d a m s e l i n c o m m a n d

Here was the thing about chance encounters – they were never really as coincidental as you thought they were.

As a kid, I used to believe in fate, and when I got older, I tried my best to cling onto that belief, that fate (or some other cosmic power in the universe) gave people the opportunity to chance upon the same things again and again.

And again – as I soon found out.

It was a Wednesday; exactly four days after I'd met Miles. Not that I was counting but – well, who was I kidding, really? I was. I couldn't help but worry about him. Perhaps it was a little odd how protective I felt about Miles.

Maybe it was the fact that I hated seeing people get hurt, be it emotionally or physically so. Or maybe it was the fact that, no matter how intelligent or educated he was, he carried a particular innocence about him that I wasn't used to seeing in most people.

I saw it in his eyes, in the way he talked, how he couldn't lie to save his life, how shy and insecure he was in front of people.

Who knew what he was up to these days? Who knew what kind of hazing his fraternity had put him through again? Although, according to him, nothing had happened thus far. Things proceeded as per the usual, but that was precisely what worried me.

This was the calm before the storm.

And I knew just how big of a storm it was going to be, when it actually happened.

But even while thoughts like this plagued me, the hustle and bustle at Wavelength soon distracted me. And I found myself thoroughly grateful for this distraction. I threw myself into my job; not only because I wanted to keep myself occupied, but also because I actually liked working at Wavelength.

So did my cousin, Marcel, who was working with me that Wednesday. Her mum had arranged for her to work at Wavelength during the summer, and since we were desperately short-handed, my parents didn't mind at all.

After all, we were family and you didn't say no to family.

So when Marcel offered me her tube of sunblock, it was difficult for me to actually say no. But I did anyway, since at that moment, I was busy counting the change for my last customer, and I didn't want to get distracted.

"You're going to get burnt brown at this rate."

Handing the customer his change, I thanked him for patronising Wavelength, before turning to Marcel, a confused frown on my face. "What's wrong with getting tanned?"

She shrugged. "Nothing's wrong. Just that you'll get uneven tan lines all over. I mean, if you want to get a proper tan you should take off your clothes."

Silence descended between us, the kind of awkward, uncomfortable silence one never got used to, no matter how familiar we were with each other.

"Naked?" I squeaked, at last, hardly able to believe my ears.

The smile that widened on her face was insanely similar to the legendary Cheshire cat's. "Yes."

While I was a relatively confident person – meaning I didn't shy away from making new friends or from meeting strangers, things like these – Marcel took confidence to a whole new unfathomable level.

Staring at her in abject horror, I involuntarily took a step back, placing my hands up as a form of defence mechanism. "I'm not going to parade around naked on the beach."

"What a pity. I would've enjoyed seeing you – "

"Do not hit on me!"

She laughed at my stricken face. "Relax, Darce, I'm just kidding. You should've seen your face!"

"Shut up," I grumbled, before heading to the boxes near the back of the shack. Some of these needed unloading, and I wanted to get them packed properly before the next wave of customers came.

Or, before my Mom came down to the shack to check up on us.

The latter possibility seemed far more frightening, and was enough to send me packing in a flurry. Packs of chips on the lower shelf, biscuits on the upper shelf. And in chocolates in the fridge. Cadbury and Toblerone bars in front, Galaxy at the back.

After all, Galaxy was my favourite type of chocolate, and I'd hate if it actually got sold out.

When I was done, I grabbed a Galaxy bar for myself, and a Kit-Kat for Marcel, before heading back to the front.

Nudging her, I handed her the chocolate bar. "Have a break, have a Kit-Kat," I chirped, reciting the famous tagline. But she took it from me absentmindedly, her eyes trained on something distant, and I frowned. "What's up?"

"I wonder what Liam's doing here."

My ears perked up at the mention of her boyfriend, Liam. He was three years older than us and attended Riverton – which was partly the reason why I knew so much about how things worked there.

But he seldom came over when Marcel was working, knowing better than to distract her from her job, so it was a surprise that he was at the beach that day. Something in Marcel's tone told me that this was different.

"Where?"

"There," she pointed, and I followed her gaze to where a bunch of boys were huddled together in a crowd.

Normally, it wouldn't have been any cause for worry or suspicion, but there was something odd about the way they acted.

They weren't the usual rowdy bunch. Yes, there were making a hell lot of noise, but their laughter sounded almost derisive, loud enough for Marcel and I to hear from where we were standing, as if they wanted to draw attention to themselves.

"Must be another hazing," Marcel murmured, thoughtfully, nibbling on her chocolate bar.

She was hardly worried. But her words made me jump up immediately, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. Instantly, I thought of Miles and how he'd just been through a hazing less than a week ago.

What if he'd been caught in another one again?

