Lookaway, Lookaway Read Online Free PDF Page A

heaven and earth to make herself agreeable to Sigma Kappa Nu. Phone calls to Bethany and Mallory revealed they were making their peace with their second and third choices, having to separate, not getting interest from the same house. They screamed in delight for her when she told them: “My God, Jerilyn Johnston is a Skank!” (Well, that’s what even they called themselves at Σ KN, tongue in cheek.)
    She knew the night would be a glorious celebration, and so, dead tired, dragged out from a week of death-by-shmoozing, she lay down for an afternoon nap. She skipped ENG 101 yet again. But what a coup! She had only wanted to see inside Sigma Kappa Nu when she crossed the street from Theta. She was thinking of it like a Farewell Tour: here, Jerilyn, is where the future rich and powerful frolic, here is the place you’ll never be … She stood before the Σ KN chapter house, three stories with a grand columned porch, azaleas and two giant magnolias, all menaced by a muddy construction project, the dug-up yard, and a terrible sewage smell.
    “Don’t run away!” It was Layla Throckmorton from Mecklenburg Country Day. Despite a long painful acquaintance, Jerilyn was still a little surprised super-popular Layla remembered her. “Hoo, I know it smells like manure every-damn-where. This work was supposed to be finished the first of August.” Layla was threading a careful path on flagstones through red-clay mud to reach her. “I’m on the New Members Committee,” she said, breathless. “Long story short—we all are this close to probation if we don’t get our GPA up. And then I was looking out the front door and I saw you and I went, hold everything, maybe we can get our hands on Jerilyn Johnston, brainiac!”
    Jerilyn had thought it was wrong, back in high school. Layla, a confident senior to her terrified junior, expected Jerilyn to just hand it over, their homework, last night’s chemistry or social studies take-home. Jerilyn had castigated herself for how weak she was to let her cheat, someone who had it all, really, who was smart enough to study but didn’t, just rode around in rich boys’ sports cars and always dressed in casual designer-labeled clothes, oh and she always smelled so nice.
    “Aw, I’m not that smart,” Jerilyn said, “I just work twice as hard as the smart ones. At least in a house like Sigma Kappa Nu, you know at the end of all that work there is some serious playtime.”
    Layla gave Jerilyn a hand up to the porch, then looked at her intently. “I see our reputation precedes us. And Jeri, I just love the short hair!”
    Jerilyn was led past the columned portico and inside toward the thumping bass of a hip-hop song. It was lovely inside … a little battered, but rich wood paneling in the front downstairs rooms, solid dark wood furniture upholstered in strong earthen colors, pastel hallways to living quarters and the kitchen … and then a step through a brief sheltered walkway between buildings to the dining hall, where the girls were gathered.
    Jerilyn had floated light-headed through the whole process. She relived it all, every conversation, every successful attempt at wit … how had she done it? Adrenaline, poise, a lifetime of practice for just such an occasion: she had charmed and smiled, performed her light girlish laugh which had been declared attractive, and she cleverly managed to strew hints of her old-family connections. Jerilyn Jarvis Johnston, yes, a Johnston of Charlotte, some tenth cousin once removed of Joseph E. Johnston, the Civil War hero.
    “Well,” Jerilyn sang, “he surrendered North Carolina and the whole of the South to Mr. Sherman, officially sealing the Southern defeat, so less said about that the better!”
    (Cue her infectious laugh.) Yes, daughter of Duke Johnston, the city councilman in Charlotte, Republican, for about six years, back in the 1980s. There was a baby photo of her being held aloft by her father at a victory rally; there were red campaign