CH-1 SUMMER

"Is this a joke?" I gape at the five girls who are holding me in judgment. They

have various hair, skin, and eye colors, and yet I can't tell them apart

because their expressions are identical. There's a whole lot of smug peeking

through the phony remorse they're trying to convey, as if they're truly

devastated by the news.

Ha. They're enjoying this.

"I'm sorry, Summer, but it's not a joke." Kaya offers a pitying smile. "As the

Standards Committee, we take Kappa Beta Nu's reputation very seriously. We

received word from Nationals this morning—"

"Oh really? You received word? Did they send a telegram?"

"No, it was an email," she says, completely missing the sarcasm. She flips

her glossy hair over one shoulder. "They reminded the committee that every

member of this sorority must uphold the behavior standards set by them,

otherwise our chapter will lose its good standing with Nationals."

"We have to remain in good standing," Bianca pipes up, pleading at me with

her eyes. Of the five bi-otches in front of me, she seems like the most

reasonable.

"Especially after what happened to Daphne Kettleman," adds a girl whose

name I can't remember.

Curiosity gets the better of me. "What happened to Daphne Kettleman?"

"Alcohol poisoning." The fourth girl—I think her name's Hailey—lowers

her voice to a whisper and quickly glances around, as if there might be a bug or two hidden in the antique furnishings that fill the living room of the Kappa

mansion.

"She had to get her stomach pumped," the no-name girl reveals gleefully.

Which makes me question whether she's actually thrilled that Daphne Kettleman

almost died.

Kaya speaks up in a curt voice. "Enough about Daphne. You shouldn't have

even brought her up, Coral—"

Coral! Right. That's her name. And it sounds as stupid now as it did when

she introduced herself fifteen minutes ago.

"We don't speak Daphne's name in this house," Kaya explains to me.

Jee-zus. One measly stomach pumping and poor Daphne gets Voldemorted?

The Kappa Beta Nu chapter of Briar University is evidently a lot stricter than the

Brown chapter.

Case in point—they're kicking me out before I'd even moved in.

"This isn't personal," Kaya continues, giving me another fake consolatory

smile. "Our reputation is very important to us, and although you're a legacy—"

"A presidential legacy," I point out. So ha! In your face, Kaya! My mom was

president of a Kappa chapter during her junior and senior years, and so was my

grandmother. Heyward women and Kappa Beta Nu go together like abs and any

male Hemsworth.

"A legacy," she repeats, "but we don't adhere as strictly to those ancestral

bonds the way we used to."

Ancestral bonds? Who says that? Did she time-travel from the olden days?

"As I said, we have rules and policies. And you didn't leave the Brown

chapter on the best of terms."

"I didn't get kicked out of Kappa," I argue. "I got kicked out of school in

general."

Kaya stares at me in disbelief. "Is this a point of pride for you? Getting

expelled from one of the best colleges in the country?"

I answer through clenched teeth. "No, I'm not proud of it. I'm just saying,

technically speaking, I'm still a member of this sorority."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean you're entitled to live in this house." Kaya

crosses her arms over the front of her white mohair sweater.

"I see." I mimic her pose, except I cross my legs too.

Kaya's envious gaze lands on my black suede Prada boots, a gift from my

grandmother to celebrate my admission to Briar. I had a good chuckle when I

opened the package last night—I'm not sure Nana Celeste understands that I'm

only attending Briar because I was expelled from my other school. Actually, I

bet she does, and just doesn't care. Nana will find any excuse to get her Prada

on. She's my soulmate.

"And you didn't think," I go on, an edge creeping into my voice, "to let me

know this until after I packed up my stuff, drove all the way down here from

Manhattan, and walked through the front door?"

Bianca is the only one who has the decency to look guilty. "We're really

sorry, Summer. But like Kaya said, Nationals didn't get in touch until this

morning, and then we had to vote, and…" She shrugs weakly. "Sorry," she says

again.

"So you voted and decided I'm not allowed to live here."

"Yes," Kaya says.

I glance at the others. "Hailey?"

"Halley," she corrects icily.

