Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
When I look up, she tilts her head and examines me like I’m a bug she’s debating on squashing. “Punctuality is a key virtue of a Delta Pi sister, Charlotte. Particularly for our VPF, who we’re supposed to trust above all others.”
Above all others? Why? Am I the pope?
I’m just the money man. I prepare the annual chapter budget. I monitor all revenue and expenses. If I’m lucky, sometimes I get to audit the books, but even I know that my role in this sorority could be performed by anybody who knows how to do basic math.
Hell, I didn’t care about the post in the first place and probably wouldn’t have leaned into the whole “Asians are good at math” stereotype if not for the fact that my mom was VPF when she was a member here. And she really wanted me to be on the exec board. I mean, she didn’t say that, but I knew it would mean a lot to her if I followed in her footsteps, especially since my older sister wanted no part of the sorority experience.
“Understood. I’ll do better at managing my calendar,” I say while avoiding Faith’s eyes. I can feel them gleaming with humor.
Agatha squints slightly as if she’s trying to figure out if I’m being sarcastic. She’s obviously disappointed I didn’t grovel more, but the entire dining room is waiting on us, so she nods and says, “Let’s get started.”
She takes her seat at the head of the table and clasps her hands on the gleaming tabletop, her French-tipped fingers lacing together. She’s wearing a strand of pearls around her neck.
I swear, only Agatha Buckley-Ellis would wear pearls to a house meeting. Her entire life revolves around maintaining an impeccable image. Her wardrobe is a curated collection of designer clothes, all perfectly coordinated in pastels or preppy patterns, and she never leaves her bedroom without flawless makeup and perfectly styled hair.
We’re discussing the Presidents’ Gala tonight, an annual event we hold in January to celebrate former Delta Pi presidents. Normally I would tune out Samantha, our VP of programming, who oversees the planning of all chapter events, but it just so happens that one of the two honorees at this year’s gala is my mother. But as Samantha drones on about guest lists and potential venues, inside I’m rolling my eyes so hard I’m at risk of spraining my optic nerve. She always speaks in this deeply serious tone, as if planning charity events and mixers is on par with brain surgery.
For the next hour, I take notes, speaking only when someone asks whether we can afford something. When the meeting finally adjourns, I’m one of the first people out of my chair.
Faith grabs my arm in the hall and brings her head close to mine, her dark curls bouncing and sending a whiff of strawberry shampoo into my nostrils.
“Please tell me you were at least able to have one orgasm before I interrupted,” she whispers in my ear.
I glumly rest my head on her shoulder. “Nope.”
“I’m sorry. I felt so bad bothering you.”
“No, it’s fine. I never would’ve heard the end of it if I missed the meeting.”
I catch sight of Blake Logan in the spacious foyer, waiting for me. I lift my hand in a quick wave, then glance at Faith. “I need to talk to Blake. Wanna chill in my room afterward and watch something?”
“Can’t. I’m going to Fairview House to hang out with some friends from class. You’re welcome to join.”
“Thanks, but I don’t feel like going back out.”
“Are you still going to see your family tomorrow?”
I nod. “Heading out in the morning.”
She gives me a pointed look. “And this time you’re going to tell them?”
“That’s the plan,” I say lightly.
It was also the plan last weekend. Instead, I made the two-and-a-half-hour drive to Connecticut only to chicken out and not share the real reason for my visit. I simply ate lunch with my parents and then drove all the way back to Briar. A five-hour commute for an hour-long lunch. And people think I’m intelligent.
“Okay, well, if you need the moral support, secretly put me on speakerphone, and I’ll send you waves of encouragement through the phone,” Faith promises.
“Deal.”
After she hugs me goodbye and darts off, I join Blake in the foyer. The pretty, freckle-faced brunette is my Little this year. I’ve always disliked that term—she’s a freshman, not a preschooler. Alas, you can’t fight tradition. Delta Pi even holds an entire ceremony for the Big-Little reveal after pledge week. It’s nauseatingly sweet, involving themed gifts and an elaborate unveiling like we’re new parents popping balloons to see if the glitter inside is pink or blue.
I don’t mind the mentoring element of it. My job this year is to guide her, and we try to meet once a week to talk through her goals, academics, or whatever else might be on her mind.