SSS 2 - You are Kalyna

You are KALYNA, an 18-year-old college student and CCL pledge.

Your family came to America when you were five. That was a scary, tumultuous event. You’re used to it now, and at the moment you are grateful to be in Florida rather than Ukraine, although there are some complicated thoughts and feelings that go with that. Your English is perfect, but there’s enough of an accent that people notice.

You grew up in Orlando and sensibly chose a state school as a Florida resident. Your distaste for crowds led to the decision to start school at the Gurlberg campus. This small town is much more comfortable for you.

As for CCL, you have liked girls from a young age, but always kept that inside. College and getting away from home have given you an opportunity to be more open, and the president of CCL is much sweeter than you expected, based on the rumors that you have heard. You fear your initiation, but you don’t regret pledging to this sorority. You are in a relationship now, but six months ago you would have thought that was impossible.

But things aren’t perfect. The joy and liberation that comes with your new life here are tempered by stress. You also heard that some people were murdered in this house, but that doesn’t concern you. You aren’t superstitious. You’re here to get a degree in civil engineering.

Taytum hurries over, wearing her usual scowl. She has made no effort with her appearance at all, and has not even bothered with deodorant. You don’t mind, and unlike you, Taytum is naturally pretty. You wish that she’d smile more.

“You good?” she asks.

“Yes,” you reply, clutching your bag.

Taytum rubs her eyes and opens the front door, carrying a bottle with her out into the evening gloom. The humidity hits hard. Red taillights flash and a silver Traverse eases out of a parking spot, the wheels crunching on the gravel. There’s a clunk as the Traverse is put in park and the driver’s side door opens. The girl that climbs out is noticeably shorter than Taytum and almost problematically shorter than you. Her name is Bian. Her childlike height contrasts with her womanly figure: her hips are wider than yours and her bust is larger than Taytum’s.

If you wish that Taytum would smile more, you wish that Bian would smile less, if only because it makes you self-conscious about your own mood. Bian’s short, black hair is damp and she wears jean shorts and a Gurlberg Cowgirls hoodie.

Bian looks excited. Taytum looks grumpy. You probably look anxious. No one says anything for a moment. You might be the only one wearing your feelings on your sleeve, but none of them can be truly relaxed about this.

It’s a strange moment. Surreal.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. You’ve known each other for what… not even three full months? So much has happened. You always knew that college was going to be a lot, but you never would’ve predicted all this. As the three of you stand together beside the Traverse, frozen in this moment of indecision, your mind flashes back to your first meetings.

Taytum was there the first time you set foot in CCL House, attending a party at the suggestion of the Vice President. Knowing no one, self-conscious about your accent, you drifted through the party until you found yourself sitting on the floor of the TV room with several girls, most of them very drunk, playing some kind of game with a dating app to troll guys at the college that they didn’t like. You sat there, glad to be included. The TV had been playing a movie in the background about a guy visiting a creepy town. It was late. The party had split into three groups: couples pairing off, the crowd in the kitchen getting wasted, and this group in the TV room, also drinking. You remember clutching a red solo cup of cheap beer. Legal drinking age is an afterthought in CCL House.

It wasn’t clear to you what made the girls pivot to truth or dare, but they did.

Then, because you’d been so quiet, they let you go first. The girl said truth, and you’d asked about her initiation.

The girl had eagerly explained that three CCL girls had told her stories of first times: first time masturbating, first time with a girl, first time with a guy. Things like that. To join, the girl had to correctly identify which one of the stories was true. Then she was given the choice of showing or telling one of her own stories.

As you sat there listening, rapt, you paid no attention to the sullen girl sitting to your left. Actually, Taytum’s affect and the way she’d carried herself at the time had made you assume that she wasn’t a pledge at all, but an officer.

But that had been Taytum’s first night at CCL House as well.

Taytum was called on next, and she apathetically chose dare. The girl that you questioned dared her, without hesitation, to take off her clothes. All of them.

Then you’d had **** but to notice this girl. Taytum hadn’t seemed bothered. She stripped naked without even standing up, putting her clothes aside in a pile and resuming her position of sitting cross-legged.

That hadn’t just escalated the game, it had taught you that at least a part of the CCL reputation was earned. Trying not to stare at Taytum’s body became difficult, but you must have failed that test, because the little details had become burned into your mind: the stubble to suggest that it had been a day or two since she’d shaved down there, the snake tattoo on her flat belly, the curve of her back and shoulders and the way that the TV lit her up in profile.

She noticed, but didn’t tease you. She just gave you a little smile, then reached over and poured something into your cup. You don’t know what it was, but it burned going down. You felt much more relaxed after that. It was one of the few times that you’ve seen Taytum smile.

That smile still gives you goosebumps, though.

Then there had been Bian. You met her at your third CCL party. Just as you were starting to feel more comfortable, you found someone who was not. A notorious CCL tomcat named Yuki had cornered Bian at the end of a couch and was working her game a little aggressively, as though she felt it was her personal responsibility to get into the pants of every pledge to come through the door. She’d skipped over you for the same reason most other girls probably did: you’re way taller than they are, and no one wants to cuddle with a skeleton.

Bian’s eager gayness drips from her pores, but at that party, you sensed her discomfort and spoke up.

“Hey,” you had said hesitantly, touching Yuki’s shoulder to get her attention. “Should we maybe slow down?”

Yuki had stared at you. She’d been a little drunk.

“Sorry,” she’d said, straightening up. Then she’d mumbled something about needing another drink and gone away, leaving you with Bian. Your brain immediately jumped to anxiety that now this pretty little pledge was going to blame you for ruining things, but Bian had just looked at you gratefully, then scooted closer.

She’d gone on to imprint on you like a baby bird, and for a moment or two, you had truly believed that your dreams had come true. Then you found out that Bian was able to imprint on more than one person at a time.

You shriek in surprise as a fat raindrop hits your neck.

“Shit,” Taytum grumbles, looking up.

“Go time,” Bian chirps, her hand on the open door. “Who’s driving?”

“Not me,” Taytum says with a yawn, jerking the rear door open and climbing in.

You gaze at Bian.

Volunteer?

Or let Bian drive?