Sinners on Campus: Wonderland

Song: A Little Party Never Killed Nobody (Fergie)

“Come on, don’t be such a bore!”

Lying flat out on my bed, staring at the screen with the empty word-document open, I glance up at my roomie and roll my eyes.

Georgie is wearing the skimpiest outfit I have ever seen, her make-up caked on thick, and her dark hair is blown out to Dolly Parton proportions. She’s ready for a party. Then again, Georgie is always ready for a party.

Me, on the other hand?

I’ve been to exactly one party during my three years of college, and I was there for about twenty minutes before I figured out it just wasn’t for me.

Georgie thought I was boring, and she was partly right, but I mostly liked to think of myself as mature. My parents hadn’t paid obscene amounts of money for me to spend my entire college experience partying it up.

I was actually supposed to get a degree at the end of it, and I was one of those unlucky people who always had the shittiest hangovers after one drink too many.

Besides, even if I were to attend a party, I wouldn’t go with Georgie.

Don’t get me wrong. She’s my best friend, and I love her to pieces, but her crowd isn’t exactly mine. She’s a partygirl and I’m a bonafide nerd, and proud of it. So no, I’m not gonna abandon my computer and my drive to find the biggest story written by a student this year, in favor of some party that I won’t even enjoy a little bit. So what if that makes me boring?

“I’m not coming to your party, Geo. You’ll have more fun without me anyway.”

“Seriously, Vee, you haven’t been to a single party in, like, three years!”

“I know,” I agree proudly, and she shakes her head before sitting down on her own bed and pulling on a pair of heels that are so tall, I’m a little worried she’ll break her neck.

“Okay, well, whatever, be boring. I, on the other hand, will have fun and who knows, maybe tonight’s the night.” She grins, waggling her brows at me, and I frown.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, Wonderland. Maybe tonight’s the night I get an invite.”

I shake my head, totally lost.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Ugh,” she groans and scowles at me, “I told you about this, like, weeks ago. How I heard this rumor at that party I went to that was thrown by that guy from Columbia. You know, about this secret sex-club for students with, well, special appetites.”

I blink, trying to remember if I’ve ever heard her mention something like that, and I’m pretty sure this was the first I’ve heard of it. I mean, it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing I’d easily forget.

“What do you mean, “secret sex-club for students”?”

Georgie throws me an annoyed look and pushes off her bed, strutting to her closet to dig out a jacket, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she turns back to face me.

“I mean exactly that. Apparently, it’s called Wonderland or something, and that’s all I know.”

One day, I want to win a pulitzer.

I want to be a war-time reporter imbedded with one of our troops, reporting from behind enemy lines, depicting the brutal every day life of the men and women that fight our battles overseas.

And I want to be an investigative reporter. I want to expose shady companies and dig up dark cover-ups, like the Spotlight team at the Boston Globe, or like Erin Brockovich and what she did for all those people after their water was poisoned. Not that Erin was a reporter, but she still did a hell of a job taking down that shady company.

That’s the kind of journalism I want to do one day, but right then, with the words that just came out of Georgie’s mouth, I know I have my groundbreaking on-campus journalism story.

In a world where Fifty Shades of Grey,and After is all the hype for my generation, I know every student in the state will want to read the juicy story of a secret sex-club for students.

Unfortunately, to get the story, I have to put in the work, which means I’m going to a party with Georgie - whether I like it or not.

“How do you know it isn’t just a rumor?” I ask curiously, wanting to be absolutely sure there’s something to pursue before actually comitting to this party-thing.

“I don’t, not really,” Georgie shrugs, “but after I heard about it, I got curious and I asked around. And get this, Kelly - from across the hall - told me she’s been there. She was totally shitfaced when she said it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

I know Kelly, she’s a lot like Georgie. Both of them are only really at college for the party-experience, neither of them caring about their classes or their actual education all that much. Georgie comes from wealth, her parents has a lot of it, and instead of spending actual time with their daughter, they try to buy her happiness instead.

