BAD REP(69)

“Denied by the skank!” One of the guys, who I recognized as Greg, a Pi Sig senior, taunted the pledge.  I shrank at the word he used to describe me.  Skank.  They thought I was a skank.  But then I got mad.

“Skank?  Says the guy who pays for f*cks.”  Greg turned red and he clenched his fists.  I laughed harshly.  “Yeah, everyone knows about that,” I mocked.  The rest of the Pi Sigs were in fits of riotous laughter.

I turned to the pledge again.  “So take your condom and use it to go f*ck yourself,” I spat out.  Wow, where had that come from?  I had been kind of proud of myself.  The pledge leaned down to pick the condom up off of the ground.

Tucking it into his pocket he sneered at me.  “As if I'd let my dick anywhere near that.  I have standards.”  And without another look in my direction, the guys turned and walked away.  Leaving me standing in the middle of the quad pissed but completely humiliated.

I had turned around and ran across the grass.  I blew off the rest of my classes that day and gone back to my apartment.  I wouldn't leave for another two days.  My show of bravado faded as quickly as it had come and I was done with it all.

I was depressed.  Hurting.  I stayed away from the Chi Delta house.  I stayed away from people in general.  I ate my meals at home, avoiding the commons.  I didn't hang around after classes like I typically did.  I had become a damn pariah.  Nobody spoke to me.  It was like I had a contagious disease.  And as much as I wanted to scream and yell at each and every one of them, I kept my mouth resolutely shut.  I convinced myself that doing that would only make things worse.  No matter how good it may have made me feel.

Rinard was a small campus.  Only 700 students.  It was that reason that I had chosen the college in the first place.  I wanted the intimate class sizes and more hands on learning.  I wanted to feel that sense of community.  Now, I wished nothing more than to be lost in the crowd.  Instead of being stuck in a place where everyone knew my business and judged me for it.

“You need to leave this apartment!” Riley declared one evening.  I was on the couch, my normal place of occupancy over the last few days.  I scowled at my roommate.

“I'm perfectly happy right here, thank you very much.” I mumbled, turning my eyes back to the television.

Riley grunted in disapproval and turned off the TV.  “Enough!  Go get dressed!  Gracie and I are taking you out.  She's going to be here in ten minutes, so go get dolled up.”  She pulled on my arm, yanking me to my feet.  I gave her my best evil glare.

“Since when do you and Gracie talk?  And when do you ever go out together socially?” I asked, annoyed that my evening of sedate nothingness was being foiled.

Riley pushed me toward my bedroom.  “Since we are both sick and tired of your depressed moping.  Now, do I need to dress you myself?  Because, so help me God, if I have to, I will put you in my black cargo pants and combat boots,” she threatened.

I shuddered.  Those cargo pants should have been burned a long time ago.  But I knew Riley meant business.  So I put my hands up in defeat.  “I'm going, I'm going.  Back off killer.”  I went into my room and halfheartedly unearthed something semi decent.  I emerged from my room five minutes later, wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a short sleeved dark green knit top.

“Do something with that mop on top of your head.  Have you even brushed your hair today?”  Riley asked.

“Ugh!  Alright, already!” I complained, going into the bathroom.  Three critiques later, and I was deemed ready to mingle with normal society.

Gracie showed up a short time later, looking cute and perky as always.  With Gracie on one side and Riley on the other, they shepherded me out to Gracie's Jeep.  We made a motley crew.  Gracie in her conservative prettiness, Riley looking like a Goth diva in her short black skirt, black top and knee high laced black boots.  Then there was me.  Well, the less said about that, the better.

“Where are we going?” I asked as Gracie pulled out of the apartment car lot.

“We're heading downtown.  You need to do some dancing.  And some drinking.  Time to get your happy on, my friend,” Gracie chirped.  I crossed my arms over my chest.  I did not feel like dancing.  And don't even get me started about putting my happy on (were we in the fourth grade here?).  And drinking would just make me more depressed and miserable.  I didn't like this plan at all.