We Rule the School Ch. 02

Javier smiled broadly, "You don't mean that skinny bitch in that fucking class you made me take?"

Javier had chafed when Simon told him he should take all the same classes, especially Contemporary Feminist Theory. It made sense once Simon promised Javier that way he could pass without any work. Why that class especially, though, was a mystery to Javier.

"Yes, her. I have my reasons."

"All I'm sayin' is that you have five, fuck, 500 hotter bitches out there you could be fuckin' every night with this shit. Who cares if they come back? This maid shit is cool and all, and funny as hell, but what good is it getting all those frat boys' knobs polished? While you're going on dates and shit with some no-tits nerd from Women's Studies?"

"We haven't been on dates yet," Simon added. "Actually tonight's our first real date. Just trust me. I have my reasons."

"Sorry. Forget it," Javier said as class ended.

After class, April split to change into her uniform. As she turned to go, Simon handed her two envelopes, one marked "Now" and one marked "Later." April was afraid to ask what they were, but could feel in both the outlines of a pill. Effitol! This was her weekly allowance of F, but there was one in each envelope. Maybe Simon was rewarding her for her silence and for her loyalty in bringing her new friends Stefi and Claire to work for the frat. When she got back to her room, she dutifully opened the envelope marked "Now."

"There's my good girl. Are you already in your uniform? You don't want to be late for work. I hope you are wearing it, though you probably felt the pill and got too excited to wait. I have an offer for you—totally your choice. This pill is yours for your good work. I trust you're happy with our arrangement so far. I thought maybe we could make another deal, though. That's why you got two envelopes. I'm sure you know there's another pill in the other envelope. What you don't know is that inside that envelope is a letter addressed to your friend Claire. Well, good girl, here's your choice. Give Claire the envelope and that sweet, sweet pill—or keep it yourself. I'll know which one you choose. The last thing—if you keep it this week, you'll keep it every week, two pills a week. But your ass will be mine.

—Simon"

April looked out her window facing the courtyard in her dorm cluster. Outside, groups of girls sunned themselves and chatted casually. A group of guys languidly tossed a frisbee. New freshmen ducked around tables of earnest young republicans, democrats, communists, vegan lesbians—all trying to change the world. A scene of collegiate ordinariness. How the hell had she gotten here so fast? Moreover, what was wrong with her? Other girls resisted? They didn't feel what she felt? Her mind flashed back to something Javier said to her after he'd fucked her ass for the second time last week.

"First time's for fun, but the second's so you won't forget me, slut."

She had not forgotten—could not. She wanted the first time, the feeling she had when her mind let go, when her body opened up, in the early haze of Effitol. But to get it she had to have the second time, when all she felt was the shame and the hunger. Afterwards, that's what filled her memories, her passing thoughts, her dreams. That was the second half of the high, the one she could do without. And maybe most girls didn't feel that second part, or forgot it, or didn't need the feeling like she did.Why am I different?,she asked herself, accusingly.

She had been self-conscious and uncomfortable serving the fraternity as a maid, but that was nothing. She wanted and needed sex, but not on those terms. She could find someone else, who wouldn't use her, who could share the experience with her without taking advantage of her lack of control.

For the next several hours, she sat in her room, convincing herself she was still a good person.It's a pill,she thought.It doesn't control you. It doesn't force itself down your throat. You take it because you want it. I take it when I want it. I can stop if I want. She can take it or not. She just works there. She's smart. She can take care of herself. Maybe she'll be one of the girls who just has some fun and doesn't have this feeling inside.

"Hey, Claire," April said through her open door when she saw her neighbor fumbling for her key. "I've got some kind of note for you from Simon."

"Weird."

Claire entered April's room with a quizzical expression before taking the note from April's outstretched hand.

"Know what's inside?"

"No idea. Hey, gotta go—duty calls."

April left, feeling too guilty to remain in Claire's presence. Slipping on her uniform, under a short trenchcoat, April headed to the Alpha Delta house, happy to be polishing silverware and buffing floors and not cocks. That alone made the guilt bearable.

