Handpicked

by Dani Oden

  "And what did you say?" Sister President prompted her.

  "I asked her to wait, and I got Tammy and Danielle. They were the first officers I could find."

  "When we got there, she gave us the same spiel," Danielle stated.

  "Was her photographer there at this point?"

  "Yes, he was snapping pictures the entire time."

  "Did she ask for your names?"

  Tammy said, "Yes, but we didn't give them."

  Emma continued. "So, the three of us are standing there, and she pulls that ziploc bag out of her purse, and at first I thought it was a hunk of meat or something gross, so I jumped and she was all, 'so you know what this is?' and I go, 'no,' and so she put it in my face and it was like, swinging in front of my nose, and she goes, 'It's a hand!'"

  "That's when I went to get you from the shower," Danielle interjected, and Sister President nodded, encouraging the story to continue.

  "And the front door was open and she was still harassing them, so I came out from the dining room," explained Kimmie, one of the other girls who'd been on the steps. "And she asked me to comment, too.”

  "So, she asked all of you to comment?" Sister President summarized.

  People nodded, and murmurs of, "yes," echoed around the room.

  "But, no one did?" she clarified.

  We shook our heads and said no.

  "I may have told her to fuck off," shrugged Tammy.

  "That doesn't count," Kayla told her.

  "I think this is right around the time we walked up," I interjected.

  "We?"

  I swallowed. "I was with, um, Tad, from Nu Mu Chi," I stammered, my face warm.

  "And what did he see?" Sister President prompted.

  "He saw Bea and her photographer, and he saw the commotion they were causing, and he was standing there when they left."

  "So, we aren't the only ones who know," Sister President sighed. “Other people from other houses know.”

  "And who knows who else Bea told?" Lindy spoke up, diverting the conversation. "I--I don't think it's in our control," she added, avoiding eye contact with me.

  Sister President sucked in her breath and bit her lip. She watched her fellow Exec members, but their expressions didn’t change. They were deferring to her leadership.

  It was most unsteady I'd ever seen her. "I-I'm not convinced we should make a bigger deal out of this than she already is. Maybe it'll blow over and--"

  Kayla interrupted. "Are you serious? It's not going to blow over."

  TWENTY-TWO

  "We can't keep this a secret any longer," Tammy said gently, turning directly to the leader of our chapter. "We need to let the rest of the girls know what's going on."

  "We do," Sister President agreed, nodding more to herself than to Tammy. "I'll call an emergency chapter meeting."

  "A lot of girls have class—" Danielle began.

  "We need everyone here," Sister President said, retrieving her cell phone from her desk. She thumbed at it furiously, typing a message that soon buzzed on my own phone. All sisters and pledges must report to IB house asap. Leave class. Emergency. Top secret. Please hurry.

  "The entire chapter is going to melt down when they hear this,” Sister President noted, setting her phone down.

  "Maybe we should get some of our advisors involved, too?" Jenna suggested.

  The room was quiet as Sister President considered the idea. Finally she noted, "Obviously. Why didn't we think of that sooner? I'll work on that up here. Can the rest of you stay with the group downstairs and let them know I'll be there soon? The pledges are going to be the most confused, so I'm going to ask you two especially to set an example for them,” she looked directly at Lindy and I.

  Downstairs, the number of girls who had already responded to the text were anxiously pacing around the living room and entryway. The group of us somberly marching down from Sister President’s room was greeted by a wave of questions. Older girls stayed with members of their own pledge classes, while Lindy and I were accosted by our fellow pledges.

  "What is going on?"

  "Do you guys know anything?"

  "Were you with them upstairs?"

  "Does she really have security cameras pointing at rooms all over the house?"

  "Are we going to get hazed?"

  "My professor was not happy when I left class."

  "Are the strippers going to be cuter this time?”

  "Should I go put something cute on? Are we going to be taking pictures?"

