Pledged

by Alexandra Robbins

  The house was in an uproar. Girls were shouting, crying, and screaming at each other. “I can’t believe this is happening!” a junior gasped.

  “This is ridiculous!”

  “We’re Beta Pi’s leftovers!”

  “This is humiliating.”

  Whitney pumped her fist. “Yes, we won!”

  A junior frowned at the senior. “This wasn’t a competition,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, yes it was!” Whitney exhorted. The youngest sisters were shocked. They whispered to each other that had they known the seniors would be able to swing so many votes, they would have all voted for the Zetas instead of Omega Phi just to keep the Delts from winning. The general consensus among the juniors was that most of the Alpha Rho executive board members, wanting to suck up to the seniors, had voted their way. The seniors must have cajoled the other votes out of some of the weaker younger sisters. It was clear that as Alpha Rho president, Charlotte, looking around at her quickly self-destructing house, had no idea what to do.

  The seniors gathered in the entry hall, celebrating, while the other sisters went upstairs and complained to each other about the power the seniors wielded and how Delta Lambda had come out of nowhere. On her way upstairs, a sophomore who had especially wanted Zeta Sigma broke down crying. When the seniors glanced at her and laughed, she cursed them out. “You don’t say anything to the seniors,” Caitlin said sarcastically as she led the sophomore upstairs by the hand. “Not the seniors. They’re the oldest sisters in the chapter so they have to get whatever they want.” The weeping sophomore decided to boycott every event held with the Delts.

  Charlotte called the Delt president to promise him that when the Delts serenaded Alpha Rho on Sunday, the girls would sing back. Later that night, the Delts scattered on the Alpha Rho patio red roses and a huge platter of brownies. From the veranda upstairs, Sabrina spotted the platter on the porch and crept down the back stairs of the house. The seniors hadn’t yet noticed the gifts. When the seniors in the entry hall moved their victory party into the TV room, Sabrina snuck out to the porch, grabbed the platter (no small feat—in typical overstated Delt fashion, it was rather large for tiny Sabrina), and sprinted upstairs to Caitlin and Amy’s suite. “This is for us,” Sabrina said, “and we’re not sharing!” The girls stuffed themselves with as many brownies as they could cram in. To make sure that the seniors wouldn’t benefit, the girls, doubling over with laughter, then defaced the remainder of the brownies, mashing their hands in them until they looked too gross to eat. Caitlin, who was particularly incensed at the way the vote had gone, brought the platter of ruined brownies downstairs and left it in the kitchen.

  The next night, only forty girls—not even all of the girls who had voted for Delta Lambda—dressed in their traditional A-line sundresses (white with thick, ruffled straps and a tiny flowered pattern) and halfheartedly warbled their serenade to Delta Lambda in the Alpha Rho entry hall. The rest stayed upstairs in protest. Later, the Delts hosted a keg party in honor of their new dates. Sabrina and Caitlin decided that because Caitlin was Greek Week co-chair and they still wanted to have fun during Greek Week, they might as well participate, despite their distaste for the Delts. Only a few of the underclassmen sisters bothered to be courteous to the fraternity, neglecting the sorority’s goal of maintaining good relations with all other Greeks on campus. Therefore, Sabrina and Caitlin made a show of valiantly offering to “take one for the team” and to represent the honor and dignity of their largely reluctant sorority; at least for that night, they volunteered to be in charge of “keeping up relations” between the two houses by spending time with the boys of Delta Lambda.

  Actually, they’d heard the Delts had weed.

  During the next few days, the Delts sent e-mails to each individual sister: “Delta Lambda loves you.” “We can’t wait for Greek Week.” “We think you’re so hot.” It still took about a week for the Alpha Rhos to get over the fiasco.

  Framed by Fraternities

  MUCH OF THE DRAMA IN SORORITY HOUSES REVOLVES around fraternity issues. Because so many of the official sorority activities—Greek Week, bar nights, “mixers” (theme parties)—involve their male counterparts, a sorority’s standing among fraternity brothers often determines its status in the Greek system. Sororities resemble high school cliques, vying for the attention of the most attractive boys to boost their standing among the popular girls.

