Greek suicide, she thought. Fine, then. Bring on the knife.
ELEVEN
Delia would not be happy. She had requested that all officers meet at Amigos at 7:30 to have dinner and talk strategy for the next day’s parties. But by the time Cass got out of the shower and into clean clothes, it was already 7:20. And it would take fifteen minutes to walk to the restaurant.
Whatever. Delia could just wait.
Since she was already late, Cass took the long way downtown so she could admire the campus, which always looked so pretty this time of year. Up on Collegium Hill sat the music school, where Cass spent more and more of her time the further she got into her major. Passing the quad, she peered in at the fountain, with its statues of the nine muses frolicking in the spray. They looked lonely without the usual theater people gathered around. The singers, actors, and crew were their own sort of fraternity, except ten times cooler than Sigma. The only thing that had to be perfect in music was your pitch.
The university ended at the bottom of the hill, giving way to big older homes that clustered around the center of town. Cass turned onto Main Street and walked into the business district—a gaslighted stretch of restaurants, bookstores, coffee shops, and bars. It was still quiet, since the non-Greeks hadn’t come back to school yet. The locals sat on the sidewalk patios, eating, drinking, and enjoying the last few days of peace before the town got overrun by college kids again.
Amigos lay up ahead, with its neon sombrero buzzing in the dusk. Instead of hurrying the last few blocks, Cass ducked into a stoop hidden on the side of a sushi restaurant. Down a flight of steep steps she went, through a frosted door, then around a bunch of empty tables and up to an old wooden bar.
“Hey, Leo,” she said.
“Cass?” Leo turned from the liquor inventory, and she couldn’t hold back. She launched herself over the bar, laughing as he caught her in a huge squeeze. She’d built this moment up all summer, playing out how it might go, letting the possibilities freak her out because they included a very real chance that their first hug would either disappoint or be everything she’d dreamed of. Both were dangerous with regard to the question of how Leo felt. But Cass found she needn’t have worried: hugging Leo felt the same as always, which meant there might be hope for her lovesick heart if it turned out they were destined to remain just friends.
She settled back on a bar stool, happy to see him back at Delaney’s. Leo had been working at the family pub forever, sweeping floors and cleaning glasses until he was old enough to start serving drinks. It helped pay for college and for things like the Interlochen trip he’d just returned from.
“Look at you,” he said, leaning on his elbows. “So tan and summery. Your snaps didn’t do you justice.”
Cass blushed. “That’s because I am the world’s most unphotogenic person.”
“Oh, shut up,” he said, and Cass had to force herself not to overanalyze those three short words. She and Leo were just friends. It wasn’t his job to flatter her. Still, she was more than a little dismayed by how much it mattered that he hadn’t been more effusive about her photographic charms.
Because Leo’s snaps hadn’t done him justice, either. Looking at him now brought back memories of the way every other photo he’d posted over the summer had featured at least one girl. Girls loved Leo’s spiky black hair and his tattoos in all the right places. They loved him because Leo emitted a charm so powerful it almost had its own gravitational pull. Not to mention that under all those tattoos were some serious muscles, built up from years of lugging stage sets around. And his face—well, some actor somewhere was probably missing out on his big shot at stardom because the Hot-Guy Fairy had given Leo the cheekbones and deep brown eyes instead. Cass had decided it was fate that she would eventually fall for him, too.
“I thought you weren’t coming tonight,” he said. “You had meetings.”
“I still do,” she said, and sighed. “In fact, I have to go in a minute.”
“I was going to ask about rush but I know that look on your face. Is the bloom well and truly off the proverbial rose? Have we started the final countdown?”
Cass groaned. In the early days, when she was still psyched about being a Sigma, Leo used to click his silver-studded tongue inside his mouth. “Hear that?” he’d say. “That’s the time bomb ticking inside your poor little sorority-loving heart. When that thing blows it’s going to be epic.”
