Page 1 of Pucking Good Girl

CHAPTER 1

NOT MY PROBLEM

Talia

The Zeta house is fairly quiet for a Friday morning.

Many of my sorority sisters have early classes, but I know the one sister I’m looking for avoids early classes like the plague.

She must have been livid when she was put on the early Roman History Through Art slot rather than the one on late Thursday afternoon.

“Gen, open up!” I pound my fist on the presidential suite’s door, not giving a shit if I wake her up.

Actually, I hope I wake her up. “Gen!” I roar.

The door opens and a sleepy Genevieve leans against the wooden doorjamb.

The Zeta president is in a short pink silk kimono and sports some of those under eye patches that promise to erase dark circles. “Talia? Why are you making all this noise? The house better be on fire.”

That’s not funny since the original Zeta House was condemned after a house fire during our freshman year. But campus history is the least of my concerns right now as I shove Gen to the side and barge into her bedroom.

“Yeah, why don’t you come on in?” Her tone is dripping with sarcasm as she crosses her arms over her chest.

I don’t waste any time and get right in her face. I’ve never been so furious in my entire life.

“I told you not to copy from me during Cantucci’s class. When you couldn’t be bothered to get together to study, I made fucking flashcards to help you. You had no right to put my future in jeopardy because you’re too lazy to put even one ounce of effort into your education.”

Gen staggers backward, startled. But she recovers quickly, covering her nose and mouth with one perfectly manicured hand. “Your breath smells like puke. If you want to have a conversation with me, go brush your teeth and use some of my mouthwash.” She points to her en-suite bathroom. “Actually, dowse yourself in it. Pukachu.”

“Pukachu?” I ask with a glare.

“You’re small, angry and smell like puke. You should be your own Pokémon,” Gen taunts.

“I’m only brushing my teeth because I want to.” I bite out, getting in her face again. “Not because you’re telling me to.”

When I come out of the bathroom, Gen is waiting for me in the sitting area of her suite.

“Would you like to sit down, Talia?” Her tone isn’t kind or inviting.

“No. I would rather stand.”

She rolls her eyes. “Suit yourself. Jesus, you stank the entire room with your breath. Giovanni,” she calls on the virtual butler that keeps the sorority house running. “Do something about the smell.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Giovanni’s voice assures her.

A few seconds later, a waft of vanilla and something vaguely floral envelopes us.

“Much better. So, what is it that you want, Talia? I need to do my hair. I can no longer afford my bi-weekly blow dry appointment at the country club’s hair salon, since my parents cut me off. I have to do it myself if I want to be presentable. And that takes time.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. I had to sell my car to be able to afford any kind of accommodation on campus this year, so if she’s looking for sympathy on not being able to go to the hairdresser’s twice a week, she can wait until Star Cove freezes over.

“I was clear that I didn’t want you to copy from me, Gen. But you did it anyway. And you didn’t even do a good job. We’re in so much trouble.”

Rather than apologizing, Genevieve glares at me. “Oh really? I didn’t do a good job? None of this bullshit would have happened if you knew your Latin and hadn’t put a stupid typo in your essay.”

I can’t believe the nerve on this bitch. “It wasn’t even a typo.” I admit. “I got confused about which declension that word belonged to, and I wrote thermes rather than thermae. But it looked like therms because my pen was running out and the e was barely visible.”

“Regardless,” Gen accuses. “Your mistake got us busted.”