“How are we going to do this?”
“Okay, now listen carefully. First, we’re going to invite Chloë to our slumber party, she won’t be able to refuse. We’re going to bake almond cookies for the party. Well, you will. Then, we will offer the cookies to her. Just one bite and this bitch will drop dead.”
“Wait… What? How?!”
“Don’t be silly, Gigi, you know that almonds hide the taste of cyanide. Chloë doesn’t stand a chance. She is going down.”
“Why do you want to do this anyway? I mean… Chloë isn’t that bad, is she? She doesn’t deserve to… you know, D-I-E.” (Poor thing, so afraid of the whole situation she couldn’t even pronounce the word die properly.)
“Come on, Gigi. She is the one who would pick on you for anything. She is the one who would mock you for wearing certain type of clothes and wear this same type in like a week. She told everyone you had teeth in your vagina, for God’s sake! Don’t you think this she-devil crossed the line a little too many times and has to get what she deserves?”
“Okay, maybe you have a point. Still, I think it is too extreme to K-I-L-L her. Olive, we’re literally conspiring a first-degree murder right now, or something. We’ll get caught. Then we’ll go to jail. Or worse, to the electric chair or something. I am too beautiful and too rich in my parents’ money to end my life like that.”
“No one will find out. No one has to find out. We’ll cover up the murder. We’ll make it look like she choked on a cookie and suffocated, or we’ll make up something else. Everyone will think poor Chloë was a victim of fate.”
And just like that, Gigi and Olive became fellow plotters of a murder. The following day at school they met with Chloë, the Queen B, and invited her to a party, just as was planned.
“Hey Chloë! I was looking for you everywhere. Do you want to throw a slumber party at my house?” asked Gigi. Chloë only looked at her with disgust.
“Yuck,” was her only reply. Then, Olive stepped in.
“Come on, Chloë, it’ll be fun! We could listen to Britney and Girls Aloud and dance, we’ll do our hair and makeup! We could talk about boys all night long and we could–”
“Fine, fine, you got me on Britney. I could totally fry Gigi’s hair!” Chloë said with one-of-a-kind a smirk and a peculiar, almost threatening joke.
“Then it’s decided!” Gigi spoke, finally. “Tomorrow at 8 p.m.?”
“Yeah, great.”
The remainder of the day was yet another dull, uneventful day in college for three of the girls. Gigi might have ugly-cried a couple of times over Chloë’s almost-friendly-but-still-bullying in the toilet on campus, where no one could see her. Olive might have fake cheated on another test, even though she was genius enough to ace the test on her own. Chloë might have spilt tea a couple of times, spread a few or several rumors, and almost got suspended for the rumors about one of the teachers being too close to a student.
Chloë was even brave or daft enough to tweet about the last accident, “@MontgomeryUniversity almost suspended me for telling the truth about Professor @CarltonDerrick! #TruthToThePeople #ShameOnMontgomeryU!!”
And then, the night of the killer party came. “Hey girls!” Chloë greeted her two girlfriends who were already there for some time. “I see, you’re already out of your clothes and in your pajamas! Give me a sec and I’ll join y’all.”
“Sure, go ahead,” replied Gigi. “We don’t have changing rooms in Mu Theta Phi, but you can go change in the bathroom. There’s no one in there. Actually, everybody else is gone on a field trip, and Olive and I decided to ditch, so we have the whole place to ourselves!”
“Yeah, whatever,” replied Chloë, demonstratively disinterested in Gigi’s story. “I’ll go change.”
After a while, Chloë returned in her pink PJ’s which looked more like lingerie, really; it covered as little of her body as possible, but that was just the kind of girl Chloë was: an unlocked toy box. “So, where do we start?” she asked. She was savoring the moment, which surprised both Olive and Gigi.
“Well,” Olive started, “since you were so agitated about Britney, I suggest we start with Britney?”
“Start with Blackout Britney, that’s some good shit,” replied Chloë. And as she ordered, so it was.
They danced for half an hour or so, the majority of Britney’s Blackout was definitely already listened and danced to. “You want to eat?” Olive finally asked.
“I don’t know… What d’you suggest?” Chloë asked back.
“Well, we have some treat for you. It’s… scrumptious.”
“Scrumptious, you say… Scrumptious is good I guess?” (Chloë didn’t understand what scrumptious meant, but she was too proud to admit it. But she hoped it meant something positive, or at least that the girls didn’t fill the cookies with beetles, or something, to prank her.)
When Gigi brought the almond cookies from the kitchen, Chloë looked with an expression of disgust. “The hell is that? You tryin’ to kill me or what?” she was furious. “I will put on like five pounds if I eat these!”