Oh, whatever. Like I'm supposed to remember their names? We literally just

met. "Halley." I look to the next girl. "Coral." And then the next girl. Crap. I

legit don't know this one. "Laura?"

"Tawny," she bites out.

Swing and a miss! "Tawny," I repeat apologetically. "You guys are sure

about this?"

I get three nods.

"Cool. Thanks for wasting my time." I stand up, push my hair over one

shoulder, and start wrapping my red cashmere scarf around my neck. A bit too

vigorously maybe, because it seems to annoy Kaya.

"Stop being so dramatic," she orders in a snarky voice. "And don't act like

we're to blame for the fact that you burned down your former house. Excuse us

if we don't want to live with an arsonist."

I struggle to keep my temper in check. "I didn't burn anything down."

"That's not what our Brown sisters said." She tightens her lips. "Anyway, we

have a house meeting in ten minutes. It's time for you to go."

"Another meeting? Look at you! A packed schedule today!"

"We're organizing a New Year's Eve charity event tonight to raise money,"

Kaya says stiffly.

Ah, my bad. "What's the charity?"

"Oh." Bianca looks sheepish. "We're raising money to renovate the

basement here in the mansion."

Oh my God. They're the charity? "You better get to it, then." With a

mocking smile, I flutter my fingers in a careless wave and march out of the

room.

In the hall, I feel the first sting of tears.

Fuck these girls. I don't need them or their dumb sorority.

"Summer, wait."

Bianca catches up to me at the front doors. I quickly paste on a smile and

blink away the tears that had begun to well up. I won't let them see me cry, and

I'm so frigging glad I left all my suitcases in the car and only came in with my

oversized purse. How mortifying would it have been to lug my bags back to the

car? It would've taken multiple trips too, because I don't travel light.

"Listen," Bianca says, her voice so quiet I strain to hear her. "You should

consider yourself lucky."

I raise my eyebrows. "For being homeless? Sure, I feel blessed."

She cracks a smile. "Your last name is Heyward-Di Laurentis. You are not,

and will never be, homeless."

I grin sheepishly. Can't argue with that.

"But I'm serious," she whispers. "You don't want to live here." Her almondshaped eyes dart toward the doorway. "Kaya is like a drill sergeant. It's her first

year as Kappa president, and she's on some crazy power trip."

"I've noticed," I say dryly.

"You should've seen what she did to Daphne! She acted like it was the

alcohol thing, but really she was just jealous because Daph slept with her ex-

boyfriend Chris, so she made Daph's life miserable. One weekend when Daphne

was away, Kaya 'accidentally'"—Bianca uses air quotes—"donated every piece

of her clothing to these freshmen who were collecting stuff for the annual

clothes drive. Daph eventually quit the sorority and moved out."

I'm starting to think that alcohol poisoning was the best thing that could've

ever happened to Daphne Kettleman, if it got her out of this hellhole.

"Whatever. I don't care if I live here or not. Like you said, I'll be just fine." I

put on the cavalier, nothing-in-life-ever-ever-gets-to-me voice that I've perfected

over the years.

It's my armor. I pretend that my life is a beautiful Victorian house and hope

that nobody peers close enough to see the cracks in my facade.

But no matter how convincing I am in front of Bianca, there's no stopping

the massive wave of anxiety that hits me the moment I slide into my car five

minutes later. It stilts my breathing and quickens my pulse, making it hard to

think clearly.

What am I supposed to do?

Where am I supposed to go?

I inhale deeply. It's okay. It's fine. I take another breath. Yes, I'll figure it

out. I always do, right? I'm constantly screwing up, and I always find a way to

unscrew myself. I just have to buckle down and think—

My phone blares out its ringtone rendition of Sia's "Cheap Thrills." Thank

God.

I waste no time answering the call. "Hey," I greet my brother Dean, grateful

for the interruption.

"Hey, Boogers. Just checking that you made it to campus in one piece."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Gosh, who knows. You might've run off to Miami with some hitchhiking

wannabe rapper you picked up on the interstate—or what I like to call a recipe

for becoming a serial killer's skin-suit. Oh wait! You already fucking did that."

"Oh my God. First of all, Jasper was an aspiring country singer, not a rapper.

