𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 | RAFE CAMERON

Three | S O R O R I T Y W A R S

The insistent shaking of my shoulder jolted me awake. It was Penny, her face illuminated by the faint glow of her phone. "Get up, we have a sorority task to do," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the muffled hum of the air conditioner. "Put on your shoes and grab a bandanna."

She thrust a red bandana into my hand before disappearing back into the hallway. I yank the sheets off of me and slip on my sneakers checking the time, 4am. I followed Penny outside our dorm room, Lilah was waiting, her eyes wide and waiting for Pennys orders.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice was quickly hushed by the other sorority girls.

"The frat boys vandalized our welcome poster," Lilah whispered, "They drew... you know... all over it. We know it was them, and it's payback time."

My eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Payback? What are we going to do? We can't just... vandalize their house."

Lilah shook her head, a sly smile playing on her lips. "No, no, something much better. They mess with us, we mess with them. And trust me, this is way more fun."

I pulled the bandana over my face, tucking my hair underneath to conceal my identity. We tiptoed down the hallway and out into the silent, moonlit night, our footsteps muffled by the soft grass.

The frat house beamed ahead, its windows dark and unlit. We crept up to the back entrance, our hearts pounding in our chests. Lilah whispered, "The boys are in the locker room, showering after their early practice game. This is our chance."

We slipped inside the locker room, the strong scent of sweat and chlorine hitting our nostrils. My eyes darted around, taking in the rows upon rows of lockers, each one labeled with a name tag.

"This is going to be good," Penny whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

We spent what felt like an eternity rifling through the lockers, stuffing their underwear, socks, and t-shirts into our bags. As we finished, we heard the sound of the locker room door creaking open.

We scrambled out of the locker room and hid in the bushes, barely containing our giggles as we watched the confused boys run out the locker room. They were wrapped in strips of toilet paper, their expressions were priceless.

"What the hell happened?" one of them grumbled, pulling at the flimsy strands of toilet paper. "My clothes are gone!"

Another boy emerged, his face fuelled with frustration. "Seriously? Who did this? My underwear! It was brand new!"

We watched, our silent laughter emitting from the bushes. "This is so petty but so satisfying," Lilah whispered. I couldn't deny it was pretty funny.

Penny, who had been snapping photos on her phone, suddenly gasped. "Oh my God, look who's here."

I peered over her shoulder, my heart doing a little dance. There he was, Rafe, his face a mixture of confusion and annoyance as he stared at his empty locker.

"Rafe, you look like you've been in a paper shredder," Penny giggled, her voice barely audible. She quickly snapped a picture before we all broke into a mad dash, our laughter echoing in the night.

We sprinted across the lawn, the angry shouts of the frat boys hot on our heels. We burst into the sorority house, slamming the doors behind us and scrambling into our rooms. We could still hear the boys banging on the doors, their shouts muffled by the sound of our laughter.

Finally, the noise died down. We met back in Penny's room, panting and laughing. "Good job, girls!" Penny said, high-fiving me. I grabbed the phone and scrolled through the pictures. Rafe looked like a complete idiot in his toilet paper, and I couldn't help but laugh.

As the first rays of dawn crept through the window, we got ready for our classes. We might have been a little crazy, but we definitely showed those frat boys that messing with us came with consequences.

— one hour later

"Okay, class," Professor Johnson announced, his voice a gentle rumble. "Who can tell me the significance of Hamlet's famous line, 'To be or not to be, that is the question?'"

Several hands shot up, including mine. My tutoring sessions with Rafe had really paid off. I knew this one.

Professor Johnson called on me. I stood up, feeling confident in my answer.

"Hamlet is contemplating the meaning of life and death," I stated. "He's questioning whether it's better to endure the pain of life or end it all."

A satisfied smile played on Professor Johnson's lips. "Excellent, Scarlett," he said. "But what specific circumstances are leading him to this thought?"

Before I could elaborate, a hand shot up in the back of the room. Rafe.

"The line comes after Hamlet has discovered his father's murder and feels despair at the corruption of the court," he stated smoothly, his voice rich and deep, capturing amused glances from the girls in class. "He's questioning if it's worth living in a world filled with such deceit and suffering."

It was almost as if the question felt personal for him to answer, like he could relate to Hamlet.

Professor Johnson nodded in approval, giving us more questions to answer, and I, despite my earlier confidence, found myself struggling. Rafe on the other hand, seemed to effortlessly answer every question with ease.

"Who can identify the irony in Act III, scene two, when Hamlet confronts Ophelia?" Professor Johnson asked.

My hand shot up again, hoping to redeem myself.

"The irony lies in the fact that Ophelia is unaware of Hamlet's true feelings for her," I blurted out.

"Not quite," Professor Johnson said gently.

Rafe's hand shot up again, "The true irony actually lies in Hamlet's madness. Ophelia thinks he's insane, while the audience knows he is only acting."

He was right again.

As the class ended, I lingered by my desk, trying to pretend I wasn't embarrassed. I watched as Rafe chatted with Professor Johnson, his expression proud.

"Wow," I said, appearing beside him with a forced smile. "You're even smarter than me now. Looks like you don't need a tutor anymore."

Rafe grinned, shaking his head. "Actually, I was thinking about asking you to keep tutoring me," he said, his voice soft. "I'm really struggling with a few things in 'The Tempest.'"

"The Tempest?'" I scoffed. "Didn't you already ace the quiz on it last week?"

"Yeah," he said, a smile began to play on his lips. "But I need help with the symbolism and the themes."

"I guess," I murmured, "I could maybe squeeze in one more tutoring session."

"Great," he said, his smile turning into a grin. "I'm free on Thursday."

"Perfect." I nodded. Just as I was about to turn around I stalled myself, "You know it wasn't my idea of stealing your clothes. The Kappa sisters wanted to get back at you guys for vandalizing our poster."

"I figured they roped you in, I'm not mad." He states, throwing his bag over his shoulder, "See you later, Scar."

Scar?

I haven't heard someone call me that since I was a kid. I kind of... liked it?