***

Katie wasn't really a traditional girl, but a dinner date at a fancy restaurant with a good-looking guy was turning out to be just what she wanted. The place was way too nice for her—she felt woefully under-dressed in a

Her friends, at least the straight ones, would have been jealous, even if they would never admit it. In the middle of joking about some of the pretentious things people could say in class, Simon's phone rang. Katie noted his ringtone—a Tegan and Sara song, one of her favorites.

"Excuse me, I hate to do this, but I need to answer this."

Although Simon ducked away from the table, it was quiet in the intimate restaurant and Simon's voice carried.

"So totally normal? OK, then we'll see what happens tomorrow."

He paused, his eyes rolling back a little as if he were solving math equations in his mind.

"OK, I'll be ready at 8:00. You know what to do if we're out to dry there."

Simon looks great tonight, Katie thought. His coal-black hair gave him an intense look, heightened only by his ice blue eyes. Simon was tall and thin like her, but built enough to look more like a man than a boy. He had a habit of running his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his face in a casual way that she found inexplicably sexy. He was the kind of guy who looked ordinary in a photo, but in person—he hadpresence.

Simon strode confidently back to the table.

"Everything OK?," Katie asked.

"We'll see tomorrow," Simon stated tentatively. "We have a service project planned but some of the brothers have a tough time fitting it in their schedules."

Simon strained to smile. His mind was elsewhere, and it made him harder to do what he needed to do tonight. Feigning emotion and interest in Katie took a lot of concentration. He studied her intently, but always conscious to avoid the dead stare to which he was prone. He knew if he couldn't play the part, if his mask slipped, he would frighten her away. And she was so perfect.

Javier was right: Katie was skinny. Not thin—skinny, like a dancer. Only she wasn't a dancer. she a was tall, somewhat awkward young girl. Everything about Katie was straight—narrow hips, flat chest and stomach, small, tight ass, straight blonde hair with bangs—except for her face. Despite her general lack of curves, Katie had a kind of heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, rosy cheeks, and a slightly pointy chin. While most guys would find her cute when asked, she didn't star in a lot of guys' wet dreams, either. In the right light, Katie could even be beautiful, just never a total bombshell like April. Simon had wondered at first if she had an eating disorder, which might have made things easier for him but less challenging and meaningful. By this point, he felt sure she was just one of those people with a hummmingbird metabolism.

Sitting with Simon at a table in the quiet, upscale bistro, Katie allowed her mind to wander back to that first meeting, daydreaming as she so often did.

She and Simon met in Prof. Rodriguez-Sanderson's Contemporary Feminist Theory Course. She was wary of him like the rest of the nearly all-female class. A junior Women's Studies major, Katie had seen his type before: preppy dicks who thought that name-dropping Judith Butler or commiserating about the gender pay gap would help them score with liberal feminists. When she found out he was in Alpha Delta, it only provided fuel to the fire.

She held onto her assumptions through the first week or so of class, as Simon mostly sat quietly but attentively through each class. His friend Javier, who honestly looked completely checked out, occasionally leaned over to say something, but Simon usually brushed him off, focused on the class discussion and what the female class members had to say. Most of his questions were requests for clarification, or additions to the points others made. Katie was used to smart-ass male students taking every opportunity to show off their knowledge in class. Simon was...respectful. And insightful. He grasped the theory quickly, even though Katie could tell instinctively that he hadn't done any of the reading.

Maybe that's why he listens so much,she thought.He's piecing the material together from everyone else's comments.

The class was after lunch in a big new lecture building with a few chain restaurants in the vast entry hall. One day when she was early for class, she saw Simon, smiled, and waved.

"Hey! Katie, right? You can sit here," he said, smiling naturally.

They chatted breezily about the class. He explained how he knew Javier—they met at orientation last month.So he's a freshman?,she thought.I would never have guessed.

Most freshmen, thrown into a new environment and overwhelmed with work, meeting new people, and way too much alcohol seemed so unsure of themselves, so insecure. It had taken her a year or two to get the hang of college life at Armstrong, and even now being surrounded by so much wealth and privilege awed and humbled Katie. Getting involved in campus feminist organizations had given her a center and beliefs that made her feel comfortable and confident, even when it was difficult.

