Free Sorority Sister by Diane Hoh Page A

of the whole subject, Maxie asked, “Brendan hasn’t called, has he?”
    “No. Was he supposed to?”
    “I guess not,” Maxie answered vaguely, and thought, Liar! He was definitely supposed to call. To deliver an apology for not being more supportive. If you couldn’t turn to your boyfriend when things were going wrong, who could you turn to?
    Dinner was a gloomy affair. There seemed to Maxie to be two groups of people at the table: those who ate for comfort because they were uneasy about the upcoming visit by the police, and those who couldn’t eat at all, for exactly the same reason. Maxie was in the latter group. She barely touched her food.
    As she and Tinker began carrying plates to the kitchen, Tinker muttered, “I wish they’d hurry up and get here. The sooner we get this over with, the faster things will return to normal in this house. We’re all walking around like this place is full of land mines.”
    “Because that’s the way it feels,” Maxie agreed.
    “Well, I think it’s getting to me,” Tinker said, dropping her stack of plates on the kitchen counter. “I don’t feel so hot.” Her hands went to her stomach. “Can you finish here? I — ” she turned suddenly and ran from the room. Maxie heard her feet pounding up the stairs.
    Tinker, sick? Tinker was never sick.
    Before Maxie could go after Tinker to check on her, the doorbell rang. Maxie hurried out to answer it. Using the peephole felt strange, as if she were studying someone under a microscope. Two uniformed police officers, a man and a woman, were waiting on the front porch. The woman held up a gold badge. As far as Maxie could tell, it was an authentic police badge, so she let them in.
    She closed the door when they were inside, turned around, and came face-to-face with Erica, who had come to greet the two officers.
    But the sorority’s president couldn’t even manage a “hello.” She was clearly ill. She looked terrible. Her face was contorted in pain and had a greenish pallor to it. A fine sheen of sweat covered her skin, and her hands were placed protectively over her stomach.
    “Erica?” Maxie said, moving toward her, “what’s wrong?” But before she reached the spot where Erica stood with her face twisted in agony, Erica’s knees buckled, and she crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain.
    As the officers moved to Erica’s side, Tinker and Candie came into the foyer, both walking unsteadily, their faces the same color as Erica’s. Tinker held one hand to her mouth, the other pressed against her stomach. Candie leaned heavily on the railing as they struggled up the stairs. The sound of a door closing on the second floor was followed by painful retching sounds.
    The kitchen door opened as Mildred emerged to clear the rest of the dishes from the dining room. When she saw Erica lying on her back, her knees drawn up against what was obviously severe pain, she rushed to kneel beside the fallen girl. “What’s happening?” she cried. “Maxie, what is wrong with Erica?”
    Before Maxie could answer honestly that she didn’t know, two more girls came staggering out of the kitchen, groaning.
    Mildred took one look at them and said urgently to the police officers, “You’d better get an ambulance over here. Something is terribly wrong.”
    One of the officers went outside to make the call. The other stayed behind, taking Erica’s pulse, asking Maxie to go get a glass of water.
    When she returned, Mildred lifted her head to ask, “Maxie, what is this? What’s happened? Erica looks like she’s …like she’s dying !”
    “So do the others,” Maxie agreed. “Tinker and Candie, and Morgan and Sarah.” A trio of girls made their way out of the kitchen and into the living room, where they flopped on a pair of leather couches. “And Sheila and Dennie and Nita don’t look so hot, either.”
    “But … but you’re not sick, Maxie?” Mildred asked with concern.
    Erica groaned. She seemed to be having trouble breathing,