Rush Week has finally arrived:four nights of house visits, interviews, and meet-and-greets, plus three rounds of “selections.” Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stick close to Liv’s side and look out for her like I planned. We have different Rho Gammas, the Greek-ified term for Recruitment Guides, which means we won’t be visiting the sorority houses in the same group.
According to a pro-tips website Liv found, tonight for round one we’re supposed to dress “cute and casual.” I’m tempted to throw on jeans and a sweater, but Liv has higher expectations.
“Wear those cords your mom got you. And your boots.”
I style them with a pretty, pale blue top and help Liv liven up her twinset with some understated jewelry. I’m boldly wearing my amethyst but I’ve hidden the faerie pin in my purse. Silly to bring it, I know, but I want it with me. Like a security blanket.
At the end of South Street, Liv and I part, but not before I give her a hug. “I want to hear all about it when we get back.”
Jeanine, my group’s Rho Gamma, meets us in front of Delta Rho Beta, fills us in on the night’s procedures, then leads the eight of us into the house. The DRBs aren’t the prettiest or most popular girls atBrownhill—they’re more granola than glam—but they’re the perfect sorority to warm up with. Round one is a lot of talking. A lot, lot, lot of talking. Each prospective is seated alone in a room where she has a quick chat with one sister after the next. Liv has advised me not to be generic, but it’s hard when you have only five minutes to talk to each girl and they all ask you the same things: hometown, major, hobbies and clubs, yada yada yada. It’s not until I mention that I’m considering a women’s studies minor that the list-like questions cease.
Piper, the willowy redhead who’s questioning me, smiles. “That’s my minor!”
We spend our remaining three minutes talking about how we’re going to smash the patriarchy and suddenly DRB is much more appealing to me. I know they’re more service-oriented than the party-girl sororities. Okay, that’s not fair, all sororities do service. No one minds volunteering at the senior center and the animal shelter. Even the most refined KPT can look lovely as she strokes a kitten or has lunch with the elderly. So when Piper tells me DRB partners with a domestic violence shelter, I have to restrain my shock. And my enthusiasm. I know I’ll hear more about each sorority’s philanthropies and service projects in rounds two and three, but I’m ready to bag all the small talk and get to the meat right now.
After the high of interacting with the girls from DRB, the trite conversation at the next two sororities leaves me feeling dull. My brain is so numb I hardly register that we’re following Jeanine into the KPT house until I recognize the topiaries framing the front door. We’re assaulted by classical music and the fragrance of roses. Perfume or flowers, I don’t know. I follow orders and cross the plush carpet to the settee I’ve been assigned. Yes, settee. If ever a chair earned that name in the twenty-first century, it’s the one my cords-clad butt is sitting on right now. I fidget with my pendant as Lara walks into the room.
“Betts Peterson!” she gushes. “I’m so glad to see you here. How’s the night going so far?”
I tell her it’s been fun, but quite a whirlwind.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, I’ll be honest. It doesn’t matter what you say. I mean, who can get to know someone in five minutes? It’s all about how youlookand you don’t have anything to worry about there.”
She raves about my boots and hair. And Zander, of course. Then, just when I think I’m about to escape her unscathed, she narrows her eyes. “That’s such an interesting necklace. Can I see it up close?”
I don’t want her getting her bitch-cooties all over it, but what choice do I have? I nod, then grit my teeth as she lifts it off my chest and turns it to catch the light.
“What is it?” she asks.
“An amethyst.”
“Your birthstone?”
“Nope. I just like purple.”
“A gift from Zander?”
I will myself not to tense. “No. He’s not really a jewelry kind of guy.”
“Oh?” She sounds suspicious. “Then who gave it to you?”
“I gave it to myself,” I lie, and pray my face isn’t as red as it feels.
Fortunately, our time is up, and Lara has to hand me over.Unfortunately, she hands me over to Peyton.
“Oh, Betts, are you a sight for sore eyes! The prospectives are just so pitiful this year.” Peyton perches on the corner of the settee and crosses her perfect legs. She’s dressed for a garden party. In January. “They’re all sodesperate.”
She means Liv, of course.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, as blandly as possible.
“Not thatyouhave to worry. You’re at the top of all the lists.”
How is that possible? Rush only started a few hours ago.
“My advice?” Peyton lays a hand on my shoulder. Her nails are painted pale pink and look a little like Jordan almonds. “Choose what’s best for you. Worrying about others only drags you down.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