  Surprised that Alpha Rho, a relatively low-key sorority, emphasized the fraternity hierarchy so strongly, I asked Amy why it mattered so much. “Every house wants to ‘look good,’” she explained, her dark plum eyes sincere. “As much as we’re laid back, we still want to appear to be wanted and more popular among the Greek community. About half of Alpha Rho cares about being the popular house, and the other half doesn’t. I think that’s why we always fight over everything.”

  Granted, Alpha Rho doesn’t represent the extreme. Social chairs of other sororities and fraternities planning mixers have been known to match up individual sister-brother dates between the groups by age, looks, or personality. At many sororities, sisters monitor fraternity relations so closely that they encourage members to date brothers in only one or two specific fraternities. Girls who disobey by dating a brother from the wrong fraternity can be ostracized. Even when the sorority sisters approve of an individual guy, his fraternity affiliation can taint his overall image—as well as the image of his girlfriend.

  Brooke, the Texas redhead, met her boyfriend Johnny a few weeks into their freshman year at Texas College. He was sweet, gregarious, and extremely attractive. When Brooke fell for him, the ten girls on her dormitory hall—all of whom were preparing to rush in January—swooned. “He’s so adorable!” they cooed. “You’re so lucky!” As the semester progressed and the girls got to know the sisters in the sororities they preferred, they gravitated toward the “It” fraternities accepted by those sororities. Eta Gamma, for example, was “married” to the Delta Lambdas that year. As a result, the ten girls started dating Delts or freshmen who planned to become Delts, in the hopes that their relationships would improve their chances to get into Eta Gamma. Johnny, who was also rushing, had narrowed his choices down to two: Delt (to Brooke’s relief) and Mu Zeta Nu, a low-tiered fraternity considered to be composed of nice guys who unfortunately also happened to be geeky.

  On Bid Day, as Brooke celebrated with her new Eta Gamma sisters outside the house, she nervously wondered which letters Johnny had chosen. The girls on her hall, who had all made Eta Gamma, were surrounded by Delt boyfriends lavishing them with roses and bear hugs under the approving eyes of the Eta Gamma sisters, mothers, and alumnae, and the rest of the Bid Day Party onlookers, practically a Who’s Who of Texas Greeks. When Brooke spotted Johnny bounding toward her in his new Mu Zeta Nu jersey, her heart sank. She tried not to show how upset she was, but she couldn’t believe her boyfriend had gone “MuNu.” When Johnny leaned over for a kiss, Brooke turned away. As a new Eta Gamma pledge, she couldn’t be seen kissing a MuNu. “All of a sudden you become a snob,” Brooke said to me. “If you’re an Eta Gamma, you think you’re the bee’s knees.”

  She could see the reaction in the Eta Gammas’ faces when they asked about Johnny. “Oh my Lord, he’s a MuNu?” they said with disgust. Brooke understood why Johnny had chosen MuNu—several other amiable freshmen had joined—and she loved him too much to break up. But that didn’t matter to the more die-hard Eta Gammas and the girls in Brooke’s pledge class who insisted on adhering to the status quo. Over the next semester, Brooke watched helplessly as her fellow pledges pulled away from her, treating her differently because of Johnny. When the ten girls, all still dating Delts, wanted to hang out with their boyfriends and the other brothers, they would bring their sisters along to the fraternity house (proper sororities didn’t allow boys to hang out in their houses). But the sisters and the Delts wouldn’t invite Brooke because she was dating a MuNu. As Brooke missed out on all of these bonding sessions, the ten girls from her hall, who had
rapidly become the most popular girls in her pledge class, grew even tighter.

  Placing Blame

  SEPTEMBER 20

  CAITLIN’S IM AWAY MESSAGE

  I am a survivor

  CAITLIN AND AMY WERE AT A POOL PARTY WITH STATE U’S Mu Zeta Nu fraternity, sitting on the lap of their friend Jake. Because they were the only two people at the party who knew he was gay, they helped him conceal that fact from his fraternity brothers by flirting with him ostentatiously. Jake was terrified that if Mu Zeta Nu found out, his brothers would alienate him. Outside of Caitlin, Amy, Sabrina, and a few others, Jake was closeted among straight students. While it was difficult to keep any secret quiet in the Greek community, homosexuality was an exception. In both the fraternities and the sororities, there was a clear but unspoken don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. Mostly, people didn’t question because they didn’t want to know.

