Girls who’d been sniffling now giggled as they wiped their eyes. One laugh rose above all the others. Maddy looked over to see Imogen and two new sisters doubled over like they’d just shared the best joke in the world. Other sisters were coming up left and right, shaking Imogen’s hand. A couple were even sitting on the back of her chair, just hanging out waiting to meet her.
Meanwhile, only Violet sat in front of Maddy. Nobody else had come up, and Maddy had learned to sense when a party was getting ready to wind down. She had that feeling now, which meant probably nobody else was going to come.
She didn’t need a vlog to tell her that couldn’t be good.
No matter how hard she tried to keep it back, a lump started in her throat. It got bigger as she went through the handshake line on the way out of the house. She bit the insides of her cheeks all the way to the bus, praying the tears wouldn’t come until she’d made it safely into a seat.
Crammed into the back by herself, she took quick, deep breaths. Her message light was blinking and she checked her voice mail. Maybe it was Logan calling to talk some more.
She went cold when she heard Miranda’s voice.
“Hi, Maddy. I hope rush is good. I know you’re right in the middle of it so I thought I’d just leave a message. I feel really bad about what happened the other night. Can you call me? Or maybe I’ll come visit you up there when rush is over. We can talk about it when you call me back. So call me, okay? Please?”
No. Maddy’s hand shook as she erased the message. If Miranda really felt bad, she could have come straight home from the country club that night instead of stumbling in at 2:00 a.m. and slinking off to her room, avoiding Maddy who was still up and sitting stunned in front of the TV. Or she could have helped Maddy pack the next morning, instead of showing up on the driveway at the last minute to wave good-bye before their parents drove her up to Baldwin.
Miranda was probably getting in touch now because she needed a drama fix. Maddy had seen her do this before—poke at a hive until the hornets came out, then go crying for someone to feel sorry for her when she inevitably got stung. Usually, the person Miranda cried to was Maddy. Now she wanted Maddy to help her feel better about the mess she’d created with Logan. Well, Maddy had bigger things to worry about—like how badly that last party had gone. As the bus pulled away and the white-pillared house crept farther and farther into the distance, Maddy knew she would have to find some way to turn things around.
But how?
TWENTY-FOUR
“Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Cass knew it wasn’t cool to ambush a person coming out of the bathroom, but at this point she didn’t really care; they had fifteen minutes before the next party started, and she needed to speak with Delia fast.
Delia closed the powder room door behind her with a you again? look. “Can it wait?” she said. “We need to start lining up.”
“It’ll only take a second, and I think you should hear this now. It’s about recruitment.”
Delia motioned for Cass to follow her back inside the powder room. Once they were there Cass said, “There’s a group of sisters who are sabotaging rushees.”
“Can you prove it?” Delia asked.
“Well . . .” Cass had feared Delia would want proof, but she’d also dared to hope for a little help. Delia had surprised Cass more than once during the past couple of days. She’d given Violet time to make her case for Madeleine Christopher during the first night of voting, and she’d allowed Cass to trade the Christopher girl for Rachel Morgan just the night before. Cass had seen how sensible Delia could be. Maybe, just maybe, that ultra-anal exterior hid a cool person underneath.
“I don’t have proof per se,” Cass said. “But I heard them talking and I know they’re up to something.”
“These are serious accusations,” Delia replied. “Especially with nothing to back them up.”
“But it’s happening, right in plain sight. You’ve seen how Courtney and her friends act. The girls they go after are always the ones certain other girls want. Recruitment is already stacked against most rushees because somehow we’ve decided only a few are must-haves. If the rest are going to get cut, let it happen because they really wouldn’t fit in here, not because some sisters have a problem with each other.”
Delia’s gray eyes grew suspicious “If you and Courtney have issues, then I think you need to be working them out with her. I don’t have the time or the energy to get involved.”
“But you’ll let a rushee get caught up in it? I can tell you almost 100 percent for certain that Madeleine Christopher is going to get screwed tonight.”
“Are you sure?” said Delia. “Or is this Christopher girl simply not Sigma material and you’re having a hard time accepting that?”
“Can you please just shut up about Sigma material? What does that even mean anymore?!”
Delia backed toward the door. “Will you keep it down?” she whispered. “My concern is getting the best pledge class possible.”
“You know what?” said Cass. “So is mine. You are going to miss a girl who would probably give this house everything she has because you’d rather have somebody like Imogen Ash. I met Imogen Ash, and guess what? At the end of the day she’s nothing special. In fact, personality-wise, she’s pretty ordinary. The only thing not ordinary about her is the fact that she’s rich.”
Delia stood there, gazing at Cass with a blankness that might as well have said, Yeah? So what?
“Oh my God, it really is all about the money,” said Cass. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it?”
Delia lifted her chin defensively. “Sophia says . . .”
“I don’t care what Sophia says. What do you say?”
“I say we’re reaching the critical last days of recruitment. And I’m glad Sophia is helping. She’s my mentor.”
“More like a cult leader. It’s creepy how she’s been lurking around, sitting in on meetings. She’s not even very nice to you from what I’ve seen. So why do you idolize her so much?”
