses to chuckle devilishly. “––you guys are so screwed.”

“Define screwed,” Rhue replies dryly. “Will you be doing the screwing, Mackenzie? If so, I’d like to be first in line. You’re just my type.”

As it happens, she isn’t. Mackenzie is pretty but short. I know for a fact that Rhue is usually drawn to tall women—I am but one example, as I found out long ago. He likes ’em blonde, too, and Mackenzie is a solid brunette. She wears too much makeup, and that’s also a turnoff for him. And she’s majoring in Liberal Arts, which usually draws mocking laughter out of him. Rhue has some strong opinions about liberal arts graduates, and they’re not positive at all. Which is why I know he’s lying and probably doing it just to piss me off. Despite the fact that it shouldn’t, it does irk me. Rhue has wandered into my head and then refuses to leave, squatting like a shameless crackhead in the deepest recesses of my mind. The bastard.

“Heh, so you wanna get screwed. Is that it, Mr. Echeveria?” Mackenzie asks, putting on a lascivious smile. She does have that naughty spice factor going for her, and the red lipstick just amplifies the kinkiest ideas of how she might satisfy a man.

She walks over to Rhue, and my stomach twists itself into an uncomfortable knot. For a moment, I imagine they’ll go somewhere more private, hidden in the dark woods.

Rhue shrugs as her palm settles on his cheek. “Like I said, as long as you’re the one doing the screwing, Mack—” She slaps him so hard, it’smyears that start ringing.

“Holy shit,” I hear myself whisper.

“It’s Master,” Mackenzie tells him, and two Acolytes immediately immobilize him.

“What the fuck?!” Rhue blurts out, struggling against their hold, but they’ve got his arms twisted around his back in what seems like a painful angle, and my heart is drumming fast. Faster. Fast enough to set my instincts alight. I worry that this will get dangerous, and quickly, but then I remember Mackenzie’s earlier words. She takes pride in instituting safer hazing ritual practices, that much was obvious from her speech.

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