Blindsided

Blindsided

Chapter One

“f*****g Idiots”

Marley

I’m surrounded by f*****g idiots. That’s the bottom line. Everywhere I look—f*****g idiots.

Hallie Taylor: i***t.

She f*****g carries her dog around in her purse, like she’s Elle Goddamn Woods. No chance. With pock marks on her face like that, the only lawyer she’s ever going to land is the one she’s going to need when we fast-forward twenty years and her husband is out plowing his secretary, because all Hallie does is sit on the couch and watch TikToks. Yeah, she’ll still be doomscrolling twenty years from now.

Lauren Ackels: i***t.

She has walked in on her boyfriend screwing some

Alpha Delta skank four different times and still takes him back like he’s God’s gift to women. And believe me, he’s not. I took that ride my freshman year, and it was not worth my time or minimal energy for a repeat. No staying power.

My two best friends, Tallie and Tarrah: idiots.

First of all, their names are dumb. Who names their twin daughters, Tallie and Tarrah? Tawny Tawkins, that’s who. Yes, their last name is Tawkins. See what the f**k I’m dealing with. So for reference sake, let’s just call them “Tweedle-t**t” and “Tweedle-tit,” because quite honestly, that’s how I think of them. They’re f*****g idiots. I know. I know. I called them my best friends.

How about this? They’re my best friends that I hate. All girls know what I’m talking about. I can’t stand them, but I’m stuck with them. And I’m not even sure why. Once I graduate with my degree in fashion merchandising, I’m out. Out of this sorority.

Out of Kent.

Out of Ohio.

Fuck this place and all these losers.

“Marley, do you have anything to add?”

“Thanks Hallie,” I say, standing and straightening my pencil skirt. “The numbers for Relay for Life are in. As always, we raised the most this year.” I clap majestically as all the other members join in. “Ladies, I couldn’t be more proud of you all. You have surpassed my wildest dreams. I am honored to call each and every one of you my sister.” I make a small heart with my two hands and place it over my chest, forcing the bile back down my throat as I fake a grand “Marley Cavannaugh” beaming smile.

I only rushed Delta Omega, because I knew it would look good on my resume. I had no idea it was going to catapult me to Queen Bee status on campus at Kent State. But thank God, I did. College is a f*****g piece of cake, now. I struggled my first semester freshman year, but really, who doesn’t? I mean there were kegs to be guzzled five out of the seven nights a week. And guys. Hot guys everywhere. What’s a girl to do with all that fun and time?

Party? Right! So yeah, the 1.9 grade point average I earned wasn’t going to get me too far.

Once I pledged DO, things changed. I did have a bit of difficulty getting in though. Greek life prides itself on the well-rounded student—complete with high academic standing. My 1.9 GPA wasn’t cutting it for sorority life. Let’s get real though; Kent isn’t exactly crawling with female hotties, so DO jumped at the opportunity for someone like me to join its chapter. They came to me. I didn’t go to them. So, I started off on academic probation. Big s**t. But wow, with a little help, my 1.9 skyrocketed all the way to a 3.7, where it’s pretty much stayed. And I haven’t really done one thing to make that happen.

Sure, things were easy for me growing up. They often are for a blond-haired, blue-eyed, big titted chick. I’m not going to sit here and lie. I’m hot. f*****g hot. And I’ve known it since I was like 10-years-old when boys, guys, Hell even men, started to notice and just do nice things for me. All. The. Time. I should be humble and modest, but what the f**k for? If people are dumb enough to fall at my feet and bend over backwards to make me happy, who am I to tell them, “No?” I like it. I admit it. So, sue me.

“What if Blake doesn’t ask me to Sorority Formal,” Tweedle-Tit whines.

“God damn it. For the fuckteenth time, it’s not prom. He doesn’t ask you,” I groan. “He’s not going to put balloons all over the inside of your damn car and the last one that floats out has a rose tied to it that says, ‘Don’t pop me. I’ll pop your cherry on prom night. What do you say?’ Jesus Tarrah, grow the f**k up,”

“Tallie.”

“What?”

“I’m Tallie,” she scowls.

“Yeah Marley, we’ve been friends for two years. Don’t you think you could start to tell us apart by now?” Tarrah adds.

“What the f**k ever. You’re twins. Get used to it.”

“I have glasses and dark hair,” Tweedle-tit says.

“And I’m blonde with contacts,” Tweedle-t**t says.

“And I don’t give a f**k,” I say, walking back to our common room. “What does it matter, anyway?”

