Chapter 1
The frat house reeks of stale beer, sweat, and the kind of desperation only college boys can radiate.
It’s as if the walls are sweating, too, the way the air feels thick and damp. I dodge a guy in a toga holding a funnel. Why is it always a toga? And squeeze past a group of girls screaming at each other over the music. My heels stick to the floor with every step, and I have to actively stop myself from gagging. Why does every frat house feel like the inside of a movie theater, minus the popcorn and plus the smell of unwashed socks?
I’m on a mission. A terrible, horrible mission that only an insecure girlfriend on a gut feeling would willingly take on. Austin said he’d be here “hanging out with the guys,” but I’ve been searching for him for twenty minutes, and so far, no Austin. Just a bunch of frat bros, their red Solo cups, and the poor plants in the corner that have clearly been watered with more than just H2O.
If I get one more “Oh my God, Maddie, you’re here without Austin?” from a sorority sister with her overly glossed lips and her not-so-subtle smirk, I’m going to lose it. I’d roll my eyes harder, but they might get stuck.
The bass from the speakers rattles my chest, a deep, heavy thump that makes my pulse race faster than it already is. Every step I take feels like I’m walking deeper into the lion’s den. I pass the living room, where a group of guys is yelling over a beer pong game. The ball bounces off the edge of the table, and one of them dives to catch it like it’s the winning shot in the Stanley Cup.
I pause at the doorway to scan the crowd, but there’s no sign of Austin. My chest tightens, part relief, part simmering frustration.
“Hey, Maddie!” a voice calls out.
I glance toward the sound. One of Austin’s hockey brothers is waving at me, holding up a red cup. I don’t remember his name. I don’t rememebr any of their names. Austin almost never has me around them. Like hes hiding me. “Wanna be my partner?”
“No thanks.” I force a smile, tight and polite, before ducking into the kitchen.
And that’s when I see them.
Austin. My Austin. Standing by the fridge with some girl practically draped over him like a scarf that’s two sizes too small. Her platinum-blonde hair catches the harsh fluorescent light, glowing in a way that makes her look airbrushed into reality. Her hands are looped around his neck like she’s afraid he might float away, and she’s looking up at him with big, doe eyes that scream pick me, choose me, love me.
But the part that bothers me the most? He’s smiling. Smiling in that lazy, confident way that used to make my stomach flip but now just makes me want to flip the entire table next to them.
I freeze. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the pounding bass of the music, but somehow I still hear her voice. High-pitched and giggly, like a windchime on speed.
“Austin, you’re so funny.”
Oh, give me a break. Funny? Austin? The guy’s best joke is saying, “What do you mean we’re out of milk?” after finishing the last of it himself.
Then he leans closer to her, his hand resting on her hip like it belongs there, like it’s a perfectly natural thing for him to do when his girlfriend is out of sight but not out of mind.
How often does he do this kind of thing when I’m not around to be this comfortable doing it in front of a crowd of people who know I exsist?
My hand clenches around the strap of my purse, and for a split second, I consider swinging it at his head. The thought is deeply satisfying, but no, I’m better than that.
Barely.
“Austin,” I say, stepping into the kitchen. My voice cuts through the noise like a fire alarm, sharp and unignorable.
The blonde jerks back so fast you’d think she’d been electrocuted. Her hands drop from his neck, and she stumbles a step away, her cheeks flushing a shade of pink that matches her too-tight dress.
“Maddie?” Austin’s eyes widen, and his hand falls from her hip like it’s suddenly on fire. He takes a step toward me, palms up like he’s trying to calm a rabid dog. “Hey, uh, what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” I repeat, my voice climbing an octave. I take another step forward, my heels clicking against the sticky tile floor. “What are you doing here, playing touchy-feely with Malibu Barbie?”
The girl looks offended, but I don’t care. Let her be offended. Let her take her shiny hair and her Bambi eyes and go.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Austin says quickly, holding up his hands like he’s auditioning for a crime procedural. “We were just talking.”
“Talking?” I glance at the blonde again, raising an eyebrow. “Does ‘talking’ usually involve your hand on her ass?”
“Maddie, keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing around the kitchen. Like I’m embarrassing him. Like he’s the victim here.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snap, throwing my arms out wide. “Am I making a scene? Don’t worry, Austin. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Before I can think better of it, I grab the nearest cup off the counter. It’s half-full of something dark and sticky, and I don’t even hesitate. I toss the liquid at him, and it splashes all over his pristine white polo shirt, leaving a stain that spreads like a bad decision.
He steps back, his mouth dropping open in shock. “Maddie, come on!”
“No, you come on,” I spit, dropping the cup back onto the counter with a satisfying clatter. “Come on and explain why you’re here with her while I’m getting pity stares from your friends all night.”
He doesn’t answer. Of course, he doesn’t answer.
I don’t wait for him to come up with some half-assed excuse. I turn on my heel and storm out of the kitchen, my heart pounding so hard it might actually break through my ribs. My vision blurs, whether from anger or tears, I don’t know. I don’t care.
