Rush

by Sara Bennett Wealer

  White stood for First List—the list of the chosen.

  Red stood for Second List—the also-rans.

  Black stood for doom. No one on Third List ever made it into the new pledge class. For that matter, neither did anybody on Second List, except for the extremely lucky few who managed to step into a spot left by a rushee who’d decided to turn Sigma down.

  But nobody ever turned down Sigma.

  Poor Lauren Hubbard kept on smiling from the screen as red and black paddles went up all over the room. Marina counted, then typed on her computer. In the corner of the projection screen, a graph appeared with a tally. Though the final rankings wouldn’t be shown until the end, this initial result gave a good idea where each individual rushee stood. Miss Hubbard was low Second List. She’d be lucky if she didn’t get bumped down to Third by the time all the other rushees had been voted on.

  Next up: Imogen Ash. Apparently, she’d made a mistake and had never meant to cut Sigma in the first place. That was the story that had made its way around the house after the must-have to end all must-haves had reappeared at the last party of the day. Cass thought it stank, but what could she do? Raising questions would only piss people off, and she was already paranoid after what had happened with Madeleine Christopher in the powder room.

  Imogen Ash looked out of the screen with that wry smile, and Delia cleared her throat. “What say you, sisters?”

  Fifty white paddles whooshed into the air. Cass sat with hers still on the table. Delia would get what she wanted: Imogen Ash on First List, but that didn’t mean Cass had to fly with the rest of the hive. She waited until Delia noticed that she hadn’t cast her vote yet, then held up black, like a period on a sheet of paper.

  And then, she let it go. All she really cared about were the girls she and her pledge class had tried to help. Would their hostessing plan work? Cass waited for names and watched their results.

  Devon Morales—Second List

  Ivy Anderson—First List (but low; she’d be lucky to stay there)

  Marissa Larkin—high Second List

  Leah Sandoval, Megan Fitch’s favorite girl, came up solid First List. “Yes!” said Megan, pumping her fist, and Cass smiled. One was better than nothing.

  Finally, another familiar face appeared on the screen.

  “Madeleine Christopher,” said Delia. “What say you, sisters?”

  Cass counted as white paddles were raised, one for each member of her pledge class. Courtney Mann sat poker faced, with her hands folded in front of her. Aimee Wu twirled a lock of hair around her finger, looking almost bored. Around the room, the rest of the Killer Bees sat quietly at their own tables.

  And then, they stung.

  Courtney held up black. Then Aimee. Then Allison Reed. Each black paddle pulled Madeleine Christopher down, canceling out her white votes. Combined with red votes from the handful of sisters who had no clue what was going on, Maddy’s initial tally showed her low on First List. But Cass could already predict what would happen.

  An hour later, when all of the tallies were shown, her fears were confirmed. Madeleine Christopher had made mid Second List, which was basically no-man’s land. She would never know how close she’d come to breaking through. She would never know what had gone on behind the scenes on her behalf. All she would know, the next morning when she opened her engraved envelope, was that it did not contain a bid from Sigma Theta Kappa.

  Cass sat back in her chair. She’d done all she could, but it wasn’t enough. Barring some sort of divine intervention, Madeleine Christopher was out.

  Meanwhile back in the real world, Leo still needed help.

  As soon as voting ended Cass hung her robe in the chapter room, then sneaked down the back steps and out the side door of the sorority. She pulled the door shut, mindful not to let it squeak. One step, two steps, three, and then she was on the side lawn. Just a few more steps and she’d be away from the house lights, safely in the dark. She started toward the OTE house, planning to cut across their lawn in order to get to the street.

  “Where are you going?”

  Cass froze. She turned to see Delia, nearly hidden by the shadow of the portico. She’d been so quiet, sitting there on the stairs, that Cass had walked right past her and not even noticed.

  “I have to help my friend at Delaney’s,” Cass explained. “I can’t stay in.”

  “We can’t risk having any more incidents,” said Delia.