Cass couldn’t tell if she was about to blow right now or just shrivel up into oblivion. But whichever it was, she didn’t need to hear an “I told you so.”
“Don’t rub it in,” she said.
“I promise.” He crisscrossed his chest with an index finger. “No rubbing of any kind. Not even the fun kind of rubbing. Now what’s wrong?”
Cass picked a swizzle stick out of a cup on the bar and used it to spear an olive from the garnish tray. “Rush is a bitch. I have a ton more work to do than everybody else in my class, certain people seem to be on a mission to make my life hell, and I wish I could just go live under an overpass and never talk to another living soul as long as I live.” Cass stole another olive. Then a maraschino cherry. “I’m just . . . I don’t know. Tired. And school hasn’t even officially started yet.”
“It’s your own fault,” Leo said. “You don’t have to be a sorority girl.”
She flicked the orange slice she’d been about to eat down onto the bar. “Okay, you know what? You said you wouldn’t rub it in. I came here to say hi, not to be criticized.”
“I’m not criticizing you.”
“No, you’re just ragging on something that’s important to me.”
“You don’t talk like it’s important. You talk like it’s the bane of your existence.”
Although she hated to admit it, he was right. Lately, she only ever talked about the down side of being in a sorority. But when she looked at her reasons for staying after everything that had happened last year, she knew it was because she still believed there was good in Sigma, too.
“I have friends there,” she told him. “The girls in my class, they’re incredible.” Leo didn’t understand how close she’d once been with the other first years or how great it had felt to be part of a group that believed in higher ideals like sisterhood and equality and striving to be the best you could be. Growing up, Cass had seen the sorority girls singing on their front lawns during the week before classes started. She’d driven past them as they walked to and from class in their Greek-lettered sweatshirts, and she’d noticed the fraternities late at night, overflowing with bodies and loud music. Everybody seemed to be having so much fun that when the recruitment pamphlet showed up with all her other registration stuff, she’d thought, “Why not?”
When Sigma offered her a bid, she threw herself into it the way she did anything that was new and exciting. She learned the secret handshake and the solemn, thrillingly creepy rituals. The Sigmas talked about striving to be your best and supporting each other along the way, and Cass had believed it: the idea that a group of women could come together for mutual good—that friendships could last forever. But then came the late nights after chapter meetings. The older girls screaming at Cass and her pledge sisters as they stood in line, afraid to flinch or cry because it would only make the yelling worse.
God, the yelling. They were told they were disgraceful. Lacking discipline. An embarrassment. Not good enough.
And then there were the girls taken off by themselves—the ones who came back with sadness etched into their faces. One of those faces still haunted Cass. It belonged to a girl who’d decided the others were right, she wasn’t good enough, and so she’d left.
Leo picked up the orange slice and threw it away. Then he reached across the bar and took Cass’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to fight when I haven’t seen you in two months. Truce?”
She looked at him, wishing she could make him understand and frustrated that, where Sigma was concerned, he didn’t seem to even want to try. But she
couldn’t stay angry with him. She also wasn’t sure she could keep her hand in his without swooning.
“Fine,” she said, pulling away. “Truce.” She got up and wandered over to the back corner of the bar, to the little stage Leo had built two summers ago with his dad. She picked up a guitar from its stand and strummed it. With her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she noticed concert flyers tacked to the walls.
“The Headless Denvers are coming? How’d you score that?”
“One of our regulars is related to the drummer,” Leo told her. “Dad helped fix her roof after that windstorm last spring, and she asked what she could do to repay him. While we’re on the subject of favors, we might need some help that night. You’d get in free. Plus, you could help warm up the crowd.”
“It’s Friday?” Cass squeezed her eyes shut in disappointment. “That’s Pref Day. Voting usually goes late.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed. “I guess I can find somebody else . . .”
“No.” She lay down the guitar. “You know what? I can do it. If you need me. Just let me know.”
“Are you sure you can get away?”
