“I met Madeleine Christopher,” said Courtney. “And I hate to be negative, but after careful consideration I had to vote no.”
“But why?” said Violet.
“I just didn’t feel like she would be here in the end.”
“She could totally be here in the end.”
Courtney folded her hands in front of her, turning to Violet with a pragmatism that hid pure poison underneath. “I can appreciate that you liked her, Violet. But we really need a strong pledge class. There’s no room for mediocrity this time around.”
Wow. Courtney had brought out the venom early. At the front of the room, Sophia Kensington, no doubt a Killer Bee in her day, nodded agreement. Violet had asked why; well, it was obvious why. Because at Sigma Theta Kappa there were two kinds of girls: those who mattered and those who might as well have had the word “SUBPAR” branded on their foreheads. It had nothing to do with whether this Madeleine Christopher girl deserved a second chance; it had everything to do with what had happened when Cass and Violet and Ruby were rushees. Sophia had laid it out bluntly while going over the recruitment rules at their first training session last spring. Sigma had been caught dirty rushing, she’d told them, and had been forced by the Greek Council to forfeit its top pledge picks. That meant Sigma had had to take its second- and third-tier selections instead. According to Sophia, the consequence of dirty rushing was a “subpar pledge class” and Cass could do the math just as well as anybody else. The “subpar pledge class” Sophia was talking about was hers.
But in all honesty, the math wasn’t necessary. For months before Sophia’s revelation, things had been happening—things that had seemed like normal initiation activities at first, but had quickly grown harsher. Courtney and her friends had framed it as making the sisterhood stronger. For most of the girls in Cass’s pledge class, though, the effect was just the opposite.
Looking at Violet now, Cass saw a familiar slump of the shoulders and a tilt of the head that telegraphed weakness and submission. But Violet wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
“Madeleine Christopher is the nicest girl I met all day,” she pleaded. “She’s more qualified to be a Sigma than most of the girls who’ve come through here.”
“But we can only take so many pledges,” said Courtney, her voice growing sharper. “And they have to be outstanding.”
“Courtney is right,” said Sophia. “We need to ask ourselves: Is this girl really Sigma material? Are we doing her a disservice by leading her on, or would it be kinder to let her explore houses where she might fit in better?”
Delia put down her gavel and came out from behind the head table. Violet stayed on her feet, still looking hopeful that another person would take up her cause. Delia could have shut Violet down and called for a vote right there. Cass totally expected her to do it. Instead, she was surprised when Delia said, “Can anyone else speak for Madeleine Christopher? Did anybody else meet her today?”
“I met her.”
Ruby stood and Cass’s heart swelled with pride. At least Courtney wouldn’t get by without a challenge.
“For five seconds,” Courtney shot back.
“Long enough to know she’s super nice, and more than qualified,” said Ruby. “This girl deserves at least one more chance.”
Cass surveyed the room, trying to see if Ruby’s words had had any effect. The sisters who would never have voted for Madeleine Christopher anyway looked bored, but several girls from her pledge class appeared to be considering this new information.
Delia nodded. “All right then, let’s vote.”
In front of each sister were three paddles: One red, one white, and one black. The sisters raised their paddles when Delia prompted “yes” or “no.” Black paddles signified no. White ones were raised if a sister wanted to vote yes but hadn’t met the girl in question. Red paddles were yes votes from sisters who had met the girl. Red votes counted double.
Cass counted under her breath as the yesses for Madeleine Christopher were counted. There were just enough white paddles, with Violet’s and Ruby’s red ones, to push the tally over.
Delia turned to Marina. “Madeleine Christopher will be invited back.”
Courtney flashed a furious look at Ruby, and Cass’s heart thumped a little harder. She knew what that look meant; she’d seen it before, and she knew it was dangerous.
Luckily, nothing else happened during the next hour and a half to further anger Courtney and the others. It was a relief when Delia’s gavel called voting to an end. “All right, ladies,” she shouted as the sisters started to gather up their things. “Our first party tomorrow starts at seven a.m. I want everybody down here, ready to go, at six thirty. We line up at ten till, sharp.”
