“Wicked, wicked woman.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” The last thing he sees is my victorious smile as I close the door on his face.

3

True Love Revolution.

Somebody fucking kill me.

Sunshine, rainbows and unicorns reign supreme under the afternoon sky. Everyone glows in a way only the ignorant could. If ignorance is bliss, then it’s also its own makeup brand. Sit back in a park one day—it can be any day—and the people who are the happiest are probably the same ones living in the shadows of their own self-induced shelter. They don’t know this world for what it really is.

Abstinence—the mission of those who converge every Sunday to celebrate their purity with their comrades—is great in theory. In practice, abstinence is a dark mark on the freedom of our souls. It’s a beautiful lie that fades into shades of doubt when a bird spreads her wings for the first time. When she takes to the sky, the world below becomes distant and unknown. Everything she thought she knew evaporates with just one thrust of a cock.

Everyone should learn to fly.

And I love to give them that extra push.

True Love Revolution—like most organizations on campus—has a faculty sponsor. Jensen Moon watches over these lost souls, and today I must integrate myself with the herd of sheep. I’ll fool them into thinking I’m one of them, and like the best wolves, I’ll lure my prey into a trap come nightfall.

I’m one of the first to arrive. It’ll be easier to blend in this way. It’s a psychology thing. Instead of coming in late, where the attention will be squared on me, I’ll already be there waiting. I take a seat into one of the twenty-or-so white foldable chairs. I make sure to pick a seat beside someone who is already there.

To my left is a youngish girl who looks to be a freshman. I have never seen her before, but it’s a large campus so that’s not anything out of the norm. Her hair color matches mine, but is cut shorter, barely reaching the top of her breasts that are hidden behind a white cashmere sweater—how appropriate.

Her hands are folded in her lap, her two thumbs tangling with one another. This is her first time here, I reckon. Coming from a sheltered life, she’s nervous about conversing with strangers on the topic of sex—even if the conversation revolves around abstaining from it.

“Is this your first time?’ I ask for confirmation. The more I know about the people that surround me, the better. Knowledge is power.

“Yeah.” She cracks a nervous smile. “My parents told me I needed to get out of the dorm and meet some new people.”

“And you came here?” My brow furrows in shock that this is the social setting in which someone chooses to go for the purpose of meeting new people. “It’s a great group.”

“I’m Cece.” She reaches her hand to mine.

I hesitate out of habit, but quickly reciprocate and shake her hand. “I’m Apple.”

“Oh my God,” she blurts out and raises her hand to her mouth. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Do what?” I ask with genuine confusion.

Her tongue swipes her lip and she scans the growing crowd around us, as if to make sure nobody heard her. “Take the lord’s name in vain.”

Whew. I’m in deeper than I thought. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I was just shocked, I guess.” She leans shyly against her shoulder. “I thought Apple was just something celebrities named their children.”

“No celebrity upbringing here.” I raise my hand to the tune of I solemnly swear. “Born in a trailer. Grew up in a trailer.” Why am I telling her this? I don’t tell anyone this.

“You grew up in a trailer? I never would have guessed.”

“Thanks…”

From across the circle of white chairs, I spot my target and begin the process of tuning Cece out. On this warm spring day, Jensen Moon has a cool stride. His hand, ornamented with a sparkling silver watch, is stuffed into the pocket of his grey slacks. His white oxford shirt is rolled to the crease of his elbow, and contrasts sharply against the dark, tan skin of his body.

Without fuss or showmanship, he slips onto a padded seat with perfect posture. He’s always in command. He makes the rules and I’m craving to break them.

Once he’s in position, most of the chairs around me quickly fill up. Everyone wears white. Everyone except me.

“You’re new here,” Jensen says from across the way and crosses his right leg over his left. “You’re not wearing white.”

These people jump straight into business. No prologue required. I clear my throat before speaking. “I didn’t get the memo.”

“That’s by design.” His hand massages his ankle where a brief strip of skin is exposed. “In foreign places, such as that of a new group, newbies aren’t fond of talking much. Here at True Love Revolution, it’s important that everyone has a voice, and since you’re not wearing white, we all know to take time out of our conversations today to ask, who are you?”

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath and then recite a quick, internal prayer that nobody heard me. One of the rules of master manipulation is that you must always be prepared. Today, I came unprepared. I don’t like being caught off guard. “I…”

“Start with your name.”

Does he really not remember me? “I’m Apple Malloy.”

“Yeah…” Well, that’s settled. The look on his face screams, how could I forget? “Tell me, Apple. What does purity mean to you?” His eyes pass over me, full of equal parts judgment and intrigue.

Purity means zilch to me. Of course, I can’t say that to this group of sheep. They would retrieve pitchforks from their asses and chase me to the far side of campus where I would be forced to hide in the janitorial closet until the witch-hunt is over. Once I would creep out of that ten by ten cell, they would burn me at the stake.

Instead, I throw out the most tactful response I can think of. “I haven’t actually decided yet.” This is the perfect response. It opens many different doors and routes to victory, while closing off none.

He sighs, uncrosses his legs, and places a firm hand on each of his thighs. He begins to address the rest of the group and I begin to zone out, daydreaming about a boy that sits two seats down from Jensen.

He’s as young as Cece, but hardly looks innocent. Under the thin fabric of his cotton tee, I see the faint outline of a thick tribal tattoo. A part of me wonders if he’s here for the same reason I am. If I hadn’t already market my target—Jensen—Mr. Brown Eyes would be in for one hell of a ride.

He catches my gaze and stares right back. When he bites into his lip in the most seductive way you can do such a thing, I’m forced to avert my attention away. Stay focused, Apple. Stay focused.

When the meeting is adjourned, I stick around so I can continue to lay the framework for my conquest. Jensen is occupied with two of the pure ones, so I look around for someone to keep me busy while I wait.

Everything has to seem like an accident. If I rush up to Jensen the moment he’s done giving pointers to these girls, it’ll look calculated. I give my hair a quick fix and make a purposeful beeline to Mr. Brown Eyes. He’s in the process of making light conversation with some dark-haired brunette who appears as if she’s too deep into the abstinence occult—she has a cross necklace draped across her chest and a pair of cross earrings dangling from her lobes.

I tap him on the shoulder and he cranes his neck around, biting into his lip again. “One sec,” he whispers.

I’m not a patient person. I’ll admit that much. I raise my hand to tap him again, but he turns around before I can connect my finger to his shoulder.