  Cass flashed back to earlier, in the powder room. “Nothing happened with Madeleine Christopher today, if that’s what you’re talking about. Besides, we’ve made all of our decisions. The rankings are in.”

  “But they still have to rank us.”

  Cass let out an exasperated sigh. “Like any of those girls is going to turn us down.”

  Delia said nothing. No speech about not taking things for granted. No uptight harping on the rules. Just . . . what was it Cass detected in Delia’s silence? Was it fear?

  “Whatever you might be thinking, I’m the last person you have to worry about,” Cass said. “My girl lost. I don’t have any other favorites. In fact, I don’t really care if any of the girls on First List pledge here, so I won’t be trying to influence anybody. And just to show you I’m serious, I won’t speak to anybody else for the rest of the night. I’ll be the amazing mute bartender. I promise.”

  Cass couldn’t help trying one more joke, one last time with Delia. But Delia still sat like a stone.

  “Or,” said Cass, “I can quit the house right now. I’ve done my duty as music leader. You don’t need me here anymore.”

  It was the first time she’d ever seriously spoken of quitting Sigma. Sure, she’d joked about it, but something had always held her back—a memory of the way things used to be, maybe, and a hope that they could be that way again. But now she knew: There would always be Killer Bees. Girls like Madeleine Christopher would always have to claw their way out of Second List. And no matter what Cass did, to the rest of Sigma she would always be “subpar.”

  Delia shook her head. “Don’t quit. We do need you. I’m sorry if you ever felt like we didn’t. I think maybe we’ve been wrong about some things. I know I have.”

  And then—Cass could barely believe her eyes: Delia Danforth smiled! A tiny smile, but genuine. What amazed Cass more, however, was what she saw as her eyes grew more accustomed to the light: Delia’s cheeks were wet with tears.

  “Hey,” said Cass. “Are you all right? I mean really. Are you okay? I know it’s none of my business, but I’ve been thinking you seem upset these past few days.”

  Delia’s shoulders started to shake. She put her head in her hands, and Cass rushed back to the porch. She had no idea what to do. The idea of hugging Delia Danforth seemed completely alien. But then so did the reality of Delia Danforth sobbing in front of her.

  She compromised by putting a hand on Delia’s arm. “Is it your dad? You must really miss him.”

  “He was the one person in my life who always supported me,” said Delia. “Sort of like my rock, you know? He gave me advice and kept me going when things got hard. Losing him right now, on top of everything else, just makes this week harder. I don’t think I’ve ever been under so much pressure.”

  “I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” Cass admitted. “And I know recruitment seems like this high-stakes thing. But honestly, Sigma could choose from hundreds of girls and end up with a great pledge class. Say we didn’t get Imogen Ash. Maybe we wouldn’t get Sophia’s library wing and maybe you wouldn’t win President of the Year or whatever award it is you get for snagging all of the must-haves. But if she doesn’t want us in the end, then isn’t it better to get people who really do want to be here? Why is one rushee so important?

  “Because we’re talking about more than a new wing or some meaningless award.”

  Delia wiped her cheeks with the palms of her hands and stared out across the lawn. “Sigma at Baldwin is on the verge of financial collapse. The endowments were badly invested, f
unds have been mismanaged, and with the way the economy’s been our usual donors are broke, too. The national chapter can do only so much, and now there’s barely enough money to keep the water running let alone build a new library. If we don’t find a solution soon, we could end up losing this house. I don’t want to be the president who let that happen. Not if I could have saved it.”

  Cass gasped. The past few days suddenly made more sense. But still, she found it hard to believe the sorority could be in that much trouble without word getting out about it.

  “Why didn’t the rest of us know?” she asked.

  “We didn’t think it was a good idea to worry the chapter members, especially when we had a prospect like Imogen Ash coming through. A couple of donations from her family and everything would be okay.”

  “So then it’s not a problem anymore, right? Imogen was back today so everything’s fine.”

  “Yes . . . ,” said Delia.

  “But . . . ?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t look like it’s nothing. What did you do to get her to come back?”

