Page 8 of Shake You

“I take exception to your arbitrary—and completely incorrect—classification, but am prepared to overlook it on this occasion, in favor of getting your damned story told.”

“Okay. Okay. You’d think some of the super sleuthing would have rubbed off on you.”

“Well, apparently, it hasn’t, so spill.”

“You know how I stayed here instead of going home for the summer, because I didn’t want to give up my room, and I really didn’t feel the need to be at home?”

“Mmm... go on.”

“Well, all that is totally true, but they’re not the only reasons I stayed. Right at the end of last year, I stumbled on something that made me want to be on campus so that I would have access to all the research facilities and archives during the vacation.”

“Okay, so don’t keep an idiot in suspense. Why did you want to be there?”

“Do you ever remember me talking about the fabled secret society here, Cygnus Dei?”

He wrinkled his nose in thought. “Vaguely... maybe…? I don’t know. Enlighten me.”

“Well the Cliff Notes version is that there’s been a secret society attached to the college pretty much since day one. Some rich asshole set it up primarily, I think, as a way of separating themselves and their rich asshole buddies from the rest of the rich assholes here. The reasons for which are unclear, but then I’ve never understood rich assholes, so there’s that.”

“I think it’s because as humans we have to make distinctions, even stupid and arbitrary ones between people who are basically the same.”

“Well, if the history of people since literally forever is to be believed, then yes, exactly that. Anyway, so the rich assholes set up their secret thing, complete with stupid rich asshole traditions and symbolism—their logo is a black swan, their patron saint, or whatever the fuck, is Zeus, they ‘apparently’ perform rituals wearing black gowns and masks—the stupidity is boundless.”

“Okay, so why is it ‘apparently,’ as opposed to just plain old apparently?”

Well, because the whole thing is about as secret as Kanye’s love for himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“After an ‘incident’ years ago, they—and all secret societies attached to the college—were outlawed, but it’s common knowledge that they still exist. What isn’t so widely known is who is actually a member, and the exact details of what they do, or why. But there’s a lot of speculation, rumor and gossip, some of it pretty outlandish, some of it really out there.”

“Like what kind of shit?” He tilted his head quizzically.

“Oh, you know, anything from people saying that they sacrifice live swans at their initiation ceremony, to claims that in order to join, the pledges must deflower a virgin in front of the head honchos, to some even more sinister shit than that.”

“Really? This all sounds like the plot of a b-grade movie”

“Right? I don’t disagree, but I’m also of the ‘no smoke without fire’ school of thought. This amount of secrecy, speculation, and sleight of hand makes my Spidey senses go crazy.”

“Ha! I can imagine. And once you feel like there’s a story to be told, you’re like a bloodhound following a scent. You won’t stop until you’ve sniffed it out.”

“Correct. Wait. Did you just call me a bitch?”

“Not intentionally, but I can see how to some it could seem that way.” He smirked ruefully.

“‘To some’? Some is me. I am some.”

“You know I wasn’t calling you a bitch, boo.” He leant forward and kissed my cheek. I inhaled, taking in the comforting citrus and cinnamon tang of his cologne as it tickled my nostrils. I loved the familiarity of it—it always pulled a chord within me. Nostalgia? Love? I wasn’t quite sure.

It was at times like that I wished there was more chemistry between the two of us. We had the friend compatibility thing in spades—he really was my platonic soulmate. It also just so happened that the guy was hot as living fuck. Like, so hot I sometimes wanted to punch myself for not wanting him romantically.

The issue was that although I could appreciate him on a purely aesthetic level—he was ridiculously genetically blessed, after all—it just didn’t translate to physical attraction. He wasn’t my type; he was almost too polished and perfect. If I was attracted to anybody, which was pretty rare, in all honesty, I tended to go for the broken ones—if not physically, then definitely emotionally. Given my history, it was a worrying trend, but one that, despite years of therapy, I’d been powerless to change.

Not that the feeling wasn’t mutual—he wasn’t attracted to me either—and not for want of trying. So many things were so right about us that we’d attempted more than once to step out of the friend zone, but no matter how hard we’d tried, it really hadn’t worked.

In the end, we were both just relieved that the awkwardness of the whole thing hadn’t tainted our friendship, and we’d been able to pick up right where we’d left off, as though nothing had even happened. I guessed that was testament to the strength of our friendship in the first place.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just playing. Anyway, so I had a feeling in my waters that there was a story there, and that it was the kind of story that could make a name for me far outside the college walls—basically jumpstarting my journalism career. You know?”

---