Rush

by Lisa Patton

  I’m shaking my head. “No.”

  My mind drifts to our protocol. Last night after Sisterhood parties, around nine o’clock, all the active members voted from the Sisterhood Select app on their phones. Then Sisterhood Select compiled a list of the results and sent it back to us sometime before six o’clock this morning. Sallie submitted that list—all the girls we were inviting to Pref—to Panhellenic this morning at seven. Annie Laurie was not on it.

  “I don’t get it,” Lizzie says, scratching the back of her head.

  Selma leans back, runs her fingers through her hair. “We’re in trouble.”

  “Hang on, girls. Whatever the mistake is, we can fix it,” Gwen says calmly. “Let’s call Panhellenic. They’ll get it all sorted out.” Gwen, I’ve learned from this turbulent week, is the eye of the hurricane.

  “Let’s all go over it one more time before we do,” Lizzie says. Gwen and I step behind the others and we all lean into her laptop as she slowly scrolls down each name on the screen. Sure enough, Annie Laurie Whitmore’s is right there in black and white, scheduled to be at Alpha Delt for our second round of Pref.

  “Let’s call Panhellenic. It’s the only way we’ll know for sure,” Gwen says.

  Lizzie takes out her cell phone, places it down on the table, and presses the speaker button. When a lady picks up, she leans in. “Hi, this is Lizzie Jennings, Recruitment Chairman for Alpha Delta Beta. We have a discrepancy and we’re hoping you can help us.”

  “Sure thing,” the lady says. “What’s the discrepancy?”

  “So we submitted our list of the PNMs we’re inviting back to Preference to y’all this morning at seven. And a certain girl was not on it. Yet now, she’s on our schedule for today. We’re confused, to say the least.”

  “I guess so. I’m Terry, by the way.”

  “Hi, Terry,” Lizzie says.

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it. But in the meantime I can assure you our system is accurate. What is the Potential New Member’s name?”

  “Annie Laurie Whitmore.”

  “Okay. Let me look at something.” We hear her typing in the background. “May I put you on a brief hold?”

  “Sure.” Lizzie glances at us and we all agree.

  Nervously I take a sip of my coffee and a bite of the doughnut I brought from upstairs. Bits of sugar glaze fall onto my blouse and I brush them off in haste. Then I replay every detail of the morning in my mind: Sitting on Sallie’s bed. Looking at the list. Making sure Ellie’s name was on it. Going down for coffee, getting a monster hot flash, Lilith going to her room to get our Tiffany key rings—

  Now Terry is back on the line. “Lizzie, are you there?”

  “Yes. I’m here. And so are our Rush Advisors, Sallie, Wilda, and Gwen, and our chapter president, Selma James.”

  “Hi, ladies.”

  “Hi, Terry,” we all say at the same time.

  “Okay, so, I’ve got the list you submitted pulled up on my computer. It’s in alphabetical order, as you know, and I’m scrolling down to the bottom.” A pause. “Annie Laurie Whitmore is the second to last name on the list. Ellie Woodcock is last.”

  We all look at each other. “That’s impossible,” Gwen says, calmly. “She was never on our list to begin with. In fact, she didn’t get a single vote.”

  “Huh. I’m looking at the list you uploaded this morning right here on my computer, and—”

  “There has to have been a mistake. Y’all must have pulled from the wrong list,” Lizzie says, desperately.

  “With all due respect,” Terry’s tone is kind, but authoritative. “I’m not doubting there’s been a mistake, but we’ve never made one like this before. I’m the Greek Life Advisor and I’ve been here four years. Are there any other discrepancies?”

  Each of us looks at the other and shrugs. “We haven’t looked that closely,” Lizzie says. “It was only when we saw Annie Laurie’s name that we knew something was wrong.”

  “Would you mind going over your original list again—to make sure all the other names on today’s schedule jive with yours?”

  I get a sinking feeling—a knot in my stomach. Someone has deliberately messed with our list.

  “Sure,” Lizzie says, desperately. “We’ll do that and call you right back.”