"So, not to be that guy," she queried, "but I guess I will. Why CFT? All the sweet pussy?"

Katie was proud of herself for her racy joke. The confidence to be so bold was new to her, and she couldn't hide her self-regard at that moment from Simon. He was unfazed

"I prefer the term 'sweet vagina.' And I'm mostly here because the class is after lunch and I just can't get enough of this sweet Chipotle, actually."

So he has a sense of humor.Katie thought she might like Simon in spite of herself.

She liked thinking back to that day. Her half-hearted attempts to follow Simon while still daydreaming, though, had started to become obvious.

"Hey, you still there?," Simon asked jokingly.

"Sorry," she said, smiling. "I was just thinking of how we met."

"Yeah, I'll bet you're still proud of yourself for hitting on a sweet, innocent freshman."

Simon felt like he might choke on the cloying words in his mouth, but knew this kind of thing worked on her.

"Yeah, sure, innocent," she replied. "I don't believe that for a second."

Simon paused for a second. To Katie, it seemed like he was cutting short their joking to get serious. Really, he was trying to think of his next move, but the look in her eyes gave him his opening. She was ready.

"I'm not perfect. But I'm also not like the rest of them."

Katie knew he meant the brothers of Alpha Delta. ADs had a reputation that exceeded the normal frat debauchery. They could be cruel, dangerous even.

"It's just... important to my dad," he continued. "He's from another time, when it was different. He doesn't see how bad it is now."

"Why don't you stand up to him, then?," she asked, with less aggression than misplaced encouragement.

Simon calculated quickly.Afraid? No, looks weak. He'll cut me off? Looks shallow. They're actually a great group of guys? No one would believe that. Love my fucking dad? Hard to pull off, but probably the best angle for her.

"Well, he and I didn't always have the best relationship, but we started to patch things up in the past year or so. Family is just..."

This time's Simon's pause was pure drama, his best move to imitate the feelings he didn't have.

"really important to me. I've always looked up to and respected my mother so much—"

Simon was afraid this might be laying on too thick, but Katie's solicitous expression egged him on.

"—that I guess I just wrote my dad off. Maybe that's really why I took Women's Studies— I've always seen my mom as kind of like my hero."

Simon couldn't decide if he was proud of himself for his ruse or disgusted that he had just described his dried-out whore mother as his personal hero. He respected bathroom attendants more than her. Katie, however, was hooked. Their banter had always been light, sometimes flirty but rarely too personal. For Simon, that was best—superficial, glib charm was easy. Emotional depth required knowing a lot more about his target, what would work on them. Over time, he'd learn more about Katie, what strings to pull. But for now, he went with the sappy family stuff with a feminist twist.

Now it seemed to be working. Katie was at a loss for words. Her intentions on the date had been to have fun, talk to a guy she thought was smart and funny, and then go home. Although she had given up some of her assumptions about Simon after spending a little time with him—he wasn't a player and he didn't spend every moment trying to get her clothes off—she still didn't really know him. Now she was starting to see some of his layers peeled back, and thought that the vulnerable person within the confident outer layer was worth her time and effort.

"I'm...I'm sorry," she said. "It's none of my business. I bet your mom is amazing."

Katie had Sheryl Sandberg or Hillary Clinton in mind. Simon thought of her as more of a Lucille Bluth, or maybe that bitch that wanted to make a coat out of dalmatians.

"No, I don't want to make you feel bad," Simon said. "The opposite. No one ever asks me about this kind of thing."

Katie felt special. No one would have seen this inside him. But it was there, she knew it.

"Let's change the subject. What do you want to talk about?"

Simon was relieved. He was back in his wheelhouse.

"I want to talk about you. How can I ask this without sounding lame—where do you want to be in, like, ten years?"

Simon always preferred letting his targets talk about themselves, think about themselves, open up to him. He didn't need lies or performance that way, and he could glean information that served his purposes.

"Well, it's stupid. I don't want to tell you."

She did seem a little flushed. Simon saw a change in her. Her emotions were a little closer to the surface, the armor provided by sarcasm and humor a little less potent. It was working.

"Let me guess—travel agent? You're right, that is stupid—dying industry."