So, I’m a b***h. But Tit and t**t aren’t any better than me. At one of our sorority retreats where we’re supposed to cry a s**t-ton of tears and admit our secrets, while bonding and waxing our vags together, they came clean. They’re only using me. Guys never knew they existed until they started spending time with me. t**t actually called me her “milkshake,” because I “brought all the guys to her yard.” Those bitches wouldn’t get nearly half the traffic they have now if it weren’t for me. I up their stock. They know it. I know it. And they’ll be damned if they do anything to stop it.

“So, what do I do, Mar? How do I get Blake to go?” Tallie asks.

I stop walking. I turn to face her and smile my beaming grin. “You simply say, ‘Sorority formal. On the 9th. You’re my date. Free booze…and I’ll probably blow you after.’ It’s a no brainer.”

“What if he still says, ‘No?’ Then what do I do?”

“You tell him that he’s f*****g going or…or… I’ll put him on my s**t-list.”

“You will? Yes! He’ll go for sure then,” she says, bouncing up and down on her toes excitedly.

“Tallie, would you really blow Blake for going to formal with you?” Tarrah asks.

“f**k yeah, and a lot more,” she admits. “So much more.”

Blake would rather die than be on my s**t-list. Everyone would. I have an uncanny ability to make people quake with fear when I’m around. I’m loud. Completely outspoken. And downright degrading if need be. And if Blake doesn’t go with Tallie to our formal, then he’ll feel my wrath—publicly. And nobody wants that. Ever.

Just to be sure, I tap out a text: Go with her. Or else.

No need to explain any further. As long as Tallie gets her ass in gear, then he’ll know what I’m referring to. I ignore his response. I’m done. I did my civic duty for the day.

“Tallie, stop over to his frat house now, and tell him,” I say, taking her phone out of her hands. “Change that awful turtleneck before you go. Nobody f*****g wears mustard yellow and dark brown, ya f*****g librarian.”

“Wear that one shirt that your boobs fall out of,” Tarrah offers.

“Yep, good choice,” I agree. Tallie bounds up the stairs, waving us off.

“So now that you and Jeff are done, who’re you taking to formal?” Tarrah asks, plopping down on the sofa in our common room.

“Don’t know. I’ll probably just ‘Grab-N-Go.’ It’s better that way anyway,” I say, picking up a magazine and flipping through it. “I can spend all night getting to know him and all morning having him get to know me.”

“I don’t know how you do that. I’d be scared shitless to walk up to a complete stranger and just assume he’d go out with me.”

“That’s because you’re insecure as f**k. I’m not.”

“So, why’d you break up with Jeff anyway?” she asks, leaning in conspiratorially.

“I’ve told you. The internship.” I say, shrugging. “I’m not dating anyone who can’t land a lame internship like that Stephen Farley Incorp. one. God, can you say loser?”

“That’s really the only reason? We really liked him Mar. He was nice.”

“He had an ugly d**k. It was crooked with a red splotch on it. I took a pic of it and sent it to webmd.com, but it wasn’t anything. Just f*****g ugly,” I explain. “Do you know what it was like trying to suck him off with that foul red mark just staring at me?” I scroll through my pictures and show her the image.

“Ewww, gross. Why would you show me that?”

“So, you never ask me again why I dumped Cyclops Cock.”

I glance over, and Nia Powers is pretending to work on her laptop while watching our every move and hanging on to our every word. I can’t stand gawking eavesdroppers. Mind your own f*****g business and stay the Hell out of mine.

I stand up and spin dramatically. “Do I look okay?” I say, catching her completely off guard. She drops her eyes and begins pecking away at her keyboard, mumbling a nearly inaudible “beautiful,” followed by a stammering “sorry.”

“That’s what I thought,” I say, rolling my eyes and sitting back down.

I have used that same phrase since middle school. Every f*****g time some dumbass gawker starts staring at me, I just simply smile, bat my eyelashes, and say, “Do I look okay?” Shuts them right the f**k up—not that they were talking—but they were staring and that’s enough. You want to stare at me like I’m some kind of show; then you’re getting called out. People who stare are goddamn weirdoes.

“Jeez Mar, Nia is the quietest, shiest girl in here. Why ya gotta f**k with her like that?”

“Seriously? Why does she have to stare at me like some nutjob ready to wear my skin as a leisure suit? How’d she even get into DO anyway? Don’t we have restrictions on losers like her?”

“She’s a legacy. Her mom was a DO.”

Fucking bullshit.