Cass took her tally sheets and followed the other girls to the paper shredder to destroy them. Suddenly, Sophia stood beside her.
“Can we talk for a moment?”
“Um . . .” Cass looked around self-consciously. Sophia had never so much as given her the time of day before. “Sure,” she said, stepping off to the side.
“I’ve been using the house mother’s suite as a bit of an outpost,” Sophia said. “And I’ve been watching the porch greetings from the window. I noticed that the tapping isn’t going as fast as it should. Every second counts, you know.”
“I can’t help it . . . ,” Cass stammered. “I mean, if people take too long to get to me—”
“I don’t care about other people. I’m asking you to take responsibility and do a better job.”
Cass’s cheeks burned as Courtney passed by, glaring. And there, right behind them, was Delia.
“Hi, Delia,” Cass said, trying to head off a “let’s-pile-on-the-music-leader” party. “If you’re coming to rehash the whole Imogen Ash thing from earlier, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Kimmie wasn’t her hostess.”
“What about Imogen Ash?” Sophia’s expression went from bitchy to livid, and Cass braced for Delia to give all the gory details. But Delia shook her head like it was no big deal.
“It was just an oversight,” Delia said. “It won’t happen again.”
Sophia kept her gaze on Cass, eyes flashing a warning as she spoke. “I was just telling Cassandra that we need to see an improvement in the pace of the greetings. The entire process should only be taking ten minutes, tops. Today the average was twelve minutes and twenty-three seconds.”
“Thanks, Sophia,” said Delia. “We’ll work on it.” Sophia stalked off and Cass started to slink away, grateful to have escaped what could have been a much more painful scene. Delia followed her into the parlor. “Actually, Cass, I did want to ask . . . You’re one of the first people the rushees see when they come into the house. I wonder if we could get just a bit more enthusiasm tomorrow?”
“I’m smiling as big as I can.” Cass was tired—and famished. The sandwich in the dining room had been calling to her, but the memory of her dress sleeves digging into her arms had kept her from taking a piece.
“Work with me, okay?” There was a hint of fatigue in Delia’s voice and, close-up, Cass noticed dark circles under her eyes. She’d forgotten about Delia’s father dying and now she felt bad for being cranky. Especially since Delia had just helped save her from the wrath of Sophia.
“Okay,” said Cass. “I’ll stop by the Botox clinic for a perma-smile injection.”
She grinned, hoping to get at least a smile out of Delia. But Delia just nodded. “Whatever works,” she said.
Deflated again, Cass dragged herself up the grand staircase to the second floor. Upstairs, the house was shaped like a T with rooms along each arm. Cass’s was on the east arm, just catty-corner from the bathroom. A line had already formed for the showers, and the halls were filling with humid shampoo smells. From various rooms came the sounds of hair dryers and phones chiming. Aimee Wu let out a smoke-husky whoop as she ran down the west wing, turning a cartwheel that almost crashed her into a fire extinguisher. Cass passed Ruby in the old privacy stall, dialing home for what had to be the
thirtieth time that day. She pushed open the door to their room and half expected to see Sigma’s rumored ghost sitting in her desk chair. So far this year nobody had claimed to have encountered Marianne McCourt, though people often heard footsteps, and last year one of the second years told everyone she’d seen something in the window upstairs—a girl in a white nightgown. Marianne had become an urban legend at Baldwin, but it was weird to have a rushee just come right out and ask about it the way Imogen Ash had today. Cass wondered if talking about Marianne would somehow make it more likely that she’d get to see her. But the room was just as void of paranormal activity as it had been when she’d left it a few hours earlier.
Relieved and a little disappointed, Cass lay down on her bed and closed her eyes for a quick nap.
NINE
Maddy plunked down on the mattress of her dorm-room-couch-slash-pull-out-bed and winced. It wasn’t a mattress, really. More like a cushion from the seat of a car. Even with linens on she could feel the vinyl cover and the foam stuffing. She folded her comforter underneath herself for extra padding and switched positions, trying not to think about Sigma Theta Kappa with its luxurious rugs and pillows on the window seats.