She laughed a little at his hokey joke, but Simon didn't want it to last.

"Seriously, though, your dreams aren't stupid. You can tell me."

"OK, well, have you ever heard of Jezebel?," she asked.

That whore from the Bible?, Simon thought. Where's she going with this?

"Of course," he lied.

"So I'd love to blog, you know write. For Jezebel or xoJane, or even for more political stuff on women's issues."

So it was some kind of website. Great—homework.

"That's incredible. I didn't even know you wrote," he said encouragingly.

"Well, so far, " she said, "I've just written a few pieces forThe Daily Eagle."

"So you are good?," he said, hoping to stoke her ego while forcing her to denigrate her own abilities.

"No, I'm not that good. But I love writing and I want to get better," she said humbly.

"Can I read something of yours?," he asked.

"Ummm, well, I don't know."

She had just finished the third draft of a long piece she wanted to publish in the daily. If it got attention, she was hoping to score a summer internship in New York or D.C. The problem was that to get the attention and page views online she hoped for, she'd need to make the article as powerful and newsworthy as she could. But since it was an attack on the campus administration and fraternities for fostering a misogynistic culture on campus, that meant naming names and pissing off a lot of people on campus. Even Simon, despite his obvious sympathies for feminism, might think she was going too far.

"OK, hey I don't want to push you," he said. "But I do know that writers have to deal with all kinds of harsh criticism. A guy who already likes you a lot should be totally easy."

Katie felt a quick surge of joy. She had to admit that she liked Simon too. Sure, it was weird he was a freshman and all, but who was she to judge? Hell, no one could accuse her of being biased against frats if she was dating an Alpha Delta.

"Alright, I'll send it to you," she said, pausing. "Or you could read it tonight. I have a hard copy in my room."

"Sounds great," said Simon nonchalantly. "But let's order dessert."

Through the rest of their meal, despite their small talk on high school experiences, favorite movies, funny moments from class, Katie felt an unspoken tension. She had invited Simon into her room. He would read her article. What then? Would he storm out? Yell at her? What if he tried to kiss her? She knew she would let him. What if he wanted more than that? With that thought, Katie felt a warm feeling, a tingle that answered the question for her.

Shit,she thought,I want him. Why should I wait to see what he wants?But there was the article.OK,she told herself,he reads it, and if he sticks around, we'll talk for a minute. Then I'll do....something. Shit!, she thought, I'm not good at this.

"...and that's why I'll never go back there again," said Simon with a flourish.

Katie had missed the entire story. She was flushed, off-balance. She had barely noticed Simon pick up the check.

"Hey, let me pay for half of that," she said, eager not to owe him anything.

"Next time's on you," he responded calmly.

Normally Katie would have a snarky remark, upbraiding him for assuming they'd have a second date or joking about eating at McDonald's when he had paid for a fancy dinner. This time she came up with: "Yeah."

Taking her by the hand, Simon walked with her silently back to her room. He could feel her nerves building, tension mounting as he took her back.No way she's a virgin,he thought. Not now. That could complicate things, although it wouldn't be without its rewards either.

Katie wasn't a virgin, but that didn't mean she had much experience either. Other than a high school boyfriend and a few brief, unsatisfying encounters at Armstrong, Katie had mostly taken care of herself, so to speak. A lot of her friends were lesbians, and she had thought about exploring her sexuality a bit. But watching a bit of lesbian porn on the internet, she realized something was missing. Watching straight porn got her hot, and her vibrator did the rest. It had been her only boyfriend for over a year now.

The cool and confidence she had built up in her years in college seemed to have evaporated as she fumbled for the keys. Simon walked a fine line, letting the productive tension build within her while offering gestures—a light touch on her back, a warm smile while staring into her eyes—to make her feel comfortable, that she shouldn't feel nervous, just excited.

"Hurry," he urged in jest, "some of us are trying to get some reading done."

"Sorry, " Katie said. "Here, finally."

Once the door was finally open, Simon took her room in. It looked...cheap. Bedding probably from a big box store, no mini-fridge, shitty old TV, Dell computer. He had wondered whether her clothes were a feminist statement, but figured now they had to be all she could afford.This'll work,he thought.