Most of the time it works, but every so often, especially around the holidays, I know Georgie hates it. If she could choose, she’d rather spend time with her parents, but she’s learned to accept whatever they’re willing to give.

Kelly, she’s the same. Wealthy parents trying to buy her happiness because they’re too busy to spend time with her. That Georgie and Kelly party together doesn’t surprise me at all.

Hell, their parents probably run in the same social circles and they’ve known each other for years. I also know, Kelly’s a compulsive liar and you can’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth - except for when she drinks, when everything that comes out of her mouth is the cold hard truth whether you want to hear it or not.

So, if Kelly told Georgie she’d been to Wonderland while she was hammered, then the secret sex-club wasn’t just a rumor - and I have to go to a stupid party on a friday night, to do some research.

My eyes are bleeding.

Not literally, but close enough.

I’ve been at the party for an hour. A party that turned out to be a freaking frat party, and there’s nothing I hate more than fratboys who thinks they’re God’s gift to women everywhere, all of them a bunch of arrogant, entitled assholes. At least the ones I’ve met, anyway.

Thankfully, considering I’m the huge nerd that I am, none of these guys would touch me with a ten-foot pole. They’re all about the cheerleaders, sorority girls and party girls like Georgie, the ones who don’t mind showing a little skin or having body shots done off them on a filthy kitchen table.

That last part being why my eyes are bleeding, seeing as Georgie’s the one lying on the kitchen table, her barely-there-in-the-first-place top shoved up to under her breasts while a bunch of guys are doing shots out of her belly button and sucking lime out of her mouth.

I’m probably the only girl at the party that won’t say “hell yeah!” with my hands in the air if some guy asks me to take off my top and let him lick my stomach and shoot tequila out of my belly button. I mean, has nobody ever heard the word hygiene before?

And I’m that girl, the one who wears darkwash jeans, skinned at the knees, and a white t-shirt that says “screw the patriarchy”.

Georgie all but had a meltdown when she saw what I was wearing, almost refused to take me, but I let her do my hair and make-up as a compromise and she forced one of her killer pair of heels on me, the killer part being they were killing my feet and I could use them as a murder weapon if I wanted to.

But this is a huge part of who Georgie is, and I hate being that girl, but I can’t help but judge her for it, the body shots thing that is. Then again, Georgie does a lot of stupid shit, and this is one of the less extreme things I’ve known her to do.

The worst part is, the entire hour I’ve been there, I’ve done nothing but follow Georgie around, making small-talk with people she introduces me to, people I’d never talk to - and who would never talk to me - under normal circumstances.

It’s not just that I’m a nerd, mostly it’s the fact that I’m just not popular. Throughout all three years I’ve been here, I’ve purposely kept a low profile. I’m not big on socializing, don’t have, nor do I want or need, a lot of friends, and I’ve only had one boyfriend my entire life.

Honestly, except for freshman year and the very first week, I’ve been a bit of a recluse. And the only reason I participated in the activities during freshman week was because of a fear of missing out. That was until I learned that missing out was exactly what I wanted.

Parties, drinking, hooking up with random strangers, the walk of shame... so not my thing it isn’t funny. So, logically, Georgie and I as best friends make no sense, but somehow it still works for both of us. But this, right here... I just can’t do it.

“She seems like she’s having a good time.” A voice breaks in just as I’m about to get the hell out of there, and I turn my head to my right to see a guy I vaguely recognize standing next to me. He’s holding a large red solo cup in one hand, the other stuffed into his jean pocket, eyes on the bodyshot-train, grinning huge.

And he’s one of them, I realize.

A fratboy.

He’s tall, and good looking, broad shoulders and chest revealed by a too tight white t-shirt, defined biceps, powerful thighs encased in faded blue jeans, and he’s got thick messy hair, dirty blonde, sticking out of the baseball cap he’s got on backwards. He has dark brown eyes, a square jaw, defined cheekbones - overall he’s just really good looking. With that said, he’s totally not my type.