She took out her phone, then brushed off her purse before setting it on the desk where it would be safe from dust bunnies on the old tile floor. The purse was Coach, in perfect condition. She’d found it at a consignment shop on one of her summer trips to Baldwin. Days when Logan had been busy with baseball and Maddy didn’t have to work at the yogurt store, she would drive the two hours to Baldwin to drift down Fraternity Row and shop for her recruitment wardrobe, careful to make every dollar count.
A message waited on her phone and Maddy’s heart thudded. Maybe it was Logan! He always called in the late afternoon to see what she was doing for the evening and talk if they couldn’t go out. Those phone calls were the high point of her day.
Used to be the high point of her day. Things had changed. Or had they? Maybe she’d only imagined what she’d seen that last night at the country club. Or maybe it hadn’t meant what she’d assumed it meant, and now he was calling to explain. They’d laugh about the misunderstanding, apologize for letting it get between them, and go back to the way things were.
Maddy opened her messages, dying to hear his voice.
“Hi, honey. Daddy and I were just wondering how the first day of rush went.”
Hearing her mother brought an unexpected homesickness. It was dinnertime, and her parents would be eating alone now that both she and Miranda were off at school. A part of Maddy wished she could be back there with them.
But then the message morphed, as her mom’s messages always did, into a story about one of her sister’s many melodramas. Maddy used to get caught up in them, too. She was the sensible one while Miranda was temperamental, and it used to make her feel special when her sister turned to her for advice or just a shoulder to cry on. But now, after Miranda’s betrayal, she saw it a different way: She’d busted her butt trying to be helpful and sweet to everybody, yet most of the time she ended up on the sidelines. Miranda, on the other hand, was always having some kind of elaborate meltdown and she still had everybody wrapped around her finger. Maddy had actually left home, going to college out of town instead of making the easier decision to attend State, but instead of paying a little more attention, instead of considering that Maddy might be lonely and nervous about being out on her own, her mom and dad were still busy tiptoeing around Princess Miranda.
“Give us a call when you get a free moment,” her mother said, finally. “We miss y-—”
Maddy erased the message before her mom could finish. Imogen came in, wet from the shower, just as Maddy was putting her phone away.
“I feel like a real person again!” Imogen said. “I don’t care what anybody says; twelve parties in one day is just cruel and inhumane.”
Imogen stripped off her robe and pulled on a pair of ripped denim shorts. She yanked a black tank out of her still-unpacked duffel and put it on before knotting her hair on top of her head.
“I thought it was cool to meet all those other girls and see what the different houses are about,” said Maddy.
Imogen made a face. “After about the fifth one, they all started looking the same to me. I don’t get why we have to go to every single house. I mean, say there’s one you know you like. Why not just go there and skip everybody else?”
“That’s not how it works. Every girl gets to see every house and vice versa. That way you can both make an informed decision. So it’s all fair.”
“You really think it’s fair to make us go on those horrid buses all day like we’re third graders? I might never get the stink off me.”
Maddy giggled. “One girl farted in my face when we were getting on after the Beta Phi party.”
“Who?!” Imogen whirled around, wickedness in her eyes. “Do we know her? Is she in this dorm?”
Maddy blushed, caught up in the fun. “It was that girl in the sailor dress—the one who looked like she should be working at Red Lobster.”
“Gross—about farting and Red Lobster.”
“Honestly?” Maddy could barely speak, she was trying so hard not to crack up. “I sat by her after the party so I could return the favor at the next stop.”
“So did you actually do it?”
“I couldn’t get a fart to come out!” This made both of them laugh so hard that Maddy worried the other girls on their floor would hear. She’d never thought she’d be bonding with her roommate over bodily functions.
She loved it!
There was a knock on their door, and a girl with white-blond hair poked her head in. “Sorry to bug you,” the girl said. “But does anybody have any aloe?”
Maddy jumped up. “I think I do.” She reached for her bag and took out a little bottle of green gel.
