Handpicked

by Dani Oden

  None of us answered her.

  "DID YOU?" she shouted.

  "No,” Kayla blurted out, which Jenna echoed. I stayed quiet.

  Bea stared off into space, as if remembering the details brought back a wave of pleasant memories. "I wanted to help. It was going to be good, too. They had quotes and interviews, and pictures, and full statements from former members, and blueprints and maps. Maps! They had so many maps." She looked back at all of us and said simply, "So, I took one. And I kept it."

  My stomach lurched as she began to pour the liquor freely onto the couch. "And I kept it all year, waiting for a chance to use it. Because I knew I couldn't just come back and go through the front door. I couldn’t just come back and visit," she said, spitting the last word out like it was sour.

  "Why not?" Jenna asked gently.

  "Because you didn't even listen to me the first time I was here, when I sat right there," Bea said, again pointing at the same cushion she just doused with Bacardi 151. "You didn't want me. And after that, my mom didn't want me either."

  For a brief second, she didn't seem that scary anymore. She seemed so young, and sad, and lost and alone, that I actually felt a twinge of sadness.

  She perked up again. "But having the map helped. I knew I'd be able to use it eventually. And guess what? I did. I used it, and I scared you guys, didn't I?"

  "You need to leave," Kayla said. "We're going to call the police.”

  "I scared you so good," Bea continued. "I know I did. I saw you, Jill, freaking out with Lindy right after you found it. And I saw Hannah leave too, in the middle of the night."

  I got a chill when she said my name again.

  “The hand was the best, I knew it would be. I probably shouldn’t have started with that, but I was too excited. I expected more out of you all with the doll, but that’s okay. I got a better reaction to the blood. The way you were all running around all upset and scared, I almost felt bad.”

  "We're going to call the police," Kayla said again.

  "Call the police," Bea challenged her. "Tell them the girl who gave them the tip and the evidence says hi. Good luck convincing them to come for me."

  "Why don't we all calm down--" Jenna began.

  "I AM CALM." Bea shouted, shaking the last drops of the rum onto the couch and onto the floor. "I've been waiting a year for this.”

  Kayla’s arm tightened around mine. Jenna was still trembling next to me.

  “Hand me my bag,” Bea said.

  None of us moved.

  “HAND ME MY BAG,” she ordered.

  I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and neither could Jenna or Kayla.

  “Fuck,” Bea rolled her eyes, making her way toward us. The three of us jumped back, separating. She stopped near the corduroy chair and squatted down, rummaging through it. “Dammit,” she whispered, still rustling around. “Where are they?”

  “Where’s what?” Kayla ventured.

  She continued digging through her bag, growing more frantic with each passing second. She finally looked up at us, at me, with a fiery expression. “What did you guys do to them?”

  “We didn’t do anything,” Kayla said instinctively.

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  “You did too, you did everything!” Bea roared. She paused to catch her breath. Her next words came out barely above a whisper. “Don’t you remember? You talked to me, you walked me around the house, you sat me down. And then what? Nothing. I was nothing to you. I tried so hard.”

  I pictured her prepping before rush, curling her eyelashes, painting her nails, pulling the tag off a new dress. I pictured her smiling and shaking hands, getting walked around inside this very house by an active member, and sitting in that huge auditorium, filling out her bid card, just like I did, like Lindy did, and like hundreds of other girls did.

  She sniffed. “I’ve tried so hard to get you all to leave, too, so other girls wouldn’t have to go through what I went through. But you’re all still here.”

  I swallowed, dreading what was coming next.

  “I didn’t want it to come to this, honestly, I didn’t,” she said, pulling a book of matches out from the depths of her bag and holding it up triumphantly. She started back to the couch she just drenched with alcohol, unfolding the flap on her matches as she went.

  Looking back, it probably would have made sense to grab the matches, or knock them out of her hand, or to hold her wrists back, but I wasn’t thinking that clearly. I did the only thing that came to mind.

  I tripped her.

  She tumbled to the ground, yelping with surprise. It wasn’t a bad fall, she was able to break it with her hands. She instantly began to wail, though. She slid pathetically from her hands and knees into the fetal position, crying.

  I'm not proud of this, but for a few seconds, I could only stare. There she was, this broken girl whose plan failed, whose year of work was crashing down around her. What was supposed to be a dramatic fireworks display of revenge was a fizzling, bloody sparkler.

  After those few seconds passed, and once I was able to think again, I stepped forward and crouched down next to her. I picked up the matches she dropped and slid them into my pocket. I wasn't sure what to say, if there was anything that could be said. I only reached out and put my hand on her shoulder. In some ways, I felt responsible, and in many ways, I didn't. Why was I picked? Why wasn't she?

  She recoiled at my gesture, unable to speak through her cries.

  So, I said, "I'm sorry."