  It figured that the one time in her life when Caitlin couldn’t bring herself to find other guys attractive, they were suddenly drawn to her. At the MuNu party, Caitlin met Taylor, a seemingly sweet junior with dark floppy hair who compared biceps with her and made sure her cup of Jungle Juice—Hawaiian Punch and grain alcohol—didn’t run empty. They spent some time talking in that faux-philosophically self-analytical way that Jungle Juice tended to encourage.

  “I have a reputation in the house,” he said.

  “For what?” she asked, her voice even smokier than usual as her speech slurred.

  “Being a male slut.” He didn’t realize Caitlin had already heard that about him. Most Greeks knew him as a “player.” “A lot of it is just speculation. It’s more reputation than actual truth.”

  Taylor wasn’t around, though, when the room started spinning and Caitlin, her sinewy legs buckling, had to get outside for air. Amy and Jake spotted Caitlin taking off alone and quickly elected Jake chaperone for the night. The two of them walked around campus for an hour, with intermittent stops for Caitlin to vomit in gutters strewn with fallen crape myrtle petals. While they were gone, Amy told her friends later, she overheard some of the brothers talking—impressed with Jake, they assumed he was hooking up with Caitlin.

  “Man,” one said, “that guy gets around.” Jake was becoming known at Mu Zeta Nu for being a ladies’ man. Granted, his dark hair, deep brown eyes, football-player build, and chiseled jaw would have lured the ladies anyway, had he been seeking them.

  “Caitlin smokes weed, plays lacrosse, watches pro sports, and she’s hot,” the MuNu president said. “What a great combination.” They liked Caitlin’s sky blue eyes and auburn-streaked ponytail. They liked the taut stomach muscles just visible beneath her cropped rugby shirt. Taylor seemed particularly interested.

  It was too bad Caitlin wasn’t looking. Caitlin’s avowed monthlong hiatus from Chris had lasted about a week and a half. And now she spent too much time debating with Chris the possibility of a future relationship. “I don’t know what I want,” Chris had said to Caitlin. “But I don’t want to not be with you at all.”

  Caitlin told him she had made a big enough impact on his life that he ought to know by now whether he missed her or missed having a steady relationship.

  Chris had pondered this. “If you’re in my life and we’re hanging out, then I’m a lot more likely to get back with you than if you’re totally out of my life,” he told her. So she had agreed to start hanging out with him again, as friends. Well, friends with privileges. Caitlin knew how Amy felt about this; they had already had a few concerned discussions on the topic. Amy didn’t think Chris should be so easily forgiven, if at all, because of the way he had hurt Caitlin. But Amy didn’t understand just how much Chris’s support had meant to Caitlin over the past year.

  Part of the sorority pledge process involved attending “pledge parties”—mixers with pledge classes in other sororities and fraternities. When Caitlin had pledged in the spring of her freshman year, she had gone to as many events as she could to get to know the girls who were going to be her sisters. One night they had a pledge party with Kappa Tau Chi’s pledge class at a satellite house where some of the brothers lived. (Satellite houses are off-campus houses or apartments where alcohol violations are less likely to be spotted by Greek officers.)

  Caitlin was having such a good time that when her ride left, she decided to stay at the party a while longer. At 1 a.m. a few Kappa Tau Chi brothers offered to walk Caitlin and some other Alpha Rho pledges home. Caitlin lagged behind with one brother, bantering about Major League Baseball stats. When she stopped to check her watch, Caitlin realized the others were far ahead.

  “Whoa, let’s catch up to the group,” she said.

  “Okay,” the brother said. “My car’s parked over there. We can drive to meet them.”

  The brother drove a block or so before Caitlin realized he wasn’t heading in the right direction. “Wait, no—everyone else went the other way!” Caitlin tried to squirm out of her seat belt, suddenly losing the free and easy feeling of her buzz. As they reached an empty parking lot, he stopped the car, shoved her into the backseat, and slid his hands down her pants.

  “Get off of me, asshole,” Caitlin angrily insisted. “I need to get back.” There was nothing she could do. He overpowered her.