Cass thought about it. Unless some huge drama erupted they would probably be done voting by the time Leo needed her. And if they weren’t, then she would just sneak away. Delia could kick her out if she didn’t like it.
Speaking of Delia . . . Cass checked her watch; it was 7:50.
“Don’t worry, I can be there.” She hopped off the stage and gave Leo an air kiss as she made her way back to the door. “But I have to go now. I’m late for that meeting.”
Amigos was packed when she walked in, competition crackling in the air. On any given night during the school year you could find groups of girls squaring off in a silent showdown to see who could snag the most guys, look the hottest, and generally be the most “It” of all the Baldwin “It” Girls. This was the first time Cass had experienced Amigos during recruitment, and from the looks of things it was even worse. The Beta Phis, Sigma’s biggest competitors, were at the table by the window, tossing their flat-ironed hair. The hard-partying Delta Zetas were at the bar like always, and over in a corner sat the frumpy Gamma Kappas, trying to look like they weren’t completely out of place. Each house had its own little contingency, everybody eyeing everybody else.
At the Sigma table, the atmosphere was about as festive as a case of Montezuma’s revenge. Cass scurried over and sat next to Marina Lucci, trying to look like she’d been there the whole time. She hadn’t missed much, apparently, just more of Delia’s anal-retentive fretting.
“Could you make sure the servers get the lemonade out faster tomorrow?” she was asking Christa Sinden, the chair of the hospitality committee. “It looks bad if all the ice is melted before people actually get a drink.”
“Hey look,” cut in Courtney, who’d stationed herself at Delia’s right hand. “It’s Imogen Ash.”
Everybody turned and, sure enough, there was the legendary Imogen, coming into the restaurant with fellow must-have Rachel Morgan and Madeleine Christopher—the same Madeleine Christopher who had come thisclose to getting cut just a couple of hours ago.
“Christ,” muttered Courtney. “How did they find this place?”
“I bet it was on Balls-Out Baldwin,” said Danica Moran. “Ever since those geeks in the dorms made that app we’ve been getting more and more random people in here.”
“But shouldn’t they have a curfew or something?” said Aimee Wu. “Why don’t they lock those girls in at night?”
“Probably for the same reason we aren’t locked in,” Cass spoke up. “I’m sure they need a change of scenery after a day like today.”
“But how are we supposed to stay separated if the rushees can just show up everywhere we are? Greek Council makes all these rules about dirty rushing, then they make it impossible for us to follow them.”
“It’s definitely a concern, and I’ll take it up at the next council meeting,” Delia broke in. “But for now, just don’t talk to them. Don’t even look over there.”
Cass watched as Delia eyed each person, until everybody had returned to their dinner menus. There was something about Delia Danforth—she could take you right to the edge of hating her and then pull you back. Maybe it was good leadership skills, or maybe Delia truly was a good person. Whatever it was, Cass found it hard to stay annoyed with her.
Dying to get some food into her stomach, she reached out to dip a tortilla chip in some salsa. Her arm knocked over a glass of water and she watched in horror as the liquid rushed across the table, straight into Delia’s lap.
People squealed, scrambling to help Delia wipe up.
“I’m sorry!” Cass grabbed a handful of napkins, but it was too late. Delia was already on her feet and heading for the bathroom.
“Smooth move,” sniped Courtney, and Cass looked up, thinking the remark was meant for her. Instead, Courtney and the other Killer Bees were talking about Delia.
“Somebody needs to pour something on her,” said Allison Reed. “She’s so damned uptight!”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t literally pissed herself, she worries so much,” Aimee agreed.
The other girls smirked, hiding behind their menus so Delia wouldn’t see them if she happened to look back. Cass put her head in her hands, her appetite gone.
So much for sisterhood.
TWELVE
Sign, sign, everywhere a sign . . .
