The Makedown Read Online Free

Maureen by staring at her with expressions that alternated between sorrow and enthusiasm. This was an ill-advised plan; Maureen watched me with a perturbed expression before asking if I needed medical assistance. When I assured her that I was perfectly fine, she snorted, “That’s a matter of opinion,” and turned on her heel to confer with her “sisters” on first-round cuts. I crossed my fingers, arms, and legs and prayed to FG. Even if I wasn’t ultimately accepted into the Sisterhood of the Traveling Twin Sets, I yearned to make it to the second round. If I made it to the second round, I would break my lifelong streak of exclusion.
    After about thirty seconds, Maureen reentered the room with her sisters and a smug look of power. My stomach clenched painfully as I fought to stay positive. “First, I want to thank you all very much for applying to Delta Beta. Unfortunately, it’s impossible for us to accept everyone because”— Maureen paused to think of the best explanation— “Well, we didn’t like one of you . . . at all. Now, the following girls are advancing to the second round: Jennifer Fantini, Laurel Harrison, Theodora Marshall, Jane Murray, Harriet Nielsen, Judith Green, Bree Wallis, Marie Gordon, Alexa Hardin, Susie Coplan, and Stephanie Benedict.” Maureen had accepted everyone except me. Once again, I was rejected. I didn’t bother thanking her; instead, I stood and walked out. Screw you, Maureen, I thought as rage tempered my crashing self-esteem. Why had I even tried to be part of a sorority? They represent everything I despise about girls and society. I headed straight back to my dorm, hoping an evening of fantasizing about Nut would eradicate any memory of Republican fascist sisterhoods.
    As I approached my dorm room, I spotted Nut knocking on my door. Was this a blessing from the god of nerds? The first sign of FG? “Nut, are you looking for me?” I asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the amazement out of my voice.
    “Hey, can I watch
Felicity
in your room? My TV’s busted, and no one else will let me in.”
    “Yes, I would love to have you over.”
    “I brought Doritos,” Nut added. He sat next to me on the bed, acting as the official Doritos holder.
    “How great is Ben?” Nut sighed happily as
Felicity
’s theme music filled my cramped little abode.
    “I love him almost as much as I love Doritos,” I shot back with what I hoped was a flirtatious giggle.
    “Definitely,” was Nut’s clever reply. We both sat contentedly pushing Doritos into our mouths.
    Television was the foundation on which we would build a friendship. The two of us enjoyed weekly dates to watch
Felicity
and
Dawson’s Creek
while gorging on a variety of junk food from the local minimart. As episodes progressed, I squeezed closer and closer to Nut. One night, deep into the Felicity-hairgate, I decided it was time to take our relationship to the next level. Nut was a fan of OP corduroy shorts, which exposed his long and freckled legs. Under the influence of hormones and pent-up sexual aggression, I yanked up the hem of my maternity denim jean skirt, revealing my pale and flaccid thigh. A shiver ran up my spine, and not in a good way. Still I persevered. I raised my left leg onto Nut’s, washing over it like a tsunami swallowing a dingy. Spectacularly monstrous, I found it hard to look away as I brushed my leg back and forth over his. Nut stared at the screen, eyes locked on Ben Covington. My lack of exercise soon slowed my leg thrusts to a crawl. On the verge of a muscle spasm, I was greatly relieved when Nut leapt off the bed. “I think I should let you know something.” Nut paused as if waiting for a drum roll. “It’s really important. I am . . . a big fan of Ben’s. Do you understand?”
    “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I cooed seductively.
    “No, I don’t think you do. I mean . . . I mean . . . this is harder than telling my parents . . . I’m gay.”
    “Gay? But, but that’s impossible,” I