Second, I was with two other girls and we were driving to Daytona Beach, not

Miami. Third, he didn't even try to touch me, let alone murder me." I sigh.

"Lacey did hook up with him, though, and he gave her herpes."

Incredulous silence meets my ears.

"Dicky?" That's my childhood nickname for Dean. He hates it. "You there?"

"I'm trying to understand how you think your version of the story is in any

way more palatable than mine." He suddenly curses. "Aw fuck, didn't I hook up

with Lacey at your eighteenth birthday party?" A pause. "The herpes trip

would've happened before that party. Dammit, Summer! I mean, I used

protection, but a warning would've been nice!"

"No, you didn't hook up with Lacey. You're thinking of Laney, with an 'N.'

I stopped being her friend after that."

"How come?"

"Because she slept with my brother when she was supposed to be hanging

out with me at my party. That's not cool."

"Truth. Selfish move."

"Yup."

There's a sudden blast of noise on the line—what sounds like wind, car

engines, and then a barrage of honking. "Sorry," Dean says. "Just leaving the

apartment. My Uber's here."

"Where are you off to?"

"Picking up our dry-cleaning. The place Allie and I go to is in Tribeca, but

they're awesome, so worth the trek. Highly recommend."

Dean and his girlfriend Allie live in the West Village in Manhattan. Allie

admitted to me that the area is way fancier than she's used to, but for my brother

it's actually a step down; our family's penthouse is on the Upper East Side,

making up the top three floors of our hotel, the Heyward Plaza. But Dean's new

building is near the private school where he teaches, and since Allie has a lead

role on a television show that shoots all over Manhattan, the location is

convenient for both of them.

It must be so nice for them, having a place to live and all.

"Anyway, are you nice and settled at the Kappa house?"

"Not quite," I confess.

"For fuck's sake, Summer. What did you do?"

My jaw falls open in outrage. Why does my family always assume that I'm

in the wrong?

"I didn't do anything," I answer stiffly. But then defeat weakens my voice.

"They don't think someone like me is good for the sorority's reputation. One of

them said I was an arsonist."

"Well," Dean says not so tactfully. "You kind of are."

"Fuck off, Dicky. It was an accident. Arsonists intentionally set fires."

"So you're an accidental arsonist. The Accidental Arsonist. That's a great

name for a book."

"Awesome. Go write that." I don't care how snide I sound. I'm feeling

snarky, and my nerves are shot. "Anyway, they kicked me out, and now I have

to figure out where the heck I'm going to live this semester." My throat catches

on a lump that appears out of nowhere, and a choked almost-sob squeezes past it.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks immediately.

"I don't know." I swallow hard. "I… This is ridiculous. I don't know why

I'm upset. Those girls are awful and I wouldn't have enjoyed living with them. I

mean, it's New Year's Eve, and they're all on campus! They're doing some

charity fundraiser thing instead of partying! That's so not my scene."

The tears I've been holding at bay are no longer controllable. Two fat drops

slide down my cheeks, and I'm so glad Dean isn't here to witness it. It's bad

enough that he can hear me crying.

"I'm sorry, Boogers."

"Whatever." I angrily swipe at my wet eyes. "It doesn't matter. I'm not

going to cry over a few mean girls and an overcrowded house. I won't let it get

to me. Would Selena Gomez let it get to her? Absolutely not."

There's a confused beat. "Selena Gomez?"

"Yes." I jut out my chin. "She's a symbol of class and purity, and I try to

model myself after her. Personality-wise. Obviously, when it comes to style, I

will forever strive to be Coco Chanel, and I will forever fail because nobody can

be Coco Chanel."

"Obviously." He pauses. "Which era Selena Gomez are we talking about?

Justin Bieber or The Weeknd? Or Bieber part two?"

I frown at my phone. "Are you for real right now?"

"What?"

"A woman isn't defined by her boyfriends. She's defined by her

achievements. And her shoes."

My gaze lands on my new boots, courtesy of Nana Celeste. At least I've had

smashing success in the shoe department.

The rest of it, not so much.

"I guess I can ask Dad to call the housing people and see if there's

availability in any of the dorms." Once again, I feel defeated. "I really don't

want to do that, though. He already had to pull strings to get me into Briar."