I don’t know what my type is, but I know he’s not it.

“Georgie always has a good time,” I share, looking away from him and back at my best friend as a loud cheer erupts from the crowd standing around the table, and I watch as one of the guy’s helps her up in a sitting position.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that about her. Goodtime girl.”

I’m not sure how I feel about what he says. It’s not really what he says, but more how he says it.

Goodtime girl, like that’s all she is, all she’s good for. Like Georgie is the kind of girl who would do anything to have a good time - and he’s not entirely wrong - but even my lunatic best friend has lines she doesn’t cross, and I don’t like the fact that this random guy is judging her.

Okay, so, not five minutes ago I was doing the same thing, but Georgie’s my best friend, I know her, I know what she’s like, so I’m allowed to judge as long as I keep it to myself and don’t voice it out loud. Georgie told me that herself three years ago when we became college roommates.

And she judges me all the time.

I’m too boring, I don’t have a life, I’m going to end up dying alone surrounded by a thousand cats.

That’s us, me and Georgie, but this guy don’t get to judge her or think that just because she seems to be up for anything, he shouldn’t assume she actually is.

“Georgie always has a good time, she doesn’t need to be at a party for that.” I state, an edge in my voice I’m not sure he picks up on, but I can feel fratboy’s eyes on my face, glance his way to see he’s watching me curiously.

“I know Georgie, I’ve partied with her before, I didn’t mean anything bad.” He almost apologize and I sigh, nodding my head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you did. It’s just... when it comes to Gigi, I’m a little protective. She’s pretty much the only friend I have around here.”

It sucks admitting that out loud, even though I’m not exactly looking for more friends, but still... it sounds so pathetic.

“Well, not scowling in a corner while everyone else is having fun might help with that last part, Vienna.”

I frown at him, because first of all, I’m not scowling, and secondly, I feel like crap because he knows my name and I can’t for the life of me remember his.

“Just because I don’t have a lot of friends doesn’t mean that I want any more.” I point out. Honestly, the smaller my circle of friends, the better.

High school was a nightmare, mostly because I had a group of friends that always had some drama going on and I was the designated amateur psychologist, expected to fix all their dramas and listen to them bitch about each other. If I’d been as much of a nerd then as I was now, I think my experience would have been a whole lot better.

“So you’re saying you don’t want any more friends?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” I argue, or more like contradict, “what I mean is, too many friends usually lead to drama I don’t want to get in the middle of and speaking from past experience, I have a habit of getting dragged into those sort of things.”

“Ahh,” fratboy says, watching me as he takes a sip of whatever he’s got in that solo cup, “and Georgie isn’t drama?” he asks, his lips twitching, telling me exactly how well aqauinted he is with my best friend.

“Oh no, she totally is,” I laugh, grinning at him, “but she doesn’t drag me into it, just bitch about it when I need some gossip in my otherwise boring day-to-day life.”

Fratboy (God, I really need to get his name) nods, smiling outright now as his eyes flicker to where Georgie has currently been pulled into a game of beer-pong.

“Seems to me you’ve just picked bad friends, and I cross my heart -” he does just that, “- I’m pretty dramafree if you’re looking to expand your social circle.”

“Well then,” I mutter, eying him carefully, “this is probably the point I should tell you that I don’t even remember your name.”

He laughs at that, his eyes twinkling, something that makes him even more attractive, and had I been any other girl, I might have taken that moment to hit on him, but sadly he does nothing for me.

“It’s Adam,” he says, his deep voice heavy with the smile curling his lips, “Adam Green.”

“Okay, Adam, welcome to my very limited circle of friends.” Adam grins, shakes his head and somehow, I just know, Adam’s going to be in my life for a long time.

“Well thanks, I’m honored to be included.” I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but smile. Adam Green is one seriously charming fratboy.