Part 1
Noon-3:00pm
How did a smart girl like me get roped into this?
That’s the question I keep asking myself, but so far, there are no good answers. The absence of these answers, though, doesn’t stop my existential brain from asking things that’ll only serve to drive me insane, making this process longer and harder than it needs to be. Why am I here? What am I doing? And how did I get suckered into what’s basically a glorified wet t-shirt contest? Come to think of it, all of these questions have a uniform answer; a single source that addresses them all. Why must I make things so difficult on myself. I’m here for one reason in three words: Kappa Theta Omega.
To be honest, I’d had my reservations of even coming to REU - Ralph Emerson University - even though it was the logical place for me to go. I’m from an old New England family, our roots go back to the Revolutionary War, and my family has lived in Massachusetts, specifically, for over three generations. That’s right; imagine my vowels dragging on for days and you can practically hear my voice. All of my friends from New York still make fun of me. “It’s pronounced K-A-R, Hadley,” they’d say, “not K-A-H.” My family lived in Worcester; our accents aren’t as bad as those Bostonians, trust me.
So why did I hesitate coming here despite the fact that they offered me a full academic scholarship and it being relatively close to where I grew up? It’s a dark chapter from my life, one that no one ever really talks about, but my older sister Veronica had a best friend who went here. Veronica’s six years older than me (and yes, my parents still swear that I wasn’t an accident, but the older I get, the less I believe them). Veronica is the opposite of me in every way that two sisters can be. While I’m outgoing, love to be around people, and feel great at parties, she’d rather curl up in her bed with a pile of books, and eat every meal alone.
Even though she wasn’t a super social person, Veronica always had a few friends that she was really close with. One of them, Jennifer, her best friend since forever, had come to REU with her and decided to pledge a sorority on campus. I don’t even remember the name of it, to be honest, but I know that it wasn’t Kappa Theta Omega. Anyway, Jennifer got a little too drunk at a party one night and some asshole who wasn’t even a student here assaulted her. When she told everyone, her sorority sisters didn’t even believe her. They asked her why she’d gotten so drunk in the first place, why she went up to one of the spare bedrooms of the house with a guy she barely knew, and a bunch of other questions, like they were cops. Jennifer never pressed charges, and when she tried to tell administration at the college, they’d basically treated it the same way her sorority sisters had.
You may have heard about it because Jennifer’s sister brought criminal charges against the guy, and a second lawsuit against the school for trying to cover it up. Both cases got settled out of court for undisclosed sums of money, but my sister told me in private that part of the settlement involved the school taking formal initiatives to make sure sexual assault didn’t happen, and if it did, that it was taken more seriously than in Jennifer’s case. That was a few years ago, and before I’d even considered going here (and certainly before I’d pledge a sorority house), I made sure that things had actually changed. When I was still a senior in high school, I joined a bunch of REU groups on social media and talked to girls who went here currently. My parents also called the school to voice their concerns on my well-being. One of the first things the university did was to dismantle that sorority house whose name I can’t even remember, and they severely limited alcohol usage on campus for any reason. So here I am now, a freshman at REU, and a pledge of Kappa Theta Omega.
Once I got accepted in January of my senior year, me and my best friend, Cassie, decided we were going to pledge Kappa Theta Omega. It sounds cliché, but from everything I could gather from social media and my sister’s experience, KTO was the most popular sorority house on campus. Maybe it was stupid of us, but she kind of talked me into it, and I’d always secretly wanted to belong to a sorority.
For me, it was always going to be part of the college experience – something I would remember forever and build lifelong friendships from. That’s the plan, anyhow, and maybe it’s my fault for romanticizing the whole idea in my head. But right now, I’m here, standing half-naked in the middle of this car wash on a sunny Saturday morning, wearing shorts that belong on a stripper and this tight as hell white tee. My hair is in pigtails because, according to the Sisters we’re supposed to wear – and I quote – “Booty shorts, a tight white shirt, and pigtails.” And if the clothing directive wasn’t bad enough, we were also told that at no point are we allowed to look at, talk to, or practically breathe the same air as the boys from Delta Lota Kappa, also known as “the Dicks!”