And I'd rather not live in a dorm if I can help it. Sharing a bathroom with a

dozen other girls is my worst nightmare. I had to do it in the Kappa house at

Brown, but the private bedroom made the bathroom situation easier to swallow.

No way will there be any singles left in the dorms this far into the school year.

I moan softly. "What am I supposed to do?"

I have two older brothers who never, ever pass up an opportunity to tease or

embarrass me, but sometimes they display rare moments of compassion. "Don't

call Dad yet," Dean says gruffly. "Let me see what I can do first."

My forehead wrinkles. "I'm not sure you can do anything."

"Just hold off on calling him. I've got an idea." The squeal of brakes fills the

line. "One sec. Thanks, bro. Five-star ride, for sure." A car door slams.

"Summer, you're coming back to the city tonight anyway, right?"

"I wasn't planning on it," I admit, "but I guess I don't have a choice now. I'll

have to grab a hotel in Boston until I figure out my living arrangements."

"Not Boston. I meant New York. The semester doesn't start for a few weeks.

I figured you'd be staying at the penthouse until then."

"No, I wanted to unpack and settle in and all that crap."

"Well, it ain't happening today, and tonight is New Year's Eve, so you might

as well come home and celebrate with me and Allie. A bunch of my old

teammates are driving up too."

"Like who?" I ask curiously.

"Garrett's in the city for a game, so he'll be here. And the current Briar

brigade is coming. You know some of them—Mike Hollis, Hunter Davenport.

Actually, Hunter went to Roselawn Prep, think he was a year behind you. Pierre

and Corsen, but I don't think you ever met them. Fitzy—"

My heartbeat stutters.

"I remember Fitzy," I say as casually as I'm capable of—which is not casual

at all. Even I can hear the excitement in my voice.

Who can blame me, though? Fitzy is short for Colin Fitzgerald, and he just

happens to be THE UNICORN. The tall, sexy, tattooed, hockey-playing unicorn

of a man who I might have a teeny-weeny itsy-bitsy crush on.

Okay, fine.

A big motherfucking crush on.

He's so…magical. But he's also out of reach. Dean's hockey friends are

usually all over me when they meet me, but not Fitz. I met him last year when I

visited Dean at Briar, and the guy barely glanced my way. When I saw him

again at a birthday party for Dean's friend Logan, he said about ten words to me

—and I'm pretty sure half those words were hello, how are you, and goodbye.

He's exasperating. Not that I expect every male in my vicinity to fall at my

feet, but I know he's attracted to me. I've noticed the way his brown eyes

smolder when he looks at me. They frigging smolder.

Unless I'm just seeing what I want to see.

My dad has this super-pompous saying: perception and reality are vastly

disparate. The truth is usually found somewhere in between. Dad used that line

in his closing arguments for a murder trial once, and now he busts it out any time

it's even remotely applicable to a situation.

If the truth lies somewhere between Colin Fitzgerald's outward aloofness

toward me (he hates me), and the heat I see in his eyes (his fiery passion for me),

then… I guess split the difference and say he views me as a friend?

I purse my lips.

No. Absolutely not. I refuse to be friend-zoned before I've even made a

move.

"It'll be a good time," Dean is saying. "Besides, it's been ages since we were

in the same place on New Year's Eve. So get your butt to New York and text

when you're here. I'm at the drycleaner's now. Gotta go. Love you."

He hangs up, and I'm smiling so broadly it's hard to imagine I was in tears

five minutes ago. Dean might be a pain in the ass most of the time, but he's a

good big brother. He's there for me when I need him, and that's all that really

matters.

And—praise the Lord!—now I have a party to go to. There's nothing better

than a party after a shitty day. I need this badly.

I check the time. It's one p.m.

I quickly do some mental math. The Briar campus is about an hour away

from Boston. From there it's a three-and-a-half, four-hour drive to Manhattan.

That means I won't arrive in the city until the evening, which won't leave me

much time to get ready. If I'm seeing my unicorn tonight, I plan on dolling

myself up from my head down to my toes.

That boy isn't going to know what hit him