The kitchen is dead silent as I leave, but the music in the living room blares louder, and the chatter of partygoers rises to fill the void. Someone laughs as I shove past them, and I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts.
By the time I’m out the front door and onto the sidewalk, the cool night air hits me like a slap to the face. I inhale deeply, my lungs burning, and blink away the tears threatening to spill over.
Screw him. Screw Austin.
He doesn’t get to make me cry.
I’m back in my dorm room, curled up on my bed in my favorite sweats. The LED lights strung up along the walls cast a soft purple glow, which would normally be soothing if my brain weren’t currently trying to claw its way out of my skull.
The first notification pings just as I pull a blanket over my legs.
I glance at my phone, lying face-up on the comforter like an omen.
“You’re trending.”
Two words. Simple. Devastating.
My stomach lurches. “Oh no,” I mutter, snatching the phone and unlocking the screen with shaky fingers.
The video is the first thing I see. It’s a grainy, poorly shot clip, but the content is clear as day. There I am, standing in the frat kitchen, mid-drink-throw. The liquid arches through the air like a scene from an indie film about scorned lovers.
The caption? “Maddie’s meltdown ft. Austin the Asshat.”
I stare at it, my mouth going dry. It already has over 200 likes, and the comments are multiplying faster than a group project email chain.
I groan and drop the phone onto my chest like it’s a live grenade. “Jess!” I yell for my roommate, my voice muffled by the blanket I pull over my face.
“What?” she calls back from the bathroom.
“I’m a meme!”
A beat of silence. Then the bathroom door creaks open, and Jess steps out, her face smeared with some green gooey mask that makes her look like a half-formed alien. She’s holding a toothbrush in one hand and wearing an oversized T-shirt that.
“What do you mean, you’re a meme?” she asks, casually leaning against the doorframe as if I haven’t just announced the end of my social life.
I sit up, clutching my phone. “This! This is what I mean.”
I thrust the phone at her, and she takes it, squinting at the screen. She presses play, and the sound of my own voice yelling at Austin fills the room.
Jess doesn’t even try to hold it in. She snorts. Then she laughs so hard she has to clutch the doorframe to stay upright.
“Okay, first of all,” she wheezes, “your form was flawless. The wrist flick? Perfection. If they gave out medals for drink-throwing, you’d have gold.”
“Jess,” I say, glaring.
“Second of all,” she continues, ignoring me as she hands back the phone, “he totally deserved it. Everyone on campus knows Austin’s a player. You just gave him the public shaming he’s been dodging for years.”
“Yeah, well, now everyone’s talking about it,” I mutter, scrolling through the comments.
They’re a mixed bag, as expected.
“Queen behavior!”
“Iconic. Absolutely iconic.”
“Does she think this is The Bachelor?”
“This is what happens when you date frat boy hockey players. Yikes.”
Each comment makes my stomach twist tighter. It’s like I’m standing in the middle of the world’s most judgmental spotlight.
Jess walks over and plops down on my bed, crossing her legs. “Look, you can’t control what people are going to say. All you can do is own it.”
“Own what? That I look like a crazy person?”
Jess shrugs. “Better than looking like a doormat. You stood up for yourself. I’d call that a win.”
“Great,” I deadpan, tossing my phone onto the bed. “So now I’m not only single but also the poster child for unhinged girlfriends everywhere. Fantastic.”
Jess gives me a look, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation. “Maddie, you’re not unhinged. You’re... spirited. Besides, anyone who watches that video can see you’re the victim here.”
“Can they, though?” I flop onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, where the faint glow of the LED lights makes little halos of color. “Because all I see is the girl who lost her cool in public. That’s what people are going to remember. Not Austin being a cheating asshole. Me, screaming and throwing a drink like I’m auditioning for Real Housewives of Sorority Row.”
Jess tilts her head. “You do have that reality TV flair.”
I shoot her a glare, and she holds up her hands in mock surrender.
“Okay, okay, but seriously,” she says, leaning back on her hands. “What are you going to do now?”
“Do?” I echo, turning my head to look at her.
“Yeah,” she says, gesturing vaguely. “You can’t just sit here doom-scrolling all night. You need to get ahead of this. Spin it in your favor or something.”
“What am I, a PR firm?”
Jess grins. “No, but you’re Maddie Arden, marketing and PR major extraordinaire. And if anyone can turn a meltdown into a power move, it’s you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s the least convincing pep talk I’ve ever heard.”
Jess shrugs, but there’s a flicker of seriousness in her eyes now. “I’m just saying, you have two options. You can sit here and feel sorry for yourself, or you can make sure Austin regrets ever messing with you.”
That catches my attention. “What are you suggesting?”
She leans in, lowering her voice like we’re plotting a bank heist. “I’m saying you don’t let him get away with it. You don’t let him walk around campus thinking he’s untouchable.”