Creative name, right? That’s literally what they called themselves – the Dicks. I don’t know if that’s the coolest, most confident thing ever, or just lazy. I can see both sides. On one hand, I love that they’re not some generic and forgettable group of guys who sound like every other frat in the country, but at the same time, they’re too cool for school, literally, which makes me think that they might be your stereotypical jock assholes. I hope it’s the first and not the second. Back to this car wash. This should not be hard, since the last thing on my mind is hooking up. My last breakup was six months ago, but sometimes it feels like yesterday. It was a bad one, and guys aren’t even on my radar. All I’m focused on right now is getting through this pledge process as seamlessly as possible, which shouldn’t be too hard.
Famous last words, right? The first couple of customers are harmless enough. Normal horny guys that range from semi-attractive nerdy types to borderline creeps who just want to stare at a pair of tits. We take all comers without complaining, of course; we’re trying to make an impression here. Truth be told, I’m hating just about every second of this. I don’t understand why I have to look and act slutty to be in a sorority; doesn’t that just confirm all of the stereotypes that sorority girls are easy prey for any sexual advances? But I’m not in a position to question these things right now. I’m in a position to run a sponge over some shitty cars while sticking my ass out in the process. Oh well.
Twenty minutes into this shit show, I see a dirty, dingy, Super Duty Ford truck roll up. Even from a distance, I can see the driver just fine, and fine is the perfect word for him. When he stops, I can’t help but stare at him, and as his driver side door opens, I get the full picture of this gorgeous, six-foot-three hunk of deliciousness stepping out and standing in front of me. I all but fall over myself trying to get closer to him before any of these other hoes do. He’s a few feet away, so I try to balance moving quickly to seize this opportunity and looking like some desperate, thirsty skank. I move my feet somewhere between a walk and a run while doing my best to not make it obvious that this is nothing short of a race.
When I finally make my way over to this tall drink of water with a big smile on my face, I start to twirl one of my pigtails out of habit. I make sure to get real close to him. I notice he has sandy brown hair that I can see peeking out from under his cap, and his body is built like a football player. I also notice that he’s dirty and sweaty, like he just got done rolling around in mud.
Still twirling my pigtail, I saunter up to him. “I’m Hadley, can I help clean you up?” Real smooth, Had, I say to myself. I sound like the hostess at a restaurant or something. Mr. Football smiles at my awkwardness, and I’m completely taken in by his smile. Not only is he gorgeous, with the bone structure of a Greek god, but he has the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. For a few seconds that feel like an eternity, I just stare back at him. When I finally break away, my gaze travels up to the words on his cap, and my mood deflates instantly. I stop twirling my pigtail and my smile falters. Mr. Football doesn't even notice he just looks me up and down and says. “Hey there, Pippi, I'm Patrick.”
“Ohhhh, you're calling me Pippi because of the pigtails, how clever,” I say as I roll my eyes. This is even more confirmation that I need to abort this mission and keep it moving. I turn and look around, to feel out my options here. I can stay and most likely flirt back and forth with Patrick, and get yelled at for breaking the rules, or I can try to find another pledge to call over here to take my place. I scan the parking lot and I can't find one single pledge that can help me, so I put on my big girl pants and turn to Patrick, flashing him a smile. He looks very confused and his brows scrunch up. He looks at me as he takes his ball cap off his sexy head and swipes at the sweat dripping down his beautiful face.
“Umm Pippi, you gonna clean this beast off, or what?”
For some reason, my eyes go to his crotch and he notices. Of course he notices. “Not that beast, Pippi. Well, I mean… at least, not right now,” he says with a wink.
Who the hell does this guy think he is? A rock star? Or a movie star, maybe. Some profession that has groupies associated with it, that’s for sure. Only someone who’s used to women throwing themselves at him could be that arrogant. “Patrick, I know we don’t know one another, but I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me.”