  As he raped her, Caitlin kept quiet, afraid that if she yelled he would get violent. When he let up, Caitlin scrambled out of the car to a lit area. She hurried to her dorm, the brother not far behind.

  “Let me walk you back!” he shouted.

  “No, it’s fine,” Caitlin whispered, scurrying faster, keeping close to streetlights. “I’m fine.” He followed. As she reached her dorm, Caitlin, trying to stay close to the building, passed a large bush. This time when he grabbed her ponytail and tried to shove her down again, she caught him off guard and pushed him to the ground. Shaking, she ran upstairs and found Chris. At Chris’s insistence, Caitlin called the police from the emergency phone outside.

  The police met her in front of the dorm and told her she needed an ID and a change of clothes. Chris ran upstairs to get them as Caitlin, wide-eyed, whispered, “Not the fake one!” While Caitlin was being examined, Chris wrote love poems for her in the hospital waiting room. When the doctor reached in to retrieve evidence, Chris heard her screams through the walls.

  The next night Caitlin called her father, who insisted she fly home for the weekend. She was terrified to tell her mother about the rape. Caitlin’s mother was a strict, controlling woman who insisted that Caitlin adhere to the image befitting the daughter of a New York state-level politician. Because she was campaigning for reelection that season, Caitlin’s mother was even more on edge than usual. Caitlin’s athletic success at her exclusive Brooklyn private high school had looked good for her mother’s political image. But since she had arrived at State U, it seemed nothing she did pleased her mother, who considered sorority membership an unproductive use of time, club lacrosse not as prestigious as the varsity team for which Caitlin had refused to try out, and drinking and partying an insult to the parents who raised her. After a semester of disappointing her mother, Caitlin was trying to turn the corner. She let her mother choose her political science classes—even though Caitlin would have preferred to take art courses—and diligently called her twice a week, on schedule, during her mother’s hairstyling appointments. But so far it seemed that the only thing Caitlin had done right was to attract Chris, whom her mother adored because of his clean-cut image and the fact that he came from a genteel, old-money southern home. His family and its network could help her greatly if her political ambitions ascended beyond the state level. In the company of Caitlin’s mother, Chris was unfailingly polite and charming. Her mother would never believe that he drank even more often than Caitlin did.

  At home, Caitlin argued with her parents, who didn’t want her to return to school, let alone the sorority. Realizing the information would come out if the case went to trial, she admitted to her mother that she drank in college and that she had slept with four other guys. The night
of the rape, her blood-alcohol level had been above the legal limit. Her mother, enraged, blamed Alpha Rho. “You don’t understand what’s happening to you,” her mother said. “It’s all the sorority’s fault. You would never have been in that situation if not for the sorority. It’s the Greek system’s fault you were drinking.” Caitlin felt bad for her mother. She was only trying to find somebody to blame. “I put my child in their care,” she said softly. Caitlin sobbed as her parents told her she had to quit Alpha Rho. She suddenly realized she was more upset about leaving her new sorority than anything else. Sorority membership would give her a chance to be a leader among her peers—she was planning to run for vice president—an opportunity that she didn’t think she would otherwise have. And she loved the few Alpha Rhos she had gotten to know well.

  “Look, it’s my life and you can’t tell me what to do,” she said, her jaw set. “I’ll pay my own dues. Then you can’t stop me from joining Alpha Rho.” Finally, they worked out a compromise. Caitlin could go back to school and continue with the sorority on two conditions: if her schoolwork suffered she would drop Alpha Rho, and she would only attend events where there was no alcohol. If alcohol appeared, then Caitlin was to leave immediately.

  “I have ways of checking up on you,” her mother claimed.

  Back at school, Caitlin’s new sisters were there for her the remainder of the year—even as she refused to attend parties out of fear that her mother would find out. When she was elected vice president, she welcomed the routine of the regular meetings and administrative tedium, which gave her a sense of purpose beyond rape recovery. Chris was there for her, too, offering her steady support and constant companionship as she battled with depression and worked through sexual issues. It warmed her that Chris was so protective of her, in an “I want to kill him and keep you safe” way, as she put it. He made himself available at any time, day or night, to meet her or pick her up because he vowed she would never have to walk anywhere alone again. He called her mother regularly to let her know how Caitlin was doing. Chris, Caitlin knew, would never hurt her.