I sit up slowly, her words sinking in. “You mean revenge.”
“I mean justice,” she says, grinning.
I pick up my phone again, staring at the paused video on the screen. Maybe Jess is right. Maybe this doesn’t have to be the end of my reputation. Maybe it’s the beginning of something better.
“Okay,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Let’s make him pay.”
Jess grins like a cat who’s just been handed the keys to the cream factory. “Now that’s the Maddie I know.”
By the time the sun rises, I’m no longer wallowing. I’m plotting.
The soft glow of the morning filters through the blinds, throwing faint stripes of light across my desk. My laptop hums in front of me, the screen filled with tabs and lists. A mug of coffee sits nearby, the third one of the night, and my foot bounces under the desk as my brain hums with possibilities.
Austin doesn’t get to walk away from this unscathed. Not after what he did. Not after making me look like the crazy ex in front of half the campus.
I scroll through the hockey team’s roster on the school’s athletics website, my eyes narrowing as I study the lineup. Their faces stare back at me, all sharp jaws and overconfident grins. It’s like a fraternity, but with more padding and fewer shirts.
Behind me, Jess stumbles out of bed, her dark hair sticking up in every possible direction. She looks like a small animal that got caught in a wind tunnel. Her oversize sweatshirt is sliding off one shoulder, and her socks don’t match. Classic Jess.
She groans, rubbing her eyes. “Why are you up? What time is it?”
“Brainstorming,” I say, spinning my laptop toward her with a grin.
She blinks at the screen, squinting like the light is physically attacking her. “Is that… the roster for the hockey team?”
“Yep.”
Jess stares at me for a moment before flopping face-first onto her bed with a dramatic groan. “Maddie, what are you doing?”
“Research,” I say cheerfully, tapping on the keyboard. The click-clack of the keys feels oddly satisfying, like each one is bringing me closer to victory.
She rolls over onto her back, propping herself up on her elbows. “Why are you researching the hockey team?”
“Austin loves hockey, right? It’s his whole personality. He’s always going on about how the team is his family, how the rink is his happy place, blah blah blah.” I wave a hand, dismissing his overused monologues. “So what better way to get back at him than by messing with his precious team?”
Jess sits up fully now, her interest piqued despite herself. “And how exactly are you going to do that? Sneak onto the ice and trip him during practice?”
“Not quite,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Let’s just say I’m going to make sure Austin learns what it feels like to be benched.”
She raises an eyebrow, looking at me like I’ve lost it. “You’re terrifying when you’re like this, you know that?”
I grin. “Thank you.”
Jess shakes her head but gets up and pads over to my desk, peering over my shoulder. “Okay, evil mastermind, walk me through this. What’s the plan?”
“Well,” I start, pointing to the roster on the screen, “the team has a lot riding on this season. They’re ranked in the top ten nationally, and Austin’s the star center. Without him, their chances drop significantly.”
“So… you’re going to get him kicked off the team?” Jess asks, her eyebrows shooting up.
“Not exactly,” I say, tapping a finger against my chin. “That would take too much effort, and honestly, I don’t think I could pull it off without getting caught. No, I want to do something subtler. Something that’ll get under his skin and throw him off his game.”
Jess snorts. “You’re not subtle, Maddie. You threw a drink on him in a kitchen full of witnesses.”
“That was different,” I say, waving her off. “This is going to be strategic. Calculated. Psychological warfare.”
“Wow,” Jess says, sitting back on my bed and crossing her legs. “I didn’t realize I was living with a Bond villain.”
I ignore her, my brain already racing ahead. I need to figure out how to get close to the team without drawing too much attention to myself. I need access. Inside information.
“Do you think Coach Peterson still runs the team’s social media accounts?” I ask, glancing at Jess.
She blinks. “What?”
“The hockey team’s social media,” I say, turning my laptop back toward me. “If I remember correctly, they were looking for someone to help manage it last year. If the position’s still open…”
Jess’s eyes widen. “You’re not seriously thinking about joining their social media team, are you?”
“Why not?” I say, already opening a new tab to search for the posting. “It’s the perfect cover. I’ll have access to the team, I’ll know what they’re doing, and I’ll be able to mess with Austin without him even realizing it.”
Jess lets out a low whistle. “You’re scarier than I thought. Remind me never to cross you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, grinning as I find the listing. Sure enough, the hockey team is still looking for a social media manager. The description is exactly what I’d hoped for: light graphic design, live-tweeting games, and posting practice highlights. Easy.
“Are you even qualified for that?” Jess asks, eyeing me skeptically.
“Of course I am,” I say, opening my resume. “I ran the Instagram account for the campus volunteer club last year. I know my way around a hashtag.”
Jess laughs. “Well, I can’t wait to see how this plays out. Just promise me one thing?”
“What’s that?” I ask, glancing at her.
“Don’t get yourself kicked out of school,” she says, her expression half-joking but half-serious.
“Don’t worry,” I say, hitting send on my application. “I’ve got this under control.”