“Oh yeah,” he says, grinning at me like I’m not saying the words that I’m saying. “And what impression might that be, beautiful?”
“That I’m the kind of girl you can grin at, call beautiful, and have me swoon. You might be confusing me with some of the girls you’ve met throughout your entitled little life.”
The look on his face is priceless. I can tell right away that he’s made a few assumptions. First, that I’m just some easy sorority chick who’d love nothing more in this world than to invite his dick to a private party in my vagina. Second, he assumes he’s way hotter than he actually is. Don’t get me wrong, he caught my attention the second I laid eyes on him, but there’s more to being hot than the structure of a guy’s face and how tall he is. There’s humility, there’s grace, there’s not thinking that every girls wants to jump on top of you the second you bat your eyes. So far, as best as I can tell, he has none of that.
“So that’s it, huh?”
“What?” I ask, noticing that his expression has completely changed.
“I say one sarcastic thing and you think you have me all figured out? Is that how this works?”
“Well, if you want me to have a different impression, then maybe you should choose your words more carefully,” I say, feeling more than a little bit snarky. I guess I’m speaking a little too loudly for a pledge because one of the sisters comes over to me, looking like an angry mom who’s about to yell at her kid.
“Pledge, is there a problem here?”
Yup, she sounds very angry mom-ish. And as soon as I hear her voice, I start to feel just like that kid in trouble. Anxiety begins to spread through my body and suddenly, I regret making a stupid car wash into some kind of feminist stance. “No problem,” I say, looking down and trying not to make any more trouble for myself than I already have.
“Is she giving you any issues,” she repeats, this time not even bothering with me, but instead, looking right at Patrick. I glance up and make eye contact with him, and as he looks down at me, he looks almost disappointed and sad, which has me curious. If there’s a chance to sell me out and get me packing my bags from Kappa, this is it. Maybe I bruised his delicate male ego, and this will be his revenge. Or maybe I deserve it for not just playing along. His move.
“No,” he says, looking at the sister and then back at me. “I was about to get my car washed somewhere else, and this one convinced me to donate my money to you Kappa girls. She’s a good one, this one.” He’s pointing at me and smiling again. It’s a different smile from the arrogant grin he was giving me before I yelled at him. This is more real, something genuine that forces me to grin back at him. He could have sold me out, but he didn’t. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe he has ulterior motives, or maybe he thinks I owe him now, but at the moment, I don’t really care about analyzing the situation, I’m just happy I’m not in trouble.
“Oh, great,” she said, giving Patrick an overly big smile and up-talking at the end of every sentence to make her voice extra high. Why do girls do that? “Well, you heard the man, pledge. Get to washing.”
“Ok,” I agree, feeling better about the situation, but still annoyed that I have to wash this guy’s car. But I guess it’s the lesser of two evils. Patrick steps to the side of his car, and I wave some of the other girls over to help me. The sister who came over is talking his ear off, flirting with every syllable that comes out of her mouth. I don’t even need to hear her; it’s pretty clear from her body language alone that she’s into Patrick. I’ve always been good at reading people.
Not that you need to be some expert to see the twirling of her hair, her overly arched back, and a smile that makes her look more like the Joker than a college girl. It’s not her body language that interests me, though; it’s Patrick’s. He couldn’t be less interested in whatever it is she’s saying. He’s not even looking at her. Physicality between two people could be just like locks and keys, yin and yang, peanut butter and chocolate. What one person gives off with their body has to be accepted by the other person, like a lock fitting into a key, but if things are off, then you have a situation like the one in front of me. A flirty, thirsty girl and a guy who can’t stop staring at me.
“Thank you,” I mouth to him from a few feet away, and he nods his head confidently at me as if to say, “You’re welcome.”
The girls and I give his car the once over, pleased with our work. You can practically see yourself in the paint and when we’re done, Patrick comes over, thanks the other girls, then turns to me. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “You guys did a great job.”