“Sophia cares about me,” said Delia, and Cass noticed that her eyes were glistening. Delia was away from her family after just losing a parent, and Cass could understand why it might feel good to have an adult to talk to. Delia was under a lot of stress and probably extremely sad on top of it all. Cass almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“Sophia cares about some stupid library wing,” she said.
“She wants to leave a strong legacy, and so do I.” Delia reached to her throat and clutched the lavaliere on its glittering chain. “I’m trying to ensure the future of this sisterhood.”
“Do you even know what sisterhood means?” said Cass. “We sing songs and say pledges about it, but I have personally been treated in ways that no sister should ever be treated. Sorry, Delia, but all this sisterhood stuff is just crap.”
Delia pulled herself up, the emotion Cass had glimpsed just seconds ago vanishing. She let go of her lavaliere and reached for the knob of the powder room door. “If you don’t believe in the ideals of Sigma, then you’re welcome to leave.”
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It would make your day if I just disappeared—me and the rest of my subpar pledge class.”
Once again Delia didn’t answer. Her silence said everything.
“That’s just great,” Cass said as she stepped to the door. “Real sisterly. Thanks, Delia.”
Out in the foyer, the sisters were lining up again. Cass stalked over to her spot at the head of the group, and Ruby hurried to her side.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Ruby asked.
“Yeah,” said Violet from farther down the line. “Are you okay?”
Cass looked at Ruby—at Violet and at Megan behind her and at the others from her pledge class who were scattered throughout the honeycomb of sisters. Looking at them, she realized what she should have said to Delia: “No. Hell no. I’m not leaving. I’m going to stay and make all of that sisterhood bullshit true.”
Because once, it was true. Once upon a time she’d believed in fairness, equality, and sisterhood above all. These were things worth fighting for—for Ruby and Violet and all the other girls who’d believed in it, too. There were things going on in the house that Delia had no idea about. But Cass couldn’t deny them any longer.
“I’m fine,” she told Ruby and Violet. “I just have a bitch of a headache.”
She reached up and started pulling pins out of the too-tight French twist. “Delia, my darling,” she murmured as her hair fell in curls around her shoulders, “if you won’t save Sigma, then I will.”
TWENTY-FIVE
As soon as Imogen got on the bus her phone started to vibrate. She pulled it out and checked the screen: three e-mails had come in. The first was from some girls in her debutante class, all off at East Coast Ivies, inviting her to meet up in Newport over Labor Day.
The next one was from [email protected] with the subject line FRIDAY NIGHT PARTY. And it wasn’t just a mass reminder. When she opened it she found what looked like a personal note: Enjoyed our conversation yesterday. Wanted to make sure you’re going to Yusef’s—would love to talk more. Ben
The idea that he’d gone out of his way to contact her made Imogen warm inside, even though she knew developing a crush on Ben would be an exercise in futility. She knew this because, last night in the throes of a fantasy involving the two of them in a deserted newsroom, she’d decided to stalk his social media profiles, looking for a glimpse of his girlfriend. What she found flushed her attitude about going Greek even farther down the toilet: Of all people, it looked like Ben Sherman was dating none other than the president of Sigma Theta Kappa. Not only was this girl beautiful and obviously awesome, she was also potentially someone with whom Imogen would soon be spending a lot of time.
Imogen had no desire to start her college career as the person who’d tried to steal a sorority sister’s guy. She allowed herself a self-pitying moment, then checked the rest of her in-box. Every other thought vanished when she saw the Google alert:
New York Post—Page Six
“Disgraced socialite caught in clandestine clinch with party-boy porn producer . . .”
Tippy!
Imogen clicked the link, her hands shaking. She read and reread the three-sentence blurb, which made it sound like her friend was getting ready to star in her own private version of Girls Gone Down. Imogen tried to dig underneath the innuendo to figure out what was really going on, but it was hard to see anything different from what the reporter who wrote the story had seen, especially when she got a look at the photo of Tippy coming out of a nightclub with a skeezy-looking guy, wearing a dress that barely covered her crotch and butt cheeks.
Imogen looked around to see who was nearby. Maddy had found a seat at the back of the bus, and Imogen didn’t know the girl who’d sat down next to her. It was as close to private as she was going to get.
She dialed Tippy first but all she got was the usual spaced-out sounding, “If you’re listening to me right now, then you’re not with me right now. Too bad for you. Leave a message and maybe I’ll call back.”
How about maybe never? Imogen thought as she hung up and dialed home.
“What’s going on with Tippy?” she demanded when her mother answered.
“Oh . . .” Didi sounded disappointed. “I’d hoped you were calling with an update on rush.”
“What was that in the Post today?” Imogen pressed. “Has anybody heard from her?”
“Now, darling,” Didi purred. “How would I know? The Sinclairs are practically in seclusion over their daughter. The last thing I would ever do is bring up such a painful subject.”
“But can’t they do something to get her some help? She’s hanging out with porn producers, for God’s sake.”
Didi sighed on the other end of the line. “Don’t worry about it, dear. She’s not your concern.”
“She’s my best friend!”
