Page 7 of Caged
“He’s still here, right?” Vivienne asks from the window.
“You mean here as in not back in rehab or some mental institution where he fucking belongs?” I quip. “As far as I know.”
“Dude, what happened here last semester?” Ele asks rhetorically. “My parents bought me ten things of pepper spray and four tasers. They’re in one of those bags,” she says, motioning to her luggage sitting right inside the door. “I almost thought they wouldn’t let me come back.”
“They’re claiming they were suicides,” Viv adds.
“Who’s‘they’?” I ask.
“The police.”
“The police don’t know shit,” I grumble. “Weren’t those two girls in sororities?” I ask.
“Both Tri Delt,” Ele comments. “One was a freshman, the other a sophomore, I think.”
“I know suicides happen here because Dornell is a fucking pressure cooker, but I refuse to believe that’s what happened to those two missing girls.”
“You never know what someone is going through,” Viv states.
“I know, but I just have this sickening feeling that whatever is going on with Monroe is somehow connected to these missing girls.”
“Listen, the world is fucked,” Ele states. “I saw my sorority Little a few weeks ago in Manhattan for coffee, and she said people are scared to be out alone at night. Like maybe this could be some serial killer.”
“I’m the worst big sister,” I lament, rubbing my forehead. “I haven’t spoken to my Little since before I went abroad.”
“What about Monroe’s Little, Kasey?” Viv asks. “Maybe the three of us should adopt her.”
It’s not a bad idea, I think, making a mental note to reach out to Kasey so she doesn’t feel abandoned. It’s important for younger sorority members to have a Big Sister, someone they can lean on and ask for advice. The situation with Kasey is unique because she’s technically Monroe’s Grand-Little, but Monroe’s Little transferred to UCLA at the end of her sophomore year, leaving Kasey without a Big. Sorority lineages can be unnecessarily complicated, but suffice to say Kasey, now a sophomore and living in the sorority house, is adrift and in need of mentors.
“When did Jace get a motorcycle?” Viv sneers from the window. I spring to my feet with more eagerness and curiosity than I’d like to admit.
I peer over her shoulder, studying the crowd now formed outside Tommy O’s. Ele joins our cluster, wedging herself into the triangle of space between our shoulders.
“Isn’t it too early for the bars?” Ele comments.
“I guess people are getting a head start,” Viv responds. “Senior year and all,” she says, blowing out a puff of smoke.
The distinctive tattoos covering both arms are unmistakable. For whatever reason, I’ve never met another Ivy League boy with as many tattoos as Jace. Kieren has them, although Monroe said his tattoos are mostly on his chest and back, places where clothing can keep them hidden from Kieren’s grandfather, who apparently disapproves. Jace just does not give a fuck. He once told me they were an act of defiance against his parents for making it clear that Jace’s brother, Reid, was the golden child and Jace was the unplanned fuck up. He decided to lean wholeheartedly into his role as the black sheep of his family, much to his parents’ displeasure and his sickened delight.
Jace straddles the seat of a motorcycle wearing a tight black T-shirt and jeans. The small crowd outside Tommy O’s has all turned to stare as he removes his helmet.
“So, he became a walking thirst-trap,” Ele jeers.
“Such a fucking cliché,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You two still hate each other, right?” Viv asks.
“With every bone in my body,” I retort. Viv and Ele know I dated Jace our freshman year, and that our relationship ended badly. Well, badly is an understatement. Viv, Ele and I didn’t become close until we lived together in the sorority house our sophomore year, but at that point, all I wanted to do was forget. Only Monroe knows what really happened because she was there, holding my hand, when I shattered into pieces.
Judging by Jace’s continued wrath for me over the past two years, he never learned the truth either, which is fine by me. It’s better that our hate remains mutual. In some ways, it makes it easier.
Jace saunters up to the front of the line, cradling his helmet under one arm, and gives the bouncer some obnoxious bro handshake.
It happens in an instant, but I see it – we all see it.
His eyes flick up to the windowsill where the three of us stand gawking, his stoic expression unreadable, and then, without any acknowledgement whatsoever, he turns to disappear inside.
“Gabi,” Ele pokes a finger into my side.