“Thanks,” I answer. “And thanks again for before. I owe you one.”
“Darling,” he says, slipping me a tip, “that’s about the worst thing you could say to someone like me.” He smiles at me deviously, and then gets in his car and drives away.
Well, that was a hell of a way to start the pledging process!
Kappa doesn’t haze their girls in the same way as some other sororities. Trust me, I’ve heard some stories about the craziness involved in the pledging process, but Kappa isn’t that bad at all. Basically, they make you do all the shit things that no one wants to do, and they make you do a lot. But there’s nothing demeaning, nothing overly sexual (not counting all the guys staring at my chest before). The car wash was one thing, but tonight, there’s a huge party at the house and it’s up to us pledges to get everything ready. Have you ever planned a party for your friends or family? Food, drinks, decorations, all that? Now, imagine all that planning, money, and stress isn’t for your ten relatives at Christmas, but it’s for two hundred frat brothers, sorority sisters, and Lord knows who else on a college campus. Right, that’s our job. Can someone remind me why I chose to do this again?
Me and few girls head to the store in town to pick up all the stuff we need. They have a BJ’s a few miles away, and since we have to pay out of our own money, that’s where we’re all headed. We look like crazy people, and I can see the judgmental stares of all the employees as me and the girls shove all the supplies we need into about ten of those giant carts filled with party supplies - appetizers, plates, and enough red solo cups to fuel a thousand next-day hangovers. Maybe we should stock up on Tylenol and Advil also? Nah, we’re going to have to charge this whole thing on my parents’ credit card already. I feel embarrassed that I have to even do that, but I come from a well-to-do New England family, and my parents have never been shy with getting me whatever it is that I want.
I want to be my own independent woman, but sometimes I think I’m just trying to live this feminist fantasy where I’m Miss Independent, a new college student who makes her own money, doesn’t need a guy to be happy, and can do things like pay for five hundred dollars’ worth of party supplies without even blinking. But that’s exactly what it is, a fantasy.
“Holy shit,” Cassie says to me when she sees the total. “Thank God for your parents, or we’d all be cast out.”
“Shhh,” I say, touching her shoulder. “I don’t want the other girls to know Mom and Dad paid for this. It’s embarrassing.”
“Can I ask you a question? We’re out of earshot, I promise. They’re all texting and updating their Snapchat stories anyhow.”
“Yeah,” I reply, as I swipe the family American Express through the machine.
“Why is it that rich people are always uncomfortable with being rich? Like, they never even want to use that word or let anyone know that they have money. What’s the deal with that?”
“I don’t know, I’ll let you know when I’m rich one day. In the meantime, you can ask my dad.”
“Like even right now. Why the secrecy?”
I get out of the way, rolling my giant cart full of shit to the side to wait for the next girls in line to load their solo cups, napkins, and other assorted party stuff.
“For me, it’s not about being embarrassed about my money. It’s being embarrassed that it’s not my money. I feel like I’m too old to have my parents paying for things.”
“If you had your own money, I’m sure you’d use it,” Cassie says to me. “But in the meantime, I wouldn’t feel bad about having Mom and Dad contribute to the cause.”
“They’re going to wonder why they have a crazy bill in October, trust me. We haven’t even hit up the liquor store yet. Can you imagine how much that’s going to cost?”
“Is this worth it?” she asks me.
“What?”
“All of this. The embarrassment, and the hard work, and the expense. Is it worth it?”
“Probably not,” I tell her. “But, hey, it’s part of the college experience, right?”
“I guess so.”
“Smile. We’re in a great school, away from home, finally, and in the sorority that all the girls want to be in.”
“Slow your roll,” she jokes. “We’re not even almost in Kappa yet. We’re its side hoes right now, nothing more.”
“This is true, but if we can make a great impression and do all this terrible shit with some class and distinction, well then, maybe we’ll get fast-tracked to being full sisters.”
“That’s what I love about you, Had.”
“What?” I ask.
“You’re an eternal optimist.”