“No, no, Chloë, I promise you, you won’t, they’re diet–”
“Don’t you try to trick me, bitch! There isn’t such thing as diet almond cookies!”
“Yes, there is,” Olive stepped in. “I, too, promise you won’t get a single pound out of these.”
“Fine. Who baked, anyway?”
Gigi tried to speak, but Olive was faster. “I. I did,” she said, and then turned and whispered into Gigi’s ear, “Do you remember the time when she refused to eat your apple pie and called it cow manure? I think it would be safer if I said I made them.” And then, encouragingly, she turned to Chloë, “Go on, try just one.”
Chloë took but one bite, and then… “Oh my, those are de-li-ci-ous, the best ones I ever tried.” (“Those will be the last ones you’ll ever try,” Olive said to herself.)
“Oh, I’m so glad you liked them! We both are, actually!”
“You gotta give me the reci–” Chloë didn’t have the chance to finish. She just fell to the floor, unconscious.
“Yes! We did it!” Olive was triumphant now that her archenemy-turned-girlfriend and self-proclaimed queen of college was dead.
“Oh my God… I can’t believe she’s actually dead,” said Gigi silently, her voice getting more and more silent with every word. She was all shivery and jittery from the realization of what they just did. “What are we going to do now?”
“What do you think? Let’s start covering up,” replied Olive.
“Maybe we should call Kyle.”
“Are you insane? No one should know. Not a damn soul. If anyone ever finds out, we’re fucked.”
“But I don’t think we can get away with this on our own… We’re not strong enough.”
“The fewer people know about this, the better. Now shut the hell up and help me with the body. Don’t make me kill you too.”
“Fine, fine. What do we have to do?”
“We need to make sure no one sees us. It’s good that all our sisters are gone for now, but they’ll be back from their trip tomorrow, we don’t have much time. Go out and see if there’s anyone near any of the exits. Meanwhile, I will stay here and make sure there are no clues which would tie the murder to us… Just in case.”
“You’re insane,” Gigi said to herself, but didn’t have the courage to utter a word to Olive. Instead, she obediently went to check all entrances and exits to the sorority house and, when she made sure no one was close enough to notice some suspicious activity, returned to the crime scene and declared the situation to her sister and now, partner in crime.
“Okay, great. Now we’re going to get the body out of here. Take this,” Olive threw Gigi a turtleneck, a pair of trousers, and a hat, all black, “We’ll need to blend in with the surroundings as much as possible, and wearing black is the best way to do so in the dead of night. Not to mention, we’ll look so stylish in black!”
At that moment, Gigi snapped. She couldn’t get how Olive could be so cold as to talk about being “stylish” while they were covering up a goddamn murder. “Why the hell are you talking like it’s nothing?! We’ve killed Chloë! She’s dead! Forever! She ain’t coming back, Olive, she’s gone, and we’re the ones who made that happen! How could you talk about ‘style’ when shit like that is happening around us?!” The rest of her blabbering was unintelligible, but this little was enough for Olive to get enraged, so she started yelling back at Gigi, as unintelligibly as the other girl.
The two killer queens argued for some time in obscure words, much more suitable for a zombie apocalypse movie rather than for a sorority slumber party – even the one which resulted in a murder. At that time, the girls reminded two slasher movie scream queens; their vocal cords were permanently stressed and it was safe to suggest that, had there been a few more minutes of intense screaming, their voice boxes would be crushed. But all the screaming and yelling and shouting stopped as abruptly as it began. First came Olive, “Where is the body? Where is the damned body?”
Then the answer followed, “I don’t know… I swear it was here just a while ago.”
“It couldn’t just get up and go, could it? Somebody must have stolen it.”
“Shit. We’re fucked, we’re so damn fucked. Do you understand? Now that the body’s gone and we don’t know where it is, it may reappear anywhere and eventually lead to us. Shit, shit, shit!”
“Stay calm, Gigi,” Olive tried to comfort her, but she couldn’t as she herself was freaking out internally, “it’ll be alright. Everything is going to be fine.”
“No! Don’t you try to soothe me with your lies! I don’t want to go to electric chair or spend my whole life in prison! I told you this was a bad idea, I told you we were going to mess this up, I told you anything could go wrong anytime. But no-o-o. You decided your sloppy whimsy plan was the most important thing in what, the universe? I should have never agreed to this. You ruined my life in an evening! Chloë couldn’t do it in years, and you did in a matter of a few hours! You sociopathic, narcissistic bitch–”
Before she could say or do anything else, both girls heard some weird noise.
“Hey, sluts. Bet you bitches thought you’d seen the last of me.” It was Chloë at the door.
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