Page 12

“I’m already a Zeta Sig, Reagan. I know all of the secrets. What I really need is to know what else they are doing. What hazing have they implemented? How much drinking and what kind of drugs?” He pauses. “That means you’ve got to assume the role of Theodore Hart, by changing your hair and clothes,” his eyes drop, “your tits. They have to go. Or at least, be hidden.”

My arms cross over my chest defensively.

“Thankfully,” he continues, “you’re tall and athletic and not super small, like a lot of girls. That will make it easier.”

“Did you just call me fat?”

He stares at me but doesn’t respond. “You’ll move into this room and until this is over, you’ll present yourself as male at all times.”

“No way.” I cross my arms over my chest and shake my head. “I didn’t think this through. I was too distraught yesterday, and you failed to mention a sex change.”

I mean, how does this fix my problems? Save my reputation? Do anything other than make me look like more of a fool?

“Fine.” He shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but I see the disappointment in his eye. “I guess I approached the wrong person.”

He takes the folder from me, and I stand there, feeling a strange, overwhelming sense of loss and confusion. Yesterday my world imploded, but this morning I had a reason to get up—somewhere to go—and something to do, even if that thing was plotting revenge.

Grayson looks up. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” I stare at the Theo’s photo. We aren’t close. Our parents got married when we he was a junior in high school and I was a sophomore. He lived with his mom and barely came around. Royer never met him, but I’ve mentioned him.

Stupid Royer. My heart aches when I think about him and that urge to save him is still bubbling around the pain and humiliation. I can make sure he doesn’t get in more trouble and maybe he’ll thank me.And, more than anything, I’ll bring Andrea and Miller down.“I’ll do it.”

His eyebrow raises. “You sure?”

“No.” I chuckle darkly. “God no, I’m not, but I’ll try.”

“Awesome.” He approaches the suitcase and unzips the sides. “I brought you a starter set of everything you’ll need. The council will pay for your expenses—stuff to outfit the room. Inside is a stack of men’s clothing and a few scented toiletries.

I flip through the clothes. “Did you pick these out?”

“Yeah, why?”

“They’re not going to work.” I frown down at a T-shirt with a cartoon character on the front. “I need the type of clothes that a Zeta Sigma would wear.”

“I’m a Zeta Sigma,” he says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

I can’t help but notice the surprisingly hard curve of his biceps. I drag my eyes away. “Yeah, well, Royer’s in charge now and I know what he’s looking for—and this won’t cut it. He’s an entitled snob. Kind of like Theo, honestly. He’d never be caught in anything like this, either. If you want me to make it to the initiation, you’re going to have to give me control over all of this.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. Even messy and unwashed, it hurts to think about losing my hair. God, my beautiful, perfect, amazing hair. “If that video hadn’t come out, if Andrea wasn’t fucking my boyfriend and I wasn’t some kind of pawn for them to toy with, I would have been the queen of the GE’s for the next four years. I know what I’m doing, Grayson, even when it’s something stupid.”

Which is why this hurts so much. I knew that video was a mistake, but I trusted the wrong people.

Which may be why this arrangement makes me feel uneasy. I don’t know this guy. I just have to trust that he’s legit.

But seriously, what the hell do I have to lose?

He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. A moment later, a shiny gold credit card is in my hands. “Use it wisely,” he says. “You have two weeks to bring me everything I need to bring these bastards down.”

“Got it,” I say, ignoring the dull feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I’ve never been one to take a risk, but everyone said college would be a challenge. I just had no idea it would be this.

Grayson gives me three days.

To move out.

To buy a frat-boy appropriate wardrobe.

To cut and dye my hair.

I won’t pretend it didn’t physically hurt to cut my hair. Watching the layers of platinum blonde pile up on the floor of the salon’s floor was like taking the point of the scissors in my soul. I’d worked so hard to perfect it. It was part of my identity. Now it’s garbage in a landfill.