  Sallie gets up and pulls out her own computer from her bag, then sets it up on the table. “I know I’m crazy, but not this crazy.” She opens her laptop. Then laughs her incredibly fun, infectious laugh, the one she could bottle and sell for a million dollars if that were possible. I love how she never takes life too seriously. “Okay, here’s the list I submitted this morning. I’ll read the names on mine,” Sallie says to Lizzie, “and you check them against the Panhellenic schedule.” Since they’re in alphabetical order, Sallie begins with Becca Billings. We have no As this year. Then she proceeds down to the Ws. “The last two names are Cali Watkins and Ellie Woodcock.”

  “That’s it! Cali Watkins is not on the schedule.” Lizzie turns around to face Gwen and me.

  “Let’s call Terry back,” I say, desperation settling into my own voice. “It’s human error. Whitmore and Watkins are right next to each other. Surely they’ll correct it for us.” Bless Cali’s heart. Ellie told me she’d only been invited back to five sororities for Philanthropy. There’s no doubt in my mind it was her lack of recommendations. I didn’t even have to work hard to convince everyone here of her sweetness. All of our girls loved her right away. Goodness me, her résumé alone touts her bright future. She is perfect Alpha Delt material.

  “We can call, but … I don’t know.” There’s sheer exasperation in Lizzie’s voice as she redials Panhellenic. When Terry answers she dives right in. “Okay, so, we’ve found the mistake, but it wasn’t on our end.”

  “Huh. Be specific, please,” Terry says.

  “Cali Watkins is our second to last name on the list. Not Annie Laurie Whitmore.”

  There’s a pause, then with slow, deliberate words Terry responds. “I understand there’s been a mistake, but … it didn’t come from our end. Honestly, I’m looking at the list you submitted this morning and Cali Watkins is not on it. Annie Laurie Whitmore is.”

  Selma leans in toward Lizzie’s cell phone. “Terry, hi, this is Selma James, President of Alpha Delt. There must be something we can do to correct this.”

  “Hi, Selma. I’m afraid there’s not. All the schedules have been printed and delivered to the Gamma Chis. They’ve made their phone calls already—it’s … eleven fifteen. The PNMs will be at the Union in forty-five minutes dressed and ready for Preference.”

  Lizzie sighs loudly. “Okay. Thanks for your help. We’ll just deal with it. Have a good day.”

  “You, too.” Before Terry hangs up she says, “Wait, Lizzie, are you still there?”

  “Yes, we’re still here.”

  “Out of curiosity, are you ladies the only ones with passwords to your Panhellenic account?”

  “I think so,” Lizzie says, looking around at all of us.

  A rush of adrenaline floods through me at two hundred miles per hour. My breath catches. Selma and Lizzie whip around, eyeing me curiously.

  “We’ll look into that, Terry,” Selma says, keeping her gaze on me. “Thanks for your help.”

  When Terry ends the call, Sallie, Gwen, and I shoot disgusted looks at one another.

  “Why are y’all looking at each other like that?” Selma asks.

  Gwen shakes her head, chews on her bottom lip. Sallie forces a smile. I make sure my face is expressionless, but my heart is running faster than a cheetah. Finally, Sallie peers at us. “I smell a rat. Just sayin’.”

  Selma breathes deeply, then presses her lips together. “We never thought to revoke Lilith Whitmore’s password—after she rolled off the Advisory Board. Is she the rat you’re smelling?”

  “OMG,” Sallie says. “That’s what took her so long this morning.”

  The Tiffany key rings, the wine, the beautiful meals, asking me to be on the Advisory
Board—it’s all making sense.

  Lizzie crosses her arms in front of her. “What do we do now?”

  “What can we do?” Sallie says. “Unless we want to create a stink that’ll bring the House down.”

  And to think I was ever happy about reacquainting with Lilith Whitmore. Or our girls living together. What’s wrong with my judgment? “We could never prove it,” I say, staring into space.

  “And she knows that,” Gwen adds, moving over to a chair. She sits down and drums her fingers together. None of us can speak.

  After a long moment of silence another inescapable truth occurs to me. “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Go ahead. We need all the suggestions we can get right now,” Selma says, in an angry voice.

  “We’ll never be able to prove Lilith Whitmore changed the Rush ballot, do y’all agree?”

