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When the girl is gone, I shove earbuds into my ears and blast my current obsession—an indie band I stumbled across on YouTube. I swear, if these guys would only market themselves properly, they’d be the biggest thing going. Music blaring, I grab a whiskey bottle and a joint and flop back into my chair, determined to get shitfaced and stupid until I pass out cold.
But after only a couple swigs of whiskey, before I’ve even lit up the joint, I suddenly remember something a fraternity brother said a couple months ago during a poker game at the house—a comment that suddenly makes me want to add him to the guest list for my solo pity party.
Josh Faraday.
He’s the richest guy in my fraternity house. Maybe even at UCLA, thanks to a massive inheritance he got last year, split down the middle with his fraternal twin. But money isn’t why I’m suddenly thinking about calling Josh. It’s the shocking thing he said.
I was sitting next to Josh at the rowdy poker table when another fraternity brother, a hard-partier named Alonso, stumbled through the front door, looking like a drunken hobo in a back alley. So, of course, everyone started slinging insults at Alonso. Telling him he looked like roadkill, etcetera. It was all the usual stuff—except for what Josh said. “Damn, Alonso,” Josh threw out. “You look as fucked-up as my father did the last time I saw him... and he’d just blown his brains out.”
I was shocked by Josh’s comment. Before then, I’d known Josh’s dad had passed away right before Josh had started UCLA, but I’d assumed, like everyone else, that Josh’s dad had died of natural causes. And also that Josh, understandably heartbroken about his loss, didn’t want to talk about it. Not that I would have asked Josh about his father’s death, regardless. I never ask anyone questions about their parents, lest they get the bright idea to ask me about mine. But, now, sitting here in my fraternity room with nobody but my buddies Jack and Mary Juana, I’m suddenly hell-bent on asking Josh a thousand questions about the shocking thing he said while sitting next to me at the poker table that night.
My heart clanging, I rip my earbuds out and grab my mobile.
“Are you at the house?” I ask Josh, interrupting his greeting.
“No, I’m in my car, about fifteen minutes away. What’s up?”
I swallow hard. “Don’t mention this to anyone, but my dad’s been in prison the past six years, and, today, I found out he hanged himself. I’m hoping you’ve got some words of wisdom about how to handle the situation.”
With a heavy sigh, Josh says he’s sorry to hear the bad news, and that he’s turning his car around. “About that confidentiality thing, though...?” he says. “You’re on speaker right now in my car, and Henn’s sitting here. Sorry. I didn’t think to mention it before you started talking. But don’t worry. Henn’s a steel trap.”
Henn’s voice says, “Absolutely.”
“Henn’s the best guy in the world to have around in any kind of shit storm, Reed. Would it be okay for me to bring him along to hang out? I think, once you get to know him, you’ll be glad I did.”
I pause. I’ve interacted now and again with Peter “Henn” Hennessy—a funny, nerdy hacker dude from our pledge class—but always in loud, boisterous groups. I’m not sure tonight is the night I want to get to know him better.
As if reading my mind, Josh says, “Other than my brother, Henn’s the only person I’ve talked to about my dad. Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done without Henny this past year. He’s been the best friend a guy could ask for. My rock.”
Emotion unexpectedly rises inside me, constricting my throat. I’ve never had a “best friend” before, let alone a “rock.” But, sitting here now, I feel near-desperation to have both. I take a deep breath and push my emotion down—something I’ve grown accustomed to doing these past ten years. “Henn can come, as long as he’s down to get shitfaced. That’s the price of admission to this particular pity party.”
“I’m down,” Henn says. “Whatever you need, I’m in.”
“That goes double for me,” Josh adds. “Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell you exactly what I need. Three things. One, to get shitfaced and stoned out of my fucking mind tonight, until the images in my head fade to black. Two, to talk to someone before I pass out who can help me make sense of this fucked-up situation. And three, and this is the biggie: I need to figure out a Plan B.”
“A Plan B? For what?”
I take a deep, steadying breath. “For conquering the world, all by myself.”
Chapter 2
Georgina
Present day
As I walk past swarms of students on my way through campus, I get a call from my stepsister, Alessandra. Well, my former stepsister, technically. As busy as we both are—Alessandra’s majoring in music in Boston while I’m majoring in journalism here at UCLA, plus, we both work part-time jobs—we still manage to talk multiple times per day.