  “Nothing!” Delia’s reaction told Cass she was telling the truth. “I didn’t do anything. Neither did any of the other sisters that I know of. We were told Imogen made an honest mistake.”

  “But you don’t think she did?”

  “I guess I just wonder. I mean, I think about Sophia. She’s been so involved and the situation got resolved so quickly—rushees just don’t make mistakes like that very often. I can’t prove anything, and honestly I’m not sure I want to.” She shook her head again, looking exhausted “My father . . . Whenever he had a problem he solved it himself. He fixed everything on his own.”

  “You don’t have to fix everything.”

  Delia didn’t answer. She gazed at the fraternity across the lawn, and Cass could see there was someplace she’d rather be. And why not? If Cass had a boyfriend, she’d be pulling out her hair to get away and spend time with him right about now.

  “What does Ben say about it?” she asked.

  “I haven’t told him much, and he’s not really interested. He’s a little disgusted with Sigma, to be honest. He’s so invested in the Beacon—he’s never understood how important all of this is to me.”

  They sat quietly, Cass unsure how to respond. For the first time, she could feel how truly alone Delia was.

  “I don’t know how everything got so bad,” Delia said. “This isn’t the Sigma I joined. When I pledged, we really were about excellence and support—helping each other be the best we could be. Even recruitment was nicer. Yes, we had to disappoint people, but it was more about finding the right mix of personalities than it was about must-haves. And then . . .”

  Delia paused, and Cass thought about the poster she’d found up in Marianne’s room.

  “And then someone died,” she said, speaking a hunch and being way too bold. But she’d already seen Delia Danforth cry. She figured she didn’t have much else to lose.

  “Things happen that change people,” Delia said after a long silence. “Things happen that make you refocus your priorities. But it got taken too far. And then money became an issue, and the next thing I knew, everything had turned into . . . this.” Delia waved her arm to encapsulate the house, the past week, the entire past year. “I know it hasn’t been easy. I’m sorry about that.”

  Cass took a moment, waiting for the lump in her throat to go down so she could speak clearly.

  “Thanks,” she told Delia. “That means a lot.”

  “If you really need to go tonight, then you should go. Just, if anybody asks, don’t tell them I let you out.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes. Thanks for your hard work this week. You did a great job.”

  “You did, too,” said Cass. She stood and stepped down off the porch. She started back across the lawn, hurrying now because she didn’t want to be late.

  “Remember,” Delia called. “Don’t talk to anybody!”

  As the lawn sloped down to the sidewalk, the damp grass offered little traction. Cass’s sandals slid on the moisture and the blades tickled the sides of her feet. She looked back at the house to see if Delia was still there and something else caught her eye—the glint of streetlights against two panes of open glass, and curtains billowing into the night. Earlier that day she’d closed the window in Marianne McCourt’s room, just like Delia had asked. But now it was open again.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Now this is a party.

  Imogen sank into a decrepit Papasan chair, holding her beer over her head so it wouldn’t slosh out of its red plastic cup. Not that it made much of a difference. The beat-up wood floor already looked like it had a film on it from years’ worth of alcohol spills and God knows what else. Imogen might have been skieved out by the furniture, too, except she couldn’t see much of it under all the bodies lounging around. Music blared from the stereo, competing with laughter and the sounds of half-drunk conversations. Over in the corner a bunch of people were playing Mario Kart while the smell of weed emanated from a bathroom down the hall.

  Filthy, smoky, crowded, and awesome—they didn’t have parties like this in her New York. Drinking and drugs, yes. Crazy people, absolutely. But getting down and dirty could be tough in a multi-million-dollar apartment. Once, Tippy had put lipstick on a priceless marble bust and thrown up in a Ming vase—both in the same evening. Their friends had dragged her out of the building, and the live-in maid had cleaned up the mess before anybody else noticed. Sometimes Imogen thought that was why Tippy had gone so far off the deep end: Whenever she’d tried to act out she’d always had somebody to swoop in and save her from herself.