Hopping over the counter, I ignored Marcel's protests and took off, kicking the sand beneath my feet as I jogged towards the group. By then, there wasn't just the bunch of boys – a huge crowd had already gathered round, curious tourists and nosy beach-goers.

Spilling ready words of apology to the people around me, I pushed my way through so I could get a better glimpse of what was going on. Eventually, I got to the front, and the sight that greeted me made a gasp escape my lips.

There were seven guys seated in a circle, their backs facing each other. They were all blindfolded, and each had a bell counter placed in front of them on the sand. And, the icing on the cake:

They were all wearing nothing but polka-dotted trunks.

The sight of polka-dotted trunks were so familiar that I felt a surge of panic rise in my chest, and I instantly began searching for the boy in the yellow-coloured trunks. Except I couldn't see him.

Miles was nowhere to be found.

By then, I'd pretty much prepared myself for the worst, so it was a relief when I couldn't find Miles anywhere. In fact, I could've sworn I let out a sigh of relief when I scanned the crowd and didn't see him anywhere.

I was just about to head back when I felt a hand on my shoulder and let out a yelp in surprise. It was Marcel, her eyes narrowed as she stared at me.

"Sorry," I apologised, contritely, "I – "

"You were curious," she finished, and smiled, holding up a familiar-looking key. "Don't worry. I'm interested to watch this too."

The key belonged to the shutters for the shack, and a glance over her shoulder made me realise she'd locked up so she could come over and watch the whole thing. Except I didn't want to watch this, any of it. I'd seen and heard enough of hazing initiations and pranks to last me a lifetime.

But I didn't mention this, or the fact that I had freaked out about Miles just moments ago. And the pressure on my shoulder from Marcel's hand was enough to make me stay. So, reluctantly, I turned to watch.

The boy in the baseball cap was speaking, his voice loud, clear and confident amidst the chatter of the crowd. " – as you all know," he was saying, "Round four of Hell Week is the classic drinking game."

His friends around him laughed raucously, and some members of the crowd began to laugh too, thoroughly amused by the spectacle before them.

Marcel was hardly bothered – and it was no surprise. Since she used to attend Denver High, like Greg and the other boys, these things were almost second nature to her. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she actually participated in these sorts of things.

"Rules of the game are simple. Every time I say 'Click', you press the bell counter in front of you. First person to press it passes; the rest of you will take a shot. If you press the counter without my command, you take a shot. Got it?"

The seven boys on the sand responded in the affirmative. Even though I couldn't see their eyes, I could almost feel their apprehension. They were scared. And I wondered if the boys conducting the initiation fed off their fear.

It sure seemed like they did.

"Every ten clicks," the boy in the cap continued smoothly, "You'll stand up and do a catwalk down the beach. The second you stumble, you're out. The second you puke, you're out. The second you can't stomach another drop, you're out. Got it?"

The boys nodded their heads frantically, and the crowd began cheering. Whether from Riverton or not, it seemed as though majority of the people had been swept up by the prospect of a classic drinking game, and were thoroughly psyched to see it.

"Let's begin."

Even though I thoroughly disapproved of the proceedings, I couldn't bring myself to walk away and return to the shack. It was easy to get carried away, seduced by the excitement of the crowd around me.

Behind me, Marcel suddenly let out a squeak of surprise when a strong pair of arms reached down to twine themselves around her waist. It was Liam, her boyfriend. A cap was pulled backwards over his black hair, and it was a dark navy blue colour, the same colour as the one the boy in-charge was wearing.

Immediately, I knew that he belonged in the same fraternity as them.

"Hello, girls," he greeted, his voice a lazy drawl.

Marcel was generally a very composed, shrewd girl in every aspect, but when it came to Liam, it seemed as though she disintegrated into complete mush. She rasped a breathy "hi" and gazed up at him adoringly.

I felt thoroughly uncomfortable. If this was a comic book, I swear I was probably going to see stars in her eyes and love bubbles emitting from her very soul or something.

"Hey, Liam," I greeted, casually, trying not to gag when Marcel roamed her hand up his front to where his chest muscles were and gave a seductive squeeze.

Really, it was appalling how this girl behaved sometimes. I loved her so much, but we had all the oranges she could squeeze back in the shack and she had to come here and do this right in front of me.

"Enjoying the show?" Liam continued, pulling Marcel even tighter to him, but his eyes were focused on the initiation round in front of us. "Not everyday you get to see this, huh?"

"Thank goodness I don't," I returned, fervently, and really, I was thoroughly grateful I never had to face any of this, at all. I suppose going to Macrae had its perks too.

Then I thought of Miles, and I wondered if there was any way to divert the conversation to him. "So," I began, tactfully, "Those polka-dotted shorts. Very unique touch, I must say."