  Everyone nods.

  “Then I seriously think it’s in our best interest to keep this among the five of us. If it gets out … well, we can all imagine what that will look like. Like it or not, Annie Laurie will be an Alpha Delt. And—like it or not—we need to be kind to her.”

  Lizzie puts her head down on the table. Then raises it slowly. She blows a long puff of air, then turns to me. “I guess you’re right. We don’t have a choice. We have to embrace her. Love her like a—”

  “Sister,” we all say.

  “But everyone will know something’s up. No one voted for her,” Lizzie says.

  “If anyone asks, just say there was a computer error,” Sallie says. “But affirm there’s nothing that can be done and,” she sighs, “everyone must accept her.”

  “If anyone has a problem with it, send them to me.” Selma taps her hand on the table. “I hate to say it, but this is what sisterhood is all about. We have a chance to become role models.”

  “But what about Cali Watkins?” I ask. “It’s not fair to her.”

  “I know. It’s sad; we all loved her,” Lizzie says. “But it’s not like she was one of our tip-top rushees. No one even knew Cali before this week.”

  I start to plead her case but Gwen speaks first. “It’s too late anyway.” She glances at her watch. “She’s already gotten the news. I just hope she hasn’t been cut from Rush completely.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  CALI

  My covers are pulled up under my nose when I hear the knock. There is no one I want to talk to. Not my grandparents. Not Jasmine. Not even Ellie. All the girls on my floor have been so caring and consoling upon learning I’d been cut from Rush. Even Annie Laurie has been sort of nice. But I still don’t want to talk to any of them.

  I can hear them outside my door. They’re all running around getting ready for Bid Day. Their music and their laughter are unwelcome reminders of what life at Ole Miss is supposed to look like. I can barely breathe from the pain piercing my heart. Every time I think of what happened yesterday I get sick all over again.

  Another knock.

  It couldn’t be Jasmine. She would use her room card. And besides, not wanting to be around all the “Rush hoopla” as she calls it, she went home to Greenville for the weekend with Carl. If I don’t answer, whoever it is will eventually go away.

  Now there’s a third knock, this time with a voice. “Cali, are you in there? It’s Sarah.”

  Sweet Sarah. She’s been totally amazing. Even though I put my phone number down as a way to contact me should I not be invited back to any Houses, she came over here anyway to tell me in person. When I saw her, yesterday morning, she took me by surprise. I had no idea I’d been dropped. I mean up until Friday I’d only been cut from nine sororities. My Sisterhood schedule still included three Houses.

  After the final round was over, completely torn by the choice I had to make, I walked over to Weir Hall, stood silently in line another hour and ranked my bottom choice. I put Alpha Delt and Pi Phi down as my top two choices. Everyone knows if you get asked back to Pref, you’re guaranteed a bid. All of the girls, at all three Houses, were so, so sweet. Genuinely sweet. I never considered every one of them, including my bottom choice, would cut me completely. I thought that I had a real chance.

  It was ten o’clock yesterday—the morning of Pref—and I had the door to my room open. Everybody’s doors were open. Music emanated from most every room on the hall and girls were running in and out of the bathrooms getting ready. My new dress, the pale blue one I bought at Reed’s that matches my eyes, with the long red zipper down the back and a square neckline with spaghetti straps, was laid out neatly on my bed. My brand-new heels were underneath. I had already washed my hair and put on my makeup.

  When Sarah stuck her head in my door I was surprised to see her. Like I said, I felt good about getting invited back for Preference. As soon as I saw the bitter look on her face I knew something was wrong. “Cali, can I come in?”

  “Of course. What are you doing here?”

  She shut the door softly behind her. The way she lowered her head confirmed my worst fears.

  All the blood drained from my face. “Have I been cut?”

  She looked up, nodded slowly. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tears flooded my eyes, as if they had been there all along, waiting for someone to turn on the faucet. They poured down my cheeks; there was no stopping them. I don’t think I could have cut them off if I wanted to. In fact, they surprised me. I hadn’t cried that hard in two years. Not since I lost Annabelle, my beloved black and white kitty.