  She looked up at me, gasping for breath, not saying a word.

  The police arrived only minutes after the girls had called them from the stairwell. I still had my hand on Bea's shoulder when they arrived, and they stepped between us so hastily I fell backward onto the carpet. They surrounded her, sitting her up, calming her down, and hand-cuffing her. By the time they walked her out the front door, she had stopped crying.

  Kayla, Jenna, and I followed her out as the rest of the chapter streamed down the stairs. The lights on the police cars were spinning wildly, a dizzying sight that early in the morning. The press had returned, and though a policeman tried to hold them off, they surged forward, filling our entire lawn. Microphones and lights and people and arms and words closed in all around me. I lost sight of everything but the chaos.

  Lindy found me in a hurry, grabbed my wrist and yanked me away from the reporters. She pulled me back inside where I was the last one in before the door closed. I leaned against it, catching my breath.

  "I think that's everybody," Sister President said from the bottom stair. "Are we all okay? Kayla, Jenna, Jill? You guys okay?"

  "I think so," I said. Police officers were milling around the living room, talking casually, noting things like the coffee spill. Lindy was at my side.

  "I heard you tried to help her up," she said.

  "How'd you hear that?"

  She shrugged. "It's a sorority. People talk."

  “I sat down next to her after I tripped her,” I clarified.

  “You sat down next to her after you stopped her from setting our house on fire,” Kayla interjected. “Get it right, hero.”

  EPILOGUE

  A few weeks later, we were finally initiated in an anticlimactic ceremony that thankfully did not include any robes. It was a long day involving hours of prep, three hours of ritual, a formal luncheon with our families, and finally a members-only party at the same winery we visited our first night.

  The barrel room where the strippers performed had transformed into a completely different space, with long cream-colored cloths draped grandly from the highest shelves, candles dotting the tables and barrels around the room, soft carpeting lining the floor, and sophisticated piano music wafting from somewhere overhead. I found it funny they were trying to class up the place, because clearly most of the girls were out to party pretty hard. Lindy and I were off to the side, pacing ourselves and sipping white wine, when a tipsy Jenna strolled over.

  The Post-Initiation celebration (know
n for the rest of our time in Iota Beta as the PI) was the first time we ever saw the girls from Exec really cut loose. The pledges had taken all the classes, passed all the tests, had been introduced to all the appropriate symbols. We were official. There was nothing left for Exec to do with us, at least not for a long, long time.

  Even Jenna’s drunkenness was apparent underneath her flawlessly curled hair and precise make-up. Mid-way through the party, she strolled over to Lindy and I, hiccupping. The sequins on her dress poked into my skin as she leaned into my shoulder and reached a slender arm around me.

  "I am so glad you're here. I really, really wanted you here. During rush, I thought you were just the cutest and you were so fun to talk to. You too, Lindy. Totally wanted you here. But especially you, Jill," she stage whispered into my ear, slurring slightly.

  "I'm glad to be here, too," I said, tilted my head affectionately onto her shoulder.

  "It seems like only yesterday you were this scared English major sitting next to me at Preference..." she trailed off wistfully.

  "Now, I'm thinking Nursing," I told her.

  Lindy reacted first. "Seriously?"

  "You should," Jenna nodded enthusiastically. "You were a pro with that crazy girl. This quarter has been so insane, you guys, I'm so glad your pledge period is over."

  "Us, too," Lindy and I agreed.

  "It's not normally like that."

  "We've heard," Lindy said.

  "Normally, there's some classes and quizzes and we teach you the songs and play a few pranks. Though, this year was beyond anything I've ever seen in my years with Iota Beta. And I was president," she said, lifting her glass grandly.

  Kayla wandered over next, almost but not quite as celebratory as Jenna. "She's totally telling you secrets, isn't she?"

  "No, bitch!" Jenna took her arm off of me and playfully swatted at her. "I'm totally not."

  "They're members now, it doesn't matter if you are," Kayla reminded her. "You guys are asking about Bea, aren't you?"

  "They didn't ask me a thing," Jenna said.

  Kayla swayed, placed her glass on the nearest barrel doubling as a cocktail table, and smiled devilishly at us. "Well, maybe you should."

  "I thought we'd never find out," I admitted. "Is she okay?"

  "Last I heard, she was far away, getting treatment," Kayla said.

  “What kind of treatment?” Lindy asked before I had a chance.

  “Some kind of therapy, I think,” Jenna speculated.

  "Has she been charged with anything?" I asked.

  Kayla shrugged. "I don't know how it's going to turn out. Last I heard, our advisors and university higher-ups had been in touch with her parents. It's up to the alumni and advisors now. I think Sister President wants to let it go, but she has to figure it out with them."

  "Did you ever find out where she got the hand?" Lindy asked.

  "You didn't hear?" Jenna swayed.

  We both shook our heads.