  Here there were no maids and no security guards. Nobody to say “think about your future” or “smile and make small talk.” Imogen took a swallow of beer. It was warm, watery, cheap, and even that was awesome. If she drank enough, she could forget about Sigma and her parents and Maddy, who’d lost it at her an hour earlier for no good reason.

  At least that’s what she tried to tell herself.

  Maddy’s a nut job. A total paranoid freak.

  Unfortunately, she knew it was going to take a lot more than lite beer to convince herself of that. Because even though Maddy had said some crappy things, Imogen could still sort of see her point.

  She might be paranoid, but you, Imogen Ash, are a hypocrite.

  “Imogen! There you are!”

  She looked up to see Ben coming out of the kitchen with Kathryn Pease at his side. He’d been AWOL when she’d first arrived, and she hoped she didn’t look like a slobbering puppy now at the sight of him in a hoodie and those Chucks. It was the first time she’d seen him since he’d walked her home two days ago—well, the first time she’d seen him in person. She’d spent more time than she cared to admit looking at his image on social media and all the other places where photos of the Beacon editor and his powerhouse sorority-president girlfriend might be found. Imogen looked, even though the whole thing was hopeless—especially now that her parents were forcing her to pledge Sigma. Now she’d have to spend the next several months watching the guy she liked with one of her sorority sisters.

  Painful.

  Ben spotted her and she sat up, almost tipping over the Papasan. Kathryn bolted forward to help while he watched with a lopsided smile on his face.

  “You’re here,” he said when Imogen had regained her balance.

  “I said I would be.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I never renege on an RSVP.”

  “Such formal talk!” His eyes were slightly unfocused and she could smell whiskey. “You can loosen up now,” he said. “Rush is over for the day.”

  “Thank God for that!” She frowned into her cup. “We don’t get these kinds of refreshments at those kinds of parties.”

  “And it looks like you’re almost out. Can I get you a refill?” He held his hand out for her cup. “And you?” He turned to Kathryn.

  “No thanks,” she answered.
“I’m good.”

  “Be right back then. While I’m gone, I expect you to give Imogen a complete download of the Beacon style guide and copy-flow process. Got that? Hey, Yusef! I thought you said you’d switched out the keg!!”

  Kathryn took a seat on the coffee table. “That’s our fearless leader,” she said, and sighed. “He even multitasks when he’s partying.”

  “So he’s always like this?” Imogen asked.

  “Ben is . . .” Kathryn chewed her lip, searching for the right words. “He’s talented.”

  “That’s like saying a person is nice. Translation: there’s something wrong.”

  Kathryn shook her head and smiled. “The only thing wrong with Ben is that he’s overextended and overworked. I’m a triple major so I know of what I speak.”

  “But how much of that’s him and how much is his girlfriend?” Imogen hated herself for asking such a nakedly obvious question. It was an almost masochistic urge, trying to find out more about the girl who’d pretty much guaranteed that Ben Sherman was off-limits. “Isn’t she supposed to be like some queen bee taskmaster?”

  Kathryn looked surprised. “I didn’t think he still had a girlfriend.”

  “Oh?” Imogen’s eyes flew wide and she quickly pulled them into a less-delighted expression. “Did they break up or something?”

  “I kind of thought they had,” Kathryn said. “He hasn’t mentioned her lately. At least not to me.”

  Before Imogen could pump for more information, Ben popped up between them, a fresh cup of beer in each hand. Kathryn’s cheeks went red.

  “So! Imogen! Sorority rush!” she said, changing the subject. “I never had time, but I hear it’s intense.”

  Imogen glanced at Ben, wondering how much he remembered of their conversation two days ago. “It’s been insane, that’s for sure.”

  “But you’re finished tomorrow?”

  “Death sentences arrive at ten a.m. sharp. I’m dying to not think about it, though. At least not tonight.”

  “Fine,” said Ben. “We won’t think about Greek stuff. We’ll think about freedom of the press and world peace and me not eating so much vending-machine crap.”