  "We're totally about to get hazed, aren't we?" Tasha asked, hugging herself tightly.

  "I'm pretty sure we're not," I said.

  "How do you know?" Gina asked from the other side of our circle.

  "You'll find out," I replied grimly.

  The minutes ticked by and the front door steadily opened and closed as girls returned from class windblown and confused. Thunderous footsteps echoed from the stairwell as a steady stream of girls who hadn’t yet left for campus made their way downstairs.

  About a half hour passed, giving most of Iota Beta time to get back. Jenna, Tammy and Danielle got everyone seated in the dining room, and Kayla texted Sister President to let her know we were ready.

  Minutes later, the dining room door opened. Sister President and two well-dressed women who were maybe in their late twenties or early thirties came in. One wore a severe pantsuit and had brown hair slicked back into a bun, while the other had loose blond hair and a stylish purple sweater dress on.

  Jenna closed the door behind them and subtly latched it. As the other girls noticed the serious expressions on their faces, the vibe in the room slowly changed from anxious and excited to curious and concerned.

  The two new women each took seats against the wall, and Sister President shakily assumed her position at the front of the room. If I hadn't just been a part of the conversation in her room, I might have thought she wasn’t feeling well or maybe was tired. I know I wouldn't have suspected she'd just been crying with our advisors over the danger our house was in.

  She cleared her throat. The room was already silent with anticipation. With a trembling voice, she began, "Sisters, thank you all for being here. I know all of you recognized the urgency in the requests I sent out this morning, and I appreciate your quick responses. I'd also like to thank our advisors who could make it, Jessica Sommers Weatherby and Joanne Rowland Michelson, and also Cheryl Jennings Dell, who's in the front hall keeping watch for us. Thank you for being here.”

  Both advisors gave a small wave or half-smile to the group when her name was mentioned, reminding me of a tired celebrity forced to continue smiling on the red carpet for hours on end. Now I had a good look at them, I was able to place them as the helpers from the winery who pretended to set us up for hazing not even two weeks ago.

  "Ladies, the reason you’re all here is because Iota Beta is..."

  She trailed off and ducked her head down, breathing heavily. The alum in the sweater dress walked up and put a hand on her shoulder.

  Sister President lifted her chin and said tearfully to the entire membership, "Ladies, Iota Beta has been threatened."

  I expected a reaction, a response, some sort of activity or movement in the crowd that showed her statement had been heard. But, nothing really happened. Girls tilted their heads curiously, furrowing their brows, as if she told us we'd all be flying to the moon for spring break. It was a shock so genuine, so pure that no one could comprehend both her words and her tears.

  While repeatedly wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, she shared the events of the last few days with the entire chapter. She started with the discovery Lindy, Hannah and I made (thankfully, she didn't name us) and ended with Bea's ambush that morning.

  She shared how the Exec Board had considered going to the police, but the thought of inviting the authorities into our sacred space was even more upsetting.

  She shared how they hoped to keep the incident as quiet as possible so as not to catch the attention of University
administrators or of the national leaders of Iota Beta.

  She shared her regret over those choices but never outright admitted they might have been the wrong ones.

  One by one, girls began to understand. Some joined her with tears, some grew fearful, some grew angry, some seemed more concerned than anything else, stirring and shifting uncomfortably.

  Sister President ended by saying, "But we will not let this girl, this horrible girl, threaten us. We're going to take back the situation, and show her that she can't go up against our entire chapter and expect to come out on top."

  The other two alumni stood up and met her at the podium. She looked at them, at all of us, with gentle hope in her eyes. "We have a plan."

  TWENTY-THREE

  Sister President and the two advisors were clearly proud of the statement they'd come up with for the press. She eagerly shared it then scanned the room, trying to glean a response from the rows of silent sisters

  Then, the entire chapter erupted.

  "Why didn't you tell us?"

  "Are we in danger?"

  "Was it a guy or girl's hand?"

