“China, huh?” I drop my bag of already clean laundry to the floor. Many of my clothes get re-washed to justify studying with Banner in a laundromat.
“Basketball is exploding in China,” she says. “Yao Ming tore down the Great Wall, so to speak. The financial implications of China for the NBA are huge.”
“So they tell me in our Econ class.”
After having no classes with Banner at Kerrington, despite the fact we are both sports management majors, we share two classes our last year here.
“Speaking of which, we need to study for that final,” she says, tossing a dryer-warm T-shirt in my face. “And you’re late. Again.”
“Sorry.” I toss the T-shirt back into her pile of navy blue and black cotton. “Again.”
“I hope it’s worth it.”
I let her words settle around us for a second before answering.
“You hope what’s worth it?” I ask with a quick frown.
“I’m not stupid,” she says wryly.
“Obviously.”
“I know what you’ve been up to,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
Oh, shit.
“Uh . . . you do?”
“Of course.” She hits my shoulder with her small fist. “You’re pledging a fraternity.”
A relieved breath rushes past my lips. “What makes you think that?”
“The buzz cut?” She points to my shorn hair. “The late hours and weird ‘assignments.’ It all adds up to a fraternity. I just hope they aren’t asking you to do anything too outrageous. Or dangerous.”
The stern line of her lips paired with the belligerent glint in her eye makes me want to divulge all the outrageous, dangerous shit I’ve done the last three months to get in with The Pride. Of course, every prospect signs confidentiality agreements, and even if we don’t get in, we can’t talk about The Pride. But if I could tell her . . . she looks like she would kick some ass in my defense.
“So are you in?” she asks, going back to the pile of darks and starting to fold again.
Hell no. Prescott’s words “fuck a fat girl” resurface in my head, and anger grips me by the throat. I swallow several colorful curses and simply shake my head.