Maddy listened to the old song blaring on the restaurant speakers. It was true! No matter where she went, it seemed like the stars were aligning to guide and encourage her. Like now. After they’d arrived and looked at the menu, she’d decided to go wash her hands. Weaving through the other tables, she’d looked up to find herself on a collision course with none other than Delia Danforth, president of Sigma Theta Kappa, who was also heading for the bathroom. Maddy gave a slight nod, but that was it. No eye contact, and certainly no words; nothing that would cause Delia to break one of the biggest rules of recruitment, which was, “no contact whatsoever between sisters and rushees outside of official parties.” Still, Maddy liked knowing that her path had crossed Delia’s again; maybe Delia would remember her and put in a good word with the other sisters.
Just outside the bathroom door, Imogen came running up.
“Hey, Mad. Did you decide on fajitas or enchiladas? We’re ordering right now.”
Imogen turned and, to Maddy’s horror, lit up when she saw Delia.
“Hey! You’re the president at Sigma Theta Kappa, right? Great meeting you today.”
Delia hesitated. “You as well.” She took another step toward the bathroom door while Imogen gaped at the wet spot on her shorts.
“Oh no! What happened?”
Maddy couldn’t believe it. Was Imogen really going to try and have a conversation with the president of the best sorority on campus in a crowded restaurant on the first day of rush? And about something so embarrassing?
Delia tried to cover the dampness with her hands. “It’s just a water spill.” By now her eyes were darting around the room, and Maddy could see that she was worried about who might see them talking.
“That sucks,” said Imogen. “But at least it should dry quick, right? It’s so hot outside!”
Maddy glared at her roommate. “Now that I think about it, I’m not really in the mood for fajitas,” she said. “And enchiladas sound kind of heavy. Let’s go back and I’ll look at the menu again.” She reached for Imogen’s arm and led her back to their table. “You’re not supposed to talk to the sisters outside of the parties,” she hissed. “We could both get kicked out for what you just did.”
Imogen pulled away. She rubbed the place where Maddy had grabbed her. “I was just being friendly.”
“But there are rules. They were put there so everything is fair.”
“Well the rules are idiotic if you ask me.” Imogen slumped into her chair. “God, why is everybody so uptight around here?”
“Hey, guys, try the queso,�
�� Rachel said, oblivious to the tension between her tablemates. She pushed a bowl of cheese dip under Maddy’s nose. “It’s awesome.”
Maddy nibbled on a sliver of tortilla, trying to work up an interest in the appetizers. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to having everything she’d worked so hard for ruined. And she regretted not playing it safe and just staying back at the dorm for dinner. At first, she’d thought her roommate’s ignorance was sort of cute. But now she was starting to sense that Imogen’s clueless charm might just be dangerous.
THIRTEEN
Cass looked up from her taco salad to see Delia stumble back to her seat and bury her head in her hands. “Oh my God,” Delia groaned. “That did not just happen.”
“What?” said Christa Sinden. “What just happened?”
“Imogen Ash just talked to me.”
By now a group of Sigmas had gathered around Delia’s chair, everyone trying to find out what had made her so upset. All eyes followed Delia’s over to the Beta Phi table, where they saw Nan Zimmerman whispering to her fellow sisters.
“The Beta Phis saw it.” Delia reached for the lavaliere at her throat and gripped it. “They’ll report me to Greek Council.”
“The Beta Phis are idiots,” said Courtney. “Don’t worry about them.”
“But why’d you talk back to her?” asked Danica Moran.
“What was I supposed to do?” said Delia. “If I ignore her, then I look unfriendly and risk having her cut Sigma. If I talk to her, then I’m breaking the rules.”
“Yes, but you’re the one who’s so big on rules to start with,” Allison Reed reminded her. “What if they ding us for dirty rushing again?”
“I told you they should lock those girls in the dorms,” muttered Aimee Wu while the waitress brought the rest of their food. “If the council tries to sanction us, then we totally have grounds for appeal.”
Rush Page 7