He grinned. "Isn't it? They get dozens of pairs at the start to see them through each round. Each of them gets to wear a different colour. We started out with ten colours in total, and we're only left with seven."

His words startled me, and my eyes flickered back to the seven boys on the sand. I noticed how each boy wore a different vibrant coloured pair of trunks – red, green, pink, orange, blue, violet – but there wasn't the shade of bright yellow that Miles had been wearing the other day.

"Oh yeah?" I returned, trying to keep my voice steady. "Where's the seventh?"

His eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

A round of cheers rose from the crowd once again. It was almost deafening, and giving Liam a pointed glance, I jerked my head in the direction of the shack. We needed to get out of here. And I needed to know what had happened to Miles.

Frowning, Liam slipped his arm around Marcel's waist and led her off. She went with him obligingly, and I brought up the rear. The three of us made our way through the crowd until we were about a stone's throw away from the commotion.

"What's up?" he asked, when we had moved to a quieter spot. His face was guarded, his eyes expressionless and it was difficult to read what he was thinking.

Even Marcel was staring at me curiously, and I suspected she was surprised by the brevity of my expression. I didn't look this serious that often.

I ignored her, and turned to Liam. "Miles Callaghan. He's trying out for your fraternity, isn't he?"

Liam stared at me, his eyebrows raised in interest. "You know him?"

"Why isn't he here today?" I probed, stubbornly ignoring his question and folding my arms across my chest. "Did you guys kick him out of the initiation?"

He laughed. "Relax, Darcy. Miles had a bye. He succeeded the third round beyond our expectations so he goes to the fifth round immediately. But what's it to you? How do you know him, anyway?"

I had two choices at hand. Either I kept my mouth shut, or came clean with Liam and told him that I had helped Miles. There was the risk of Miles having to forfeit his bye, and having to go through round four like the rest. I couldn't let that happen.

Liam wasn't the problem here, it was Marcel. I was sure she could see through me and I struggled to keep a straight face.

"Just an acquaintance," I returned, mildly, easing his suspicions with a dismissive wave, "Let's see, Liam, what post do you hold in your frat again?"

"Vice – "

"So you're second in rank. Well, then, you could do me a huge favour by going easy on Miles, couldn't you?"

His eyebrows shot up at my direct request. I was generally a blunt sort of conversationalist. With Miles, something about him made me realise I couldn't go about it my normal way, but with Liam, I had no qualms about cutting straight to the chase.

"It's initiation. No one goes easy on anyone. Plus, our fraternity is the best and – "

Rolling my eyes, I drew myself to my full height – which, if I was being completely honest, wasn't very tall at all, given that Liam practically towered over me. But I couldn't back down, not when there was so much at stake here.

Giving him my hardest look, I said, "Listen, I honestly don't care what kappa-gamma-alpha-beta fraternity you're in – "

"Corvus," he cut in indignantly, looking utterly horrified that I didn't know the actual name of his fraternity.

" – but you're going to be nice and make sure Miles gets through till round seven."

The silence that descended after my request was a stunned one. Marcel was staring at me, her eyes narrowed and gaze shrewd. But Liam looked as though I had just pronounced myself an alien.

"What?"

"Oh, come on, I really need your help. I'm not asking you to get him into the fraternity, all I'm asking for is to let him pass through the first seven rounds. It's not that hard, is it?"

Liam frowned, and the atmosphere was tense between us until Marcel looped her arm through his. "Come on, baby, this should be easy for you. Don't you call the shots in Corvus?"

Thank God for Marcel. I made a mental note to thank her for her help later on, but something in her shrewd, calculating gaze made me realise I owed her. And she was going to get on my case about Miles later on – there was no way of escaping.

"Fine," Liam said, at last, with a defeated sigh, since there was no way he could refuse Marcel. She could ask for the world and he'd give it to her in a heartbeat.

But his dejected look immediately turned wolfish when Marcel pushed herself up on the tips of her toes and whispered into his ear, no doubt promising sexual favours of varying degrees.

"Thanks, Liam," I chirped, because there was no way I was going to jump on the bandwagon and promise him sexual favours too.

He still looked disgruntled, however, about my forgetting the name of his fraternity. "I can't believe you don't know about Corvus. We're literally the biggest fraternity at Riverton, and our Hell Weeks are legendary."

"Hell Weeks?" I repeated, recalling that the boy who was giving out the instructions earlier had said the exact same thing. He had called it Hell Week instead of simply hazing, or initiation, which was odd. "What makes it different from normal hazings or initiations?"

My question made Liam's eyes light up, and he seemed thoroughly amused by my question, as if that was what he'd wanted to ask me all along.

"Because, Darcy, they're made specifically for people like Miles."