  “Have you heard anything?” Kayla asked.

  We shook our heads again.

  Jenna began, "I heard it was at grandparents’ farm, for her grandpa's seventy-fifth birthday--or maybe his eightieth?--whatever. She and her cousins, like snuck off to a barn or a stable or something. They were horsing around and sneaking booze, when one of her older girl cousins started showing off with the farm equipment. I don't quite know the details, but somehow the cousin lost her hand."

  "That’s horrible," Lindy said.

  "Totally," Jenna said, sloshing her glass.

  "I heard she saw a car accident on the side of the road and picked it up and just drove away," Kayla said loudly.

  "What? You heard that?" Jenna asked in disbelief.

  "Yep."

  Sister President entered the conversation, sliding up next to Jenna. "It was definitely her cousin's."

  "No way," I said.

  She shrugged innocently. "You don't have to believe me. But I saw the police report. They actually were able to get her cousin’s fingerprints off the hand, and they were able to link it to Bea since she’s the only person in her family who was a student here. The police were already on their way over when we called that morning."

  "Really?" Lindy said incredulously.

  "I swear," Sister President said, raising her hand like she was taking an oath.

  "Gross, gross, gross," Jenna said, shaking her head. "I don't want to picture someone fingerprinting a hand that's not attached to a person."

  “What about the blood?” I wondered aloud.

  “The blood?” Sister President asked.

  “On the composite? Where’d she get all the blood?”

  “Oh, the blood,” she said, like it suddenly made sense to her. “It’s super gross. Are you ready for it?”

  “Yes,” Lindy and I said.

  Sister President paused for effect. “The butcher,” she finally said.

  “That’s not that gross,” I said.

  “It is when she was buying meat for months, squeezing the blood out, and saving it in a thermos,” Kayla said.

  I blanched. “Ugh, how do you know?”

  Kayla shrugged, “I have ears.”

  My phone jingled, indicating a text from Tad had arrived. He was wondering if I wanted to call and say good night yet, but I replied that it would be a while still.

  "I'm just glad she's getting help," I said, sliding my phone back into my purse.

  "Of course, that's the most important thing," Jenna said, nodding at me in approval.

  Sister President put her glass down, "Excuse me ladies, duty calls."

  "So, have either of you thought about running for an officer position?" Kayla said, putting her arms around both of us, dripping wine onto my shoulder. "I think you both should consider it."

  Before I had a chance to answer, Sister President called for attention by tapping her glass with a fork.

  "I need all new initiates to please come to the front," she announced. "It's time for your first official duty as Iota Beta members."

  We obeyed, lining up nervously in front of one of the brick walls. Older girls paced in front of us, lifting wine glasses out of our hands and moving us around by the shoulders. They stood back, hands on chins, tongues in cheeks, carefully assessing.

  "What’s going on?" the girl next to me muttered under her breath.

  "They can't haze us, we're actives now," someone said over my shoulder.

  They pushed us closer together and rearranged us, commenting on our heights, the colors of our dresses and even our hair colors. After a few minutes of being poked and prodded, and being instructed to put our hands on our knees, they finally agreed we were in position.

  "Stay just like that."

  "Don't move."

  "Perfect."

  "Hottest pledge class yet."

  "Shame to ruin those dresses," a voice said loudly over the others.

  "Shh," another laughed.

  "Not funny," a third said.

  "You guys are gorgeous."

  "On the count of three?" Sister President counted down over the buzz.

  I remained in place with my fellow pledge sisters, refusing to believe they were messing with us yet again. Which is why, when the first pictures of us as an initiated class came back, I'm the one smiling the largest, reaching up the highest to catch the carefully timed confetti raining down on us.

  Our pledge class didn't lose a single girl for the rest of the semester. I don’t know about the other girls but after such a crazy start to sorority life, I just wanted to make the best of things.

  I wish I could say that feeling lasted through spring semester, but that's a whole other story.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to everyone who offered me love, encouragement, feedback, and wine during the course of this project, including Chase, Mom, Dad, Jay and Eliot, who was especially “helpful” right at the end.

  Also, a special shout-out to early readers including Laura, Leah, Linda, Eva, Jens, Lauren, Lori and Rex. A
nd, thanks to Kat for editing.

  And, a public display of appreciation for the trail-blazers of independent publishing who helped make this possible.

  Finally, a special shout-out out to PC 2001.

  About the Author

  Dani Oden is a karaoke virgin based in the Pacific Northwest. She balances her writing life with a career in education and community relations.

  Dani is also a proud mom and wife to a bearded filmmaker. When she’s not writing novels or spending time with her family, she can be found sampling Washington wine, road tripping, and daydreaming about DIY projects way above her skill level.

  She also blogs on pop culture and nostalgia, and can be found online at both www.trapperkept.com and @MsDaniOden.

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