Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
There’s a pause, then Finn asks, “So…uh… Double C this weekend, Mr. President? Surely you’re planning something big…”
Fucking Double C. I love it, and I hate it at the same time. Frankly, it was when I got initiated as president that everything went to shit with Julia.
“You know it,” I say, but the words don’t sound excited and shit. They’re monotone as fuck. They’re just there.
Blake perks up. “You gonna tell us what it is?”
Technically, I shouldn’t tell them jack shit about what it is. But instead, I hear my tired and flat voice say, “It’s called Midnight Market. Everyone gets fake currency and has to buy their way to clues. Campus-wide black-light scavenger hunt. Live snakes, probably. A goat. Oh, and Finn, I added all three of your brothers to the text invite list.”
“Greaaaat.” Finn’s not thrilled, but neither am I. And when Ace Kelly suffers, everyone suffers.
“Dude, that sounds wild.” Blake stares. “But I’m pretty sure you weren’t supposed to tell us any of that shit…”
I shrug. “Probably not.”
Finn pushes his plate toward me. “Eat. You sound like you’re hallucinating.”
I pick up a fry. Bite it. It tastes like nothing. I don’t even bother dipping it in ketchup, but that’s mostly because I feel like the fucking ketchup bottle is standing there judging me.
I know I should be hyped. Double C events are my thing. And I’m the fucking prez, for fuck’s sake.
But right now, everything but Julia feels like white noise.
Saturday, September 20th
Ace
The goat got loose twice.
The snake handler showed up forty-five minutes late, demanded to be paid in cash, and only answered to The Viper Whisperer.
And the three rugby bastards who found their way into Double C during Lex’s tenure as president tried to bribe their way to the final clue with actual money. It was a bold move, but it was clearly denied. They were also disqualified from the event. I swear, Dickson’s rugby jocks are on another level.
Even while in a deep depression, I find a certain kind of high that comes with covertly running events that aren’t university-approved. My mom told me I’m lucky that I’m ruling in the era after Lexi Winslow created an app that allows encrypted text messages to be sent out to all members, but I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t vibe with a little police chase these days.
I’m both melancholy and evil, and as it turns out, the combination is one of the universe’s most dangerous.
Tonight’s text was simple. Midnight. Dickson Garage. Don’t bring your goat.
When Cassie Kelly—back then, she was Cassie Philips—was running Double C, it was basically the Stone Age. Hell, Nokia was the popular phone brand, and unlimited text messages weren’t a thing. I don’t know how the fuck she got the word out without leaving a paper trail, but knowing my mom, her crazy ass had to get real creative.
Tonight’s Double C event, Midnight Market, consisted of the kind of challenge that will keep campus buzzing with rumors for weeks. The final clue glowed under black light and was hidden inside a vending machine with a rigged QR code. And that vending machine was located in the most obscure part of Beckley Theater.
I don’t know how I pulled it off, but I did. Hell, there were even flickering lanterns on the practice soccer field beside Dickson Stadium and a trail of Hollywood-worthy market stalls made out of plywood.
It was chaotic. It was covert. It was fucking perfect.
I should be celebrating, patting myself on the motherfucking back for pulling off such a stunt. But right now? I’m not feeling it at all.
I’m currently standing in the basement of Pi Gamma’s frat house at the after-after-party, where it’s nothing but strobe lights, beer, and heat. The music’s so loud it rattles your bones, and everything’s glowing under black light—paint, teeth, shirts, secrets.
And people keep stopping me, clapping me on the back, tossing out fist bumps whenever I get in their vicinity.
“Kelly! That was unreal, man.”
“I still don’t know how you pulled that off.”
“Was that snake even legal?”
All I can do is smile and nod. I try to let the praise soak in, try to savor a night like this, but it all bounces off me like I’m good-time repellent.
Across the room, I spot Blake, Finn, Travis, Jack, and Reece, all leaning against the wall near the pool table. Scottie’s with them, glowing under the lights with a streak of pink paint on her jaw. Blake lifts his bottle of water like a toast, and Finn motions for me to come over while Jack and Trav shove each other playfully. Reece frowns before tripping Jack, and I shrivel at the mere thought of trying to match their energy.
I raise my empty cup in the air instead, letting them know I need a refill before flashing a grin over my shoulder that I don’t feel at all.