“Oh, awesome,” said the girl. “I got a wicked sunburn from standing outside so much. Remind me to wear sunscreen tomorrow.” She came in, sat on the edge of Imogen’s desk and started slathering the aloe on her shoulders. “I’m Rachel, by the way. Rachel Morgan.”
“Maddy Christopher.” Maddy reached over to shake the girl’s hand—force of habit after an entire day greeting people like that.
“Imogen Ash,” said Imogen, lolling on her bed.
“So where’s everybody from?” asked Rachel. “I’m Beaverton.”
“I’m from Chesterfield,” Maddy said.
“I bet you’re sick of people asking why you didn’t go to State.”
“Just a little.”
“And what about you?” When Rachel turned to Imogen, Maddy perked up. She’d just realized that Imogen had never really said where she’d come from. She seemed sort of disconnected and alone—no parents to help her move in, no pictures of family or friends on the bulletin board over her bed. When they’d had their first getting-to-know-you chat, she’d mumbled something about being from “up East” and Maddy hadn’t asked for more details because “up East” probably meant Rhode Island or Maryland, and if Imogen didn’t think it was interesting enough to talk about, then it probably wasn’t.
Imogen shifted, looking uncomfortable. “New York,” she told them. “City. Ish.”
“Wow,” said Rachel. “I’m jealous.”
“You really live in the city?” asked Maddy. The biggest city she’d ever been to was Cleveland. “What’s it like?”
Imogen squirmed. “Crowded. Crazy. Basically crowded and crazy. But I don’t want to talk about me, let’s talk about boys instead.” She hopped up onto her knees. “Who here’s got a guy back home?”
“Not me,” said Rachel. “The last guy I went out with ended up getting a flesh-eating disease. I’m not even lying. I think I’m toxic!”
“I’m single, too,” said Imogen. “But Maddy has an honest-to-God boyfriend. Right, Maddy?”
“I don’t know actually,” Maddy mumbled. “Things are kind of weird with us right now . . .”
“I totally get that,” said Rachel. “We�
��re starting college, everything’s changing, it’s hard to have a relationship on top of it all.” She leaned across to peer at the bulletin board and found the little photo of Logan tacked up there. “Is this him? He’s cute!”
“Yes. That’s him.”
“Okay.” Imogen came to sit on the bed, too. “Show us the scrapbook. You know you have one.”
Maddy gave a sheepish laugh. She stood on her bed and reached to the shelf up above, where she’d stashed the book she’d made of their relationship. Carefully, she took it down, laid it across her lap and opened it.
“His name is Logan. There he is in the Homecoming Court. And there’s him playing baseball.” She flipped the pages, admiring how cute he looked with his crooked smile and those sandy-blond bangs falling into his eyes. She still got that fluttery feeling whenever she looked at him.
“How long have you two been together?” Imogen asked.
“Six months. We got together Winter Homecoming. It was a Hawaiian luau theme. I was in charge of the food.” She pointed to a photo of the two of them wearing leis by the pool in her school’s gym. She hadn’t had a date that night, so she’d ended up behind the dessert table, serving pineapple upside-down cake. After a while she’d started to notice that Logan had been standing in line longer than anybody else, but he never took a piece of cake. He just sort of hung around and let other people go in front of him. Maddy didn’t think much about it at first. Everybody knew Gretchen Frost had been dating him off and on, and Gretchen had stationed herself a few feet away, flipping her hair and letting the strap of her expensive-looking tank top slip off her shoulder. When Logan said, “Hey,” Maddy assumed he must be talking to Gretchen.
Except he wasn’t. He was talking to her.
They ended up chatting while Maddy got farther and farther behind in her cake-serving duties. And when he finally led her off to the dance floor it was Gretchen who was left stammering on the sidelines. Maddy and Logan spent the rest of that evening dancing, playing casino games, and—finally—kissing while the sun came up.
For six wonderful months after that, they were together almost every day. It was the first time in years that Maddy could remember not being lonely. Logan wasn’t just her boyfriend; he was her best friend.
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