Page 14 of Notorious Man on Campus

“Okay, okay. Calm down. What’s with you anyway? I thought you were old friends.”

More like old enemies, but I can’t exactly tell him that without an explanation. If I did, though, it would probably make my life easier. Then he won’t try to throw us together. He has that fucking matchmaker streak.

“We’re not friends. I told you she dated my brother. She ditched him so I’m not a fan.”

“I see. Sounds like a juicy story. What happened?” Fuck.

“The usual. Not my story to tell anyway.” I pause to make sure he understands I’m not talking about it, but he doesn’t say a word so I change the subject. “You ready for your new assignment?”

“Does this mean I’m done with Nyla? Because I don’t mind. I like her. She’s refreshing in a Cinderella kind of way and I like the role of fairy godmother.” He laughs. I crack a smile and shake my head.

“You should keep an eye on her. But your new assignment is more official. You’ll be helping me out with a directive from Coach Radz.” I tell him about the number-three ranking of SPU as a wild football school, the complaint to Dean Lassiter, and his subsequent insistence that we disappear from the list.

“I think it’s kind of cool, though I think SPU should aspire to the number-one spot.”

“It doesn’t work that way for elite Catholic universities with trustees to answer to,” I say. Not that he doesn’t know this.

“So what can I do?”

“You can monitor TikTok.” I explain to him about the viral CollegeTok videos and the one featuring BMOC House that got particular attention from last semester. “Anyone puts up a vid about our parties and they’re banned. So I need you to check out the relevant tok hashtags for me. You up to it?”

“Of course. It’s who I am. You know I’m happy to do it. Is there an associated reward?”

“Sure. I’ll have Nyla bake you a surprise. After you taste her soufflé, you’ll be salivating for more, trust me.”

“Oh, I do, my dear Brick. I trust you implicitly. You’ve always been a straight shooter, as Majik would say.”

“Is that what Majik says?” I suppress the blip of pleasure hitting my chest. I cannot be this pathetic.

“Not about you, but I’ve heard her say it.” He laughs. “Kidding. You know Majik is absolutely in love with you, as if you were her own son.”

“Too bad you’re not known for being a straight shooter. Thanks for the help with TikTok. Later.” I end the call before his sputtering turns into a full-fledged defense of his exaggeration of Majik’s feelings. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Chapter 6

Nyla

Dooley’s visit to my closet was the disaster I knew it would be, but he’s insanely kind behind his show of shallowness and frippery. Arriving at my class in hospitality management on day two, I face a room filled with the fabled elite snobs of my mother’s stories. There are dozens of sorority girls dressed in obviously expensive clothes and shoes. The handbags? They look pricey too, but I wouldn’t recognize any of the designer labels if they jumped up and plastered themselves to my forehead. Or to my too-big boobs. I feel like a security risk sitting in the company of millions of dollars’ worth of clothes and accessories.

The sorority pins alone glare at me in accusation with gemstones that are most definitely not cubic zirconia or any other manmade stone. Before the nausea of feeling like the other, the one thing that doesn’t belong in this picture, grips me, I straighten my spine in a well-practiced move from high school. Though I have to admit, SPU makes Fox Chapel High look like a slum. I look like I’m from a slum. Maybe because I am.

But so what, Nyla? You’re smart and talented and not hanging on the coattails of your parents—of your mother.

No. I need to get as far away from her coattails as possible before I drown in resentment and shame. It’s not that my mother has anything to be ashamed about just because we could be classified as poor, but it’s her attitude that I’m afraid will get to me.

One lesson I learned well from my mother though she never intended to teach me, is that resentment is unhealthy for a happy life. I put on a big smile and look around the classroom for a girl with a friendly soul under all the sparkly expensive window dressing. But instead a pinched-looking girl approaches me.

“You’re new, right? Welcome to SPU.” She doesn’t wait for a reply and gives me a brilliant smile as she looks me over with blatant curiosity. She’s wearing a pin from Kappa Kappa Gamma and I realize her house is down the street from BMOC House, but I feel more like a sociology experiment than a potential sorority sister.

“Thank you. I’m Nyla—”

“I know. Dooley mentioned you.” What the heck did Dooley tell her about me? She doesn’t give me her name as she looks over my clothes as if searching for some hidden label or other redeeming sign.

“And your name is?” I ask. She returns her gaze to my face after dismissing my flip-flops with a tight version of her smile.

“Willow. Is it true you’re living at BMOC House?” Her curiosity brims over. But heck, we’re having a conversation.

“Yes. I just moved in.”