Greek (Palm South University)

Three, Erin letting loose more than I’d seen her since maybe my freshman year of college. She took shots and danced in the pool, and even played along with some guy who’s here for a bachelor party and needed to get a girl to ride around on his shoulders to knock an item off their scavenger hunt list.

And four — yet another text from Kip lighting up my phone, haunting me even through my buzzed haze.

Where are you?

Maybe it’s self-preservation, how I’ve ignored every message from him since that night he called me to apologize. He told me to hold onto him, but inside, I know I have to do the opposite.

I have to let him go.

So I’ve been focusing on school, on Kappa Kappa Beta, on my new Grand Little, on my meetings with the guidance counselor to figure out where I’m going after graduation.

I’ve ignored every call, every how are you, I miss you, are you okay, where are you, please call me that he’s sent.

Being out of the country with my best friends has made it easier to do so — well, as easy as letting Kip Jackson go can be, at least.

Which is to say, it’s slightly less torturous.

Now, it’s day two of our trip, and after a successful morning brunch, afternoon of relaxing by the pool, and evening of massages — we’re back for round two, the sun setting over the resort, bass thumping from the DJ’s booth perched over the pool.

Erin, Cassie, and Jess have a shot ski in their hands — an old wooden ski painted with the resort’s colors and fitted with shot-glass-sized holes that now host a full mouthful of tequila. It takes precision to get the shots lined up with each of their mouths and to pour them down without spilling all over someone, but they pull it off — to the roaring approval of the crowd.

When they finish, Erin holds the ski over her head in victory, and then someone at the resort is taking it from her and carrying it to the back to wash it and no doubt line it up for the next victims.

“I’m drunk,” Cassie slurs, slinging her arm around my neck.

“Easy, Little — it’s only nine.”

“Come dance with me,” she says instead of acknowledging how young the night is, but I oblige her, letting her take my hand and drag me to the shallow end of the pool right in front of the DJ.

Everything is warped and blurry, not because I’m drunk, but because that’s just the state of being I’ve existed in since Kip and I fought last semester. It’s like being half-frozen, half-numb, like a dream where you’re underwater and try to punch something but can’t.

My hands are up in the air, hips swaying to the rhythm, eyes closed and lights coloring my eyelids green and blue and pink and purple as we dance.

But inside, I’m sitting alone in a dark room, staring at the ceiling.

Existing.

Cassie finally decides she needs water, and we make our way through the crowd and over to the VIP booth that comes with our penthouse rental. It’s got three massive day beds and two dedicated servers to bring us alcohol or food — or water, which is very much needed in this moment.

Jess and Ashlei are kicked back on one of the day beds, lost in conversation, and Erin is somewhere still dancing in the pool when Cassie and I slip through the roped-off entryway.

I can’t help but smile at the sight of Ashlei in her all-white bikini, the gold sash across her chest reading BRIDE-TO-BE — except to be is scratched out and ALREADY is written in Sharpie above it. Even with her arm in a sling, she’s radiant, glowing only the way a new bride can.

Bride.

She’s married.

As if the thought has just finally sunk in, I wrap her in a fierce hug as soon as I’m inside our little area, and she giggles, squeezing me in return.

“You’re married,” I whisper in her ear.

“I know. How crazy is this?”

“Insanely crazy. Also, insanely amazing.”

She nods when I pull back, her eyes glossy. “I love that rich bastard.”

I bark out a laugh. “I know.”

“Oh, here,” Jess says when I’m standing again. She tosses my phone to me before I’m prepared to catch it. It bobbles a little in my hand before I grip it tight. “That thing has been blowing up.”

I frown, looking at the dozen missed call requests on the screen. They’re from a number I don’t recognize, an area code I’ve never seen before.

I chew my cheek, wondering if it’s Kip trying any means necessary to get ahold of me. I can’t think of anyone else it would be.

“Just call him back,” Erin says from over my shoulder. I jump, not realizing she had joined us, and she gives me a knowing smile as she squeezes my arm. “Hear him out. Even if your choice is still the same and you think it’s over, you at least owe it to him to put him out of his misery and make sure he knows that’s your decision, too.”