  "Was it Cammie's?"

  "You're saying there were no other clues?"

  "Someone was in our house?"

  "How'd they get in the chapter room?"

  "Did they go upstairs?"

  "They could have been watching us sleep."

  "Did they take anything?"

  "Were the fingernails painted?"

  We all turned to the girl who said the last comment. "What?" she shrugged. "Cammie's fingers were painted that night."

  Before Sister President could answer, the door to the dining hall opened with a dramatic bang. I turned back so quickly my hair whipped my neck.

  The third alumni advisor, an older woman with reddish hair and a boxy purple jacket with shoulder pads, was leaning into the room. "They're about to bang down the front door," she said breathlessly.

  "Who is?" The alumni in the suit rushed down the aisle to meet her.

  "Everyone," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  There was a tight bottleneck as ninety of us tried to squeeze through the door. Girls behind me pushed me up against the girls in front of us, and I ended up inhaling someone's blond ponytail as I stumbled through.

  We thundered into the living room. Rows and rows of girls pressed against the front windows, fogging the glass with their breaths and getting fingerprints everywhere. Lindy and I squished onto one of the couches, standing on cushions and trying to see over the crowd.

  Outside, we saw at least a half dozen news vans parked in front of our house, their antennas sticking straight into the sky, and their sides splashed with the flashy logos of our local stations. Coiffed reporters stood on the lawn, clearly bored, holding their microphones down at their side and idly chatting with one another.

  "Whoa," I said.

  "She must've told people," Lindy exhaled.

  One cameraman turned when he caught sight of us, prompting the others to copy him as if they were a flock of aggressive birds swooping in a new direction. They angled their lenses toward us and began recording, the ominous red lights visible even from a distance. We jumped back, and the girls at the window pulled so hard on the beige curtains that the rod tumbled down, keeping all of us exposed.

  "What do we do?"

  "How did they get here so fast?"

  "What do they want?"

  "Do we let them in?"

  "Do we go outside?"

  "How's my hair?"

  "Wow, is that Jim Johanssen from the evening news?"

  "He's way hotter in person."

  "That reporter's heels are super cute."

  "Her hair is big."

  "If we ignore them, will they go away?"

  "I think they're illegally parked."

  "Maybe we should call the police."

  Next to me, a junior got out her phone and rapidly slid her finger around on the screen. "Look," she said, holding it out for us all to see. We were front-page news.

  On the home screen of the school newspaper website, a picture of the hand inside the plastic ziploc was next to an exterior shot of our house. They were both centered under the screaming headline, "Twisted Sorority Secrets Exposed! Witchcraft or just Wacko?"

  We all pulled out our phones, searching the news stations and local paper sites for more details. At least half that I checked had picked up the story. One headline read, "Body Part Found on Sorority Property: Organization Has Yet To Comment," another said, "University Awaits Comment from Sorority Accused of Sadistic Ritual," one more read, "Parents' Worst Nightmare: Local Sorority Accused of Cutting Off Hands," and the last was the worst, "Sorority or Witches' Coven? Local Chapter Linked to Dark Rituals using Dead Bodies."

  I was skimming one of the articles when my phone flashed my mom's face, telling me she was calling. Before I could answer it, four thunderous knocks boomed from the front door, and a gruff male voice shouted, "Police, open up."

  A hush fell over the room, and the backup of girls at the window quieted down. I sent my mom's call to voicemail and fired off a text to let her know the stories were exaggerated, and I was okay.

  The oldest alum with the purple shoulder pads stepped forward and spoke through the door, "One moment," she called gently.

  She frantically whispered back and forth with Sister President and the other advisors. Then, she cracked the door and tilted her head warmly. "Hello, officers. Would you like to come in? Can I offer you some tea or coffee?"

  "No, thank you," one said, as he sauntered in. I thought there'd be one or maybe two, but it was a whole team. Tall, short, chubby, cut, light-skinned, dark-skinned, all with short haircuts. I'd never seen that many police officers before in my life.