“Well I, for one, hope you’ll be making new friends soon. If you have to be at Baldwin, then I can at least console myself that you’re that much farther away from Tippy Sinclair.”
The tone in Didi’s voice was so snippy, so . . . Didi Bansford-Ash that Imogen sort of lost it.
“How can you judge her?” she shouted. The girl next to her jumped, so Imogen turned to the window and lowered her voice. “How can you judge her like that, Mom? You have no idea what she’s going through.”
“I’m not judging her. I’m looking out for your best interests.”
Right. Didi loved to talk about looking out for her interests, but really she just wanted to make sure Imogen didn’t do anything that the rest of the Ash family might not find in their interests. The whole thing was just like rush—people deciding who was worthy and who wasn’t. Except at least during rush the sisters were honest about what they were doing. In Didi’s world, people were never crass enough to admit that they might be making judgments. They sold it as “looking out for each other” or “living up to our responsibilities.”
What about responsibilities toward friends? Imogen thought. Or do only certain friends count?
“But enough unpleasant topics,” Didi breezed on. “I want to hear about rush. Do they still love you? And most important, how is Sigma? I went through my jewelry yesterday and found my old chapter pin—the one Nana passed on to me when I went active. Darling, I just can’t wait to pass it on to you.”
Imogen held the phone away as Didi gushed about how she’d already made plans to come in the spring for initiation, and did they actually have a spring at Baldwin or just those nasty, slushy midwestern thaws she’d always heard about?
Siberia. Imogen thought. I’d have to go to Siberia to get away from this woman.
“Of course I’ll have to skip the opera fund-raiser, but they won’t miss me too much,” Didi was saying. “I’ll bring back some sweatshirts and Crock-Pot recipes. The ladies will think it’s all terribly funny and ironic.”
The bus pulled up to the next party and Imogen had never been so glad to see a group of singing sorority sisters. These girls wore grass skirts and leis, and their house had been transformed into an island paradise with a big inflatable pool and palm trees in the front yard.
Or I could go to Margaritaville, Imogen thought as she accidentally on purpose hung up on her mother. If it ends this conversation, I’m not going to be picky.
Day 3
Evening
TWENTY-SIX
“I need your help,” said Cass. Megan and Violet looked up from plates of post-party pasta. Voting started in a few minutes, and Delia had had dinner catered so the sisters wouldn’t have to ax people on empty stomachs.
Megan still looked pissed, and Cass couldn’t blame her after the screwup earlier with the tapping. That was the reason she’d come over.
“I want you to be Madeleine Christopher’s hostess tomorrow,” she told Megan.
“You don’t set up hostesses,” Megan said. “Only the president can do that.”
“I know, but I control the tapping. Delia will never find out.” Cass paused. Megan knew why she’d been kept from meeting Imogen; Cass could see it in her eyes. If they didn’t talk about it now, then they were in for another year of getting tormented by Courtney Mann clones with perfect GPAs and ruthless power obsessions.
“Don’t you ever notice how only certain types of girls get hostesses?” Cass said. “And how come it’s only the president and people like Sophia Kensington who get to decide who’s a must-have? It’s like they’ve already picked the new pledge class before any of us gets a say. Girls like Madeleine Christopher, who I know you like, Violet, get lost for no good reason except that they don’t have whatever magical something makes them ‘Sigma material.’” She made big air quotes. Violet and Megan smiled.
“We need more people like our pledge class,” Cass went on. “We were real sisters. We still are real sisters. At least I feel like that.”
“I do, too,” said Violet. “I miss how th
ings used to be.”
“Me, too,” said Megan. “It’s like we’re the ones who really got what being in a sorority was all about. And then it got ruined.”
“But maybe we can get it back,” Cass said. “Bring in new people who would get it, too. That’s why we need our own hostess system. Violet, you want Madeleine Christopher, right? Then we need more people to meet her. More people means more double votes and that means better odds she’ll actually have a chance.”
Both Megan and Violet were nodding now, smiles starting to creep across their faces.
“We’ll do the same thing for anybody else we like who isn’t an official must-have,” Cass went on. “We have to bombard those girls with people—make sure that everybody who didn’t get picked by Delia to hostess somebody gets to meet the rushees we want.”
“I’ve met a couple of girls who are cool,” said Megan. “There’s at least one who we’d be idiots if we didn’t get.”
“And I heard Nora and Isla talking about someone they really like,” said Violet.
“Great,” said Cass. “Decide which rushees you want. Get them lined up with hostesses, and have the hostesses tap up to me when they hear that girl’s name. Then make sure you get everybody else in our class to go up and meet them, too—as many as possible. Okay? Spread the word, but be careful who hears.” She glanced over at Courtney and Allison, who were sitting two tables over, snickering over their phones.
As she returned to her own table, Cass could hear Megan and Violet buzzing, getting excited about the plan. Of course, she knew it might not work; a decent chunk of rushees were going to get cut in just a few minutes, and one of them might be Madeleine Christopher. Still, it was worth a try. Even if only a couple of girls could be saved, then that was a start. Cass looked around for Ruby, eager to get her list of favorites, but Ruby was nowhere to be found.
Rush Page 14