(song: "Vampire" - Lazyboy Empire)
London Danes was positive that if the poet Elizabeth Barret Browning had the misfortune to meet Paris Gilbert she'd have written something like, 'how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways'. There was no person on earth that London disliked more than Paris, which was really funny, because Paris used to be the person she loved the most—next to her family and her adorably pug Mr. Pugsley.
However, those better days were like the ghost of Christmas past.
London stood behind a large winter-bare hedge staring at a slim Asian boy who was enjoying his hot cup of coffee on a park bench all alone. He was so oblivious and innocent looking, like a deer enjoying a tasty pile of acorns.
Poor guy, he had no idea what he was about to deal with.
He wore an oversized tacky green sweater with an old wrinkled beige coat, he had a pleasant boyish face, but he just was completely out of style. None of those things really mattered to London, but his style was a complete contrast to hers.
She liked to wear army jackets, nose rings, dark makeup and a pointed gray-nail manicure. Her hair was usually big or crazy and she'd been described by guys in the past as 'pretty, but scary'. She was usually a repellent towards Asian guys especially. London was positive that if she so much as waved at the boy, he would take one look at her and run in the opposite direction.
This was a huge problem because very close by, Paris stood by the trunk of an old tree observing the same boy. Paris Garcia had baby cheeks, freshly styled hair and adorable angel-like smile. Paris had all the qualities that usually made guys babble and fumble all over themselves.
London's future depended on being able to make this guy find her charming, attractive and dating material. If Paris got to the boy first London could say good-bye to ever possibly moving into the upper echelons of society.
This was war.
The two girls stared down each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. The first girl to approach the boy—named Dean Wong—would win round one. So ready or not, London would have to go out there and risk Dean dashing off like a frightened rabbit.
She'd count to three and go.
One.
Two.
Three . . .
One week earlier . . .
"It literally kills me that her and I attend the same university," London complained to her roommate while stuffing papers into her green canvas book-bag.
"Most people when they graduate high-school don't have to see the people they used to go to school with for years if ever. It feels like everywhere I go, Paris is always there just one step ahead of me," London continued.
London's roommate Connie Kim, rolled from beneath the comfort of her fluffy, warm bed to stare at London apathetically. Her hair stuck up and out in every direction and she wore a pair of powder-blue cupcake pajamas.
"You know what the guys I dated in high-school used to say?" London asked, but didn't wait for Connie to say anything before she rambled on. "They said 'I would love to travel from London to Paris', some kind of sick euphemism for two-timing me with Paris. Every guy I was ever interested in or dated ended up with her."
Connie slipped on her glasses and pressed her fingertips against her temples to rub them gently. "Brain not ready to process your early morning complaints without coffee."
London rolled her wavy hair into a big messy bun atop her head and smiled in a sweetly mischievous way. "Be honest, you'll miss me when I'm staying at the sorority house."
"Let's see, will I miss actually getting to sleep in until my alarm goes off? Hm, that's a tough one," Connie's voice dripped with sarcasm.
London checked herself out in the long standing-mirror in their room. She was covered from head-to-toe in black and army-green, she looked like a girl ready for a fight. It was exactly how she liked to look for taking on morning lectures. "Don't worry, we'll still hang out and do things even when I'm not staying here with you."
"Yay, I can't contain my excitement," Connie's voice was as dry and as emotionless as a rock in the desert.
London laughed. "Wow, Connie you really aren't a morning person."
"I'm a coffee person. I'm under pressure from my family to study like a machine. I'll smile after I have caffeine running through my veins."
London twisted her body a bit to try and make herself seem cuter than she probably looked in her combat boots. "If you can get ready in thirty-minutes I'll treat you to a latte?"
Connie didn't even respond, she pulled on a large coat, a ridiculous flannel hat and her boots. "Done. Treat me."
Maybe London had made a huge mistake in offering to pay for Connie. When they reached the coffee shop Connie ordered the largest latte on the menu plus a few of the blueberry muffins. London had a strict budget to stay on and Connie's order meant that she'd be eating cup noodles for the next two days.
"God, did you really have to order so much?" London groaned while banging her forehead down against the top of the table.
