Read Online Sorority Sisters by Claudia Welch - Free Book Online Page B

but—”
    â€œIt’s damn close,” Ellen says.
    â€œSpeaking from experience?” Diane says. “Does anyone want some chips? I think I have cheese and salsa. We could have nachos.”
    â€œNo, I’m good,” Ellen says. I shake my head and sip my screwdriver. It’s good. I must like vodka better than rum, and I think that now I like rum just fine. “And I mean that. I’m still a virgin.”
    â€œCongratulations,” Diane says. “And I mean that.”
    â€œI am, too,” I say.
    â€œCongratulations!” Ellen says. “At least Pete didn’t get that from you. He doesn’t deserve it.”
    â€œThanks,” I say. But didn’t he? I don’t know what to think. I’m glad I’m still a virgin, but I’m sad that Pete is no longer
my
Pete. Except that he was never
my
Pete, and I’ve got to stop forgetting that.
    â€œHey, look, I’m not saying it was easy for me to keep my pants zipped, but I can see how you, with your face, would have been fighting them off for years. A girl gets tired,” Ellen says to Diane.
    â€œWith my face,” Diane repeats softly. “Let me tell you a little something about my face. I know I’m pretty now, but I didn’t use to be. I used to be a very funny-looking kid with big ears and bad skin and too much hair.”
    â€œWhat do you mean too much hair? Like growing out of your ears?” Ellen says.
    â€œNo, like big ears sticking out from your little head and eyes too big for your face and lots of black hair covering your head, which has a tendency to embrace eczema,” Diane says. “Picture it . . . picture it . . . That’s right. I was a monkey baby.”
    â€œOh, God, you were not!” Ellen says.
    â€œI were, too,” Diane says.
    â€œHow’d your mom take it?” Ellen says.
    â€œShe hid the camera,” Diane says. “And when she brought it out, like for Halloween and Christmas, I was always mysteriously photographed behind a mask, or a white Santa beard. The tradition was to have our Christmas photo taken wearing Santa outfits. But you know what? Even as a kid, I knew the beard was for me.”
    â€œYou clearly grew out of it,” I say.
    â€œThank God,” Diane says. “But not until I was a senior in high school, and if there’s one thing I learned, and please God, let me have learned one thing up to this point, it’s that the bad times drag and the good times are fleeting. So let the good times roll.”
    â€œAmen,” Ellen says, draining off her screwdriver. “Karen’s going to have to make up for this. We don’t know if she’s a virgin or not. Or if she was an ugly baby or not. Or if she threw beer in Pete’s face or not. Or would like to. Or plans to. That kid’s got a lot of making up to do.”
    Karen shifts in her sleep and, without thinking about it, I lay my hand on her head, soothing her and, somehow, soothing myself.

Diane
    â€“ Fall 1976 –
    â€œWhy do we have to move in on the hottest day of the year? This is the hottest day, right? It’s not going to get hotter. It
can’t
get hotter,” Karen says, her arms full of sheets, a comforter, and her pillow. The pillow looks ready to tumble.
    â€œSo it’s one hundred and five,” Ellen says. “It’s a dry heat. Everybody knows that dry heat isn’t really hot.”
    â€œTell that to a baked chicken,” Laurie says.
    â€œNow that you mention it, I
am
starving,” Ellen says. “Do you want to go to the Pepper Mill after we get our stuff unloaded and into the house?”
    â€œI’d kill for a patty melt,” Karen says as we all walk up the steps into Beta Pi, the sun baking down onto our heads. I feel like I’m about to explode or melt or something equally Wicked Witch of the West–ish. I just want to move in, find my rack, get my clothes