  They weren’t anything like the strippers from our first night. Their uniforms were made of a thicker fabric, their buttons were all snapped tight and their badges were pinned straight on their front breast pockets. And their belts! Their belts were full of gadgets and tools. And, each of them had a gun.

  Guns. Guns were strolling around in our foyer.

  "The girls were just having an impromptu chapter meeting," the oldest alum said, trying to seem cheerful but saying it in the same forced way that moms tell their kids that the raccoon’s just napping in the road.

  The first officer, the tallest one, narrowed his eyes at her. "Lots of people talking about you girls today," he said, motioning to one of his counterparts holding a copy of the school paper. It screamed the same headline I saw on my phone. "Mind if we have a chat?"

  "Sure officers, we can talk upstairs," she said, motioning toward the stairs. "Sister President? Can we go to your room?"

  Our president’s eyes darted around, taking in the officers, the alums, and the watching faces of her membership. She nodded, saying, "Yes, yes, of course we can."

  She, along with the advisors and the seven or eight policemen, all trudged up the stairs.

  Once they cleared, a pointed "Ahem," caught our attention, turning me back toward the dining room. Kayla was standing at the doorway, motioning for us to make our way back in.

  Lindy and I chose a spot at one of the tables near the front of the room. Then, we sat. Minutes slowly ticked by. Some of the girls kicked their feet up onto the chairs in front of them. Some leaned their heads on the shoulder of the girl next to them. Some even laid down on the floor, folding up a sweater or jacket as a pillow. Our beautiful dining room resembled an overcrowded airport gate the day before Thanksgiving.

  The room stayed quiet, and the few girls who were talking kept their voices low and hushed. It grew warm and sticky, and I smelled at least three or four different body lotions just from the girls sitting around me. Hours passed while we waited for some kind of news, some kind of update.

  Once the announcement of our official lockdown came, we were permitted to leave the dining room but not the house. Lindy and I went upstairs, pulled the lavender couch in her closet room over to the window and sat togeth
er, watching the reporters stroll back and forth in front of the house, chatting casually, flirting with one another, stopping only to talk into the cameras.

  Sometime in between afternoon and evening, Lindy said, “This isn’t good.”

  “This could be our last night here," I agreed.

  "I'd be surprised if it wasn't.”

  "Don't sound so excited," I said.

  "Don't tell me you're sad about it," Lindy commented.

  I sighed, and put my chin in my hand and leaned on the windowsill, thinking of Cammie, of Hannah, of the rest of our pledge class, and of Tad, who I never would have met if it wasn’t for Iota Beta. "I don't know what I am," I said.

  More police officers were milling around at this point, giving orders to the press. It started to rain, but none of them seemed to notice or care. Before long, all of the reporters were stuck standing together in a clump off to the side, making room for the steady stream of Panhellenic officers and school officials coming to determine our fate.

  Downstairs at dinner time, Lindy and I found the dining room filled with girls slumped over in their seats, solemnly eating baked chicken and rice. Few people spoke. The only noises were silverware clinking on ceramic plates and the occasional serving spoons scraping on the buffet dishes.

  As Lindy and I stood in line for our food, I took in the room. Exec filled one table in the closest corner. They were the only group whose conversation had any life to it, which gave me hope that maybe the decision to close the chapter hadn't come down like we thought.

  I couldn't make out much, but I think I did catch Jenna saying something along the lines of "...still have some time..." to which Kayla responded "...need to get organized..."

  As we dished up, I whispered to Lindy, "Sounds like getting shut down isn't a done deal yet."

  She replied, "Only a matter of time, I think. I'm going to start packing after dinner."

  "Seriously?" I asked. The girl in front of us in line didn't turn around, but she did cock her head and turn her ear toward us.

  Lindy shrugged. "What else is there to do?"