"I don't even understand why you want to join this stupid sorority," Connie sighed. "They're all over-priced and you can barely afford buying me a coffee. They will suck up all of your time, which is limited enough with classes."
"Trust me, I wish I didn't have to try and join, but this semester Annabella Yates, Gabriella Graves and Hannah Martin are members. These girls are the daughters of really reputable people in the fashion industry. Joining this sorority can solidify my career, it's a really hard job field to be in with no connections. I'd be stuck just steaming clothes for the rest of my life. I just hate that Paris is also pledging there," London explained.
She quickly checked her phone, it was time for her to face her fate. "Oh god, I've got to go."
"Well, good luck joining a society of femmebots."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Connie."
The sorority house was massive with white wood and red-bricks. London used to think sororities were full of parties and scantily-clad girls involved in all sorts of madness. This couldn't have been further from the truth. The house was decorated inside like something out of an IKEA catalogue. It was lovely and clean. The sorority sisters were extremely involved in their school work and in doing a large amount of philanthropy events.
London sat on a couch with a mug of apple cider in her hand. She wasn't a fan of apple juice, but since it'd been offered to her she didn't want to say or do anything to jeopardize her chances of getting accepted.
Paris stepped into the sitting room with the air of a celebrity. She had on white woolly clothes, sunglasses and high leather boots. Her sweet face and rosy cheeks made her seem adorable and gorgeous at the same time.
"You're late," London twisted up a fake smile at her.
Paris slipped into an orange-cream colored seat and crossed her legs. Her fingers delicately removed her glasses from her face as calmly as still water. "Yes, I was having breakfast with the sisters and I guess we lost track of time . . . "
London internally felt like screaming. How had Paris managed to get so close with them already?
Three girls stepped into the room. The person who always seemed to take charge was Annabelle. She had that shimmery sort of hair people in shampoo commercials managed to have. It was dark and long. Her features were wildly exotic, with hazel-green sort of eyes and dark-brown skin with a coppery undertone tone.
Annabelle walked like a model, but spoke like a corporate business woman.
"So girls, here's the issue, we really like both of you, unfortunately though we had a lot of legacy members this semester we had to let in," Annabelle began.
She looked between London and Paris with stoic features.
"So in short, we can only accept one of you . . . "
This information made London's heart sink into her stomach. If they could only pick one person, it'd definitely be Paris. Paris had breakfast with them, they had obviously bonded.
London glanced over in Paris's direction and she looked as smug as ever.
God, she hated that girl.
"I don't want you to think one of you has the advantage over the other," Hannah jumped into the conversation. She was the heart and soul of the sorority, with blue-eyes and silvery-blonde hair. "We have a little tradition we do for tie-breaking here, it kind of shows us who really and truly wants to be a part of our sisterhood."
"There is a guy who attends our university. His name is Dean Wong," Annabelle said. "He is in most of our classes, but he is extremely anti-social and difficult to talk with. We're not entirely sure if he even understands English completely."
"A total recluse," Hannah added.
"If you can manage to soften him up and actually date him, it will prove you're the kind of girl who's capable of accomplishing the impossible. We'll need proof of course, he wears a green sweater a lot. Get a romantic sort of selfie and bring his sweater. First girl to do that will be accepted," Annabelle finished.
"But there's a catch. You can't tell him any of this, and he can't ever catch on to what you're doing. It has to seem completely natural." Hannah warned.
London felt uncomfortable with the idea. She wasn't good at seducing anyone. She was too tall for most guys and that intimidated them. London was too weird and too straightforward.
"If it's all supposed to be natural, what happens if he really likes me? Do I eventually tell him that it was just a plan to get into the sorority?" Paris dared to ask.
London rolled her eyes, of course Paris would assume that he'd fall for her.
"No. You just make it seem like a break-up. End it clean and simple, give him time to move on. It'd be much uglier to tell him the truth," Hannah advised.
"What happens if he catches on to one or both of us?" London asked while looking down at her feet.
"Then neither of you are accepted. We want things to be fair. You both are equals in this. May the craftiest girl win . . . "
The two girls stared down each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. The first girl to approach the boy—named Dean Wong—would win round one. So ready or not, London would have to go out there and risk Dean dashing off like a frightened rabbit.
She'd count to three and go.
One.
Two.
Three . . .
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