  Slowly I sat down in my desk chair. Sarah moved Jasmine’s chair right next to mine and pulled me in close. I cried and I cried. Then I sobbed. Geez, looking back on it, I’m super embarrassed. Mascara smudges were all over the shoulder of her white Gamma Chi shirt. I kept wiping my eyes with my fingers, but it still got soiled. She even stroked my hair while I cried, like a mother would do. “It’s okay,” she kept saying. “So many girls have been cut this year. With the variable quota and all. Several of them even suicided the one they wanted and were cut. You’re not alone. It’s messed up this year, Cali.”

  Moving off her shoulder I met her eyes. “I didn’t care which sorority I got. I just wanted to belong.” My nose had been dripping nonstop so I wiped it with the back of my hand. When I finally got up to look for a Kleenex, I couldn’t find one so I grabbed a bath towel from the rack behind the door.

  “I know there were Houses that would have loved to have had you as a new member, but perhaps you cut them early on. Sometimes it just works that way. It’s hard to know what to do.”

  “It’s hard when you don’t have a pedigree.” Without a Kleenex I had no choice but to blow my nose into the towel.

  “A what?”

  “A pedigree. Last fall when I was at work one day I heard these ladies from Memphis talking about Rush here at Ole Miss. They said you have to have a pedigree to belong to a sorority. I knew I didn’t have one, but I still wanted to try.”

  “That’s ridiculous. They didn’t know what they were talking about. Maybe that’s a holdover from the past, but we look for girls who are sweet and kind and well rounded. Like you.”

  “I wasn’t able to get recs for all the Houses, either.”

  “Now that’s a problem. You have to have recs.”

  “I know. But when I called the Panhellenic office last fall, they told me to ask my mother’s friends for recs. My family is crazy, Sarah. You don’t even want to know how crazy.”

  “My parents are going through a messy divorce. I know all about crazy. Trust me.”

  I felt so close to Sarah in that moment—so close I almost told her about Mom. Because the reason I was crying uncontrollably was because of her. I was sure that somehow, someone found out my mom got addicted to meth—or God knows what kind of drug—moved to California with some guy, and abandoned me when I was five years old. Just ran off and left me like I was a doll she grew tired of playing with. Didn’t she consider what that would do to a little girl’s self-confidence? To grow up thinking her own mother couldn’t care less about her? Sure, sh
e left me with her parents and not in an orphanage. But she didn’t even have the decency to consider how it would break my grandfather’s heart to have his only child leave her family behind. And cause my grandmother to drink from the same bitter cup day after day. But, as usual, I decided to continue the lie.

  Now—Bid Day morning—Sarah’s back at my door again. I love her, I really do, but I still don’t want to talk to her. Even though I know she’s come to console me again. I can’t take much more consoling. My thumb is sore from rubbing my prayer stone. My eyelids look like I’ve been stung by two bumblebees. My head is pounding, I’m sick to my stomach, and I want to die. The death of a dream is worse than I ever imagined.

  I feel like a baby bird on the edge of her nest trying to get up the courage to take her first flight, but when she finally, finally takes the leap and tries to soar, her wings fail and she falls twenty feet down on her fragile little head. And she’s dead. Before she ever gets started. Before she ever gets the chance to prove herself.

  I am leaving. I am getting as far away from here as I possibly can. If only I could do it all over again. Choose another school where sororities don’t exist. In Maine or Washington State, maybe—as far away as possible. On second thought, Washington is too close to California. And the entire West Coast is not big enough when it comes to staying away from my mother. I’ll transfer to Blue Mountain College next semester. My grandparents will be happy to have me back; I know that. And while I’m home I’ll apply to a college in the Northeast for my sophomore year. Surely I can get another scholarship.

  So I choose to stay silent and let Sarah leave. I can hear her footsteps as she’s walking off. There’s a conversation going on outside my door, but I can’t hear what’s being said.

  Five minutes after Sarah leaves, my phone rings. I pick it up to read the name, and, surprise, it’s Sarah. But I silence the ringer and let it go to voice mail. I’m still staring at my phone when a text pops up: Cali, it’s Sarah. Can you please please please call me. I’ve got good news! Three heart emojis. Three smiley faces. And a slice of cake.