by Kiley Roache
My intent is to get proof that this wasn’t an isolated incident but rather evidence of a toxic culture. To find and expose the truth.
In order to ensure that the members of the fraternity do not discover my intent, no one knows about my experiment. Not my parents, no one in the frat, no one in any vicinity of Greek Life and no one in the administration. The only people besides myself who are aware of my project are my Stevenson project coordinator, Madison Macey, who lives on the other side of the country, and the renowned woman’s studies expert Eva Price, who is organizing interviews with students in and out of Greek Life.
That is, until you read this, and then the world will know, every friendship I’ve made here will end, and I’ll become the most hated woman on campus.
I highlight and delete the last sentence. I don’t get to care about the social life or reputation of “Cassie Davis, party girl who joined a frat and is aggressively fun.” She’s just a character, and the real me is just an observer, a scientist, an actor, a spy. My college experience gets to be nothing more than one giant social experiment. But considering the boys who thought an important get-to-know-you question was “Ass or tits?” and the girls clawing at each other for those idiots’ attention, it seems like a small price to pay to end the madness.
A message pops up on my computer.
[email protected]: Ready when you are.
It’s from the research assistant who’ll be inside the room, asking the questions. She knows only about the interview portion of the experiment and thinks that’s it.
She’ll read from a script Professor Price and I developed, but depending on how the conversation turns, I can message her follow-up questions or deviations.
To her, my name is just “Observer 2.” (Price gets to be Observer 1, of course. When she’s here.)
I slip on the large black studio-style headphones and type back.
[email protected]: Good to go.
The first interviewee is a quiet Hispanic girl. She sits directly across from Stephanie but keeps looking nervously at the mirror.
I smile instinctively, wanting to make her feel more at home. But, of course, she can’t see me.
It turns out she’s a freshman and, having skipped sorority Rush, has had no personal experience with Greek Life.
“My mom warned me against going to the frats, though. She read an article.”
Her interview takes all of ten minutes.
Not the most valuable interview, but general opinion is important to get, too.
Great job! I message Stephanie. One down!
Hundreds to go, but at least not all of them today.
Person after person sits in the chair across from Stephanie. There was a lit club guy with sleeve tattoos who didn’t understand why this study was occurring in the first place. “Do you realize how many more important issues there are? You guys should be talking about fracking, not this bullshit!”
With that, he got up and left. I wonder if he’ll still help himself to the free lunch.
Then there was a junior, a member of a frat—not DTC—who wanted to talk at length about brotherhood and philanthropy, but was unable to remember if there were any racial minorities in his frat during his three years at school.
There was a young woman who, without hesitation, said that she loved to go to the frats on weekends for parties, but never alone. At which point I had to stop myself from yelling through the glass how royally messed up it is that she has to be on guard at a place where she’s supposedly relaxing and having fun.
After a while everyone starts to blur together. I watch people rotate in and out of the chair until I’m dizzy. Watching the window starts to feel more like I’m watching TV, but really boring TV, like C-Span or something.
I watch for hours and hours, and my headset starts to hurt. The same barrage of questions starts to echo in my head.
Do you understand that this study is being done on a voluntary basis?
Are you or have you ever been part of a Greek letter organization?
Have you ever been to an event hosted by such an organization?
What are your perceptions of Greek organizations?
Do you believe them to be communities that are hostile toward women? Can you tell me about an experience where you found this perception to be true?
Can you think of one where the opposite happened?
How often do you feel the generalization holds true?
Have you ever been sexually assaulted? If so, by a member of a Greek organization? By a nonmember?
I’m drawn out of my trance when someone I recognize settles into the chair. She’s one of Alex’s lit club friends. A child of some of the original San Francisco flower children (a flower grandchild, if you will); her name is Lavender.
I wouldn’t say that we’re close friends, but we definitely know each other.
A chill goes down my spine. It’s different when you’re watching someone you know without them knowing you’re there. With strangers, there’s a sort of mutual anonymity, but the next time I see her at Dionysus, she’ll have no idea that I know whatever thoughts, whatever secrets, she’s about to reveal. The mirror is starting to feel like a weird idea.
When Stephanie reads the opening statement, about how this study is regarding the culture surrounding Greek Life, a huge smile spreads across Lavender’s face.
She folds her arms across her chest. “Well, I can tell you now you won’t need to conduct these interviews for long.”
Why’s that? I type.
Stephanie repeats my words.
“It’s clear isn’t it? I mean, it’s been clear for years. Probably since these goddamn things started. They’re terrible. Sexist, racist, literally anything that ends in -ist, they’re probably that. Honestly, I think they should get rid of the whole thing.”
Stephanie looks to the mirror. Then back at Lavender. “So, um, I’m assuming you’ve never been a part of a Greek organization?”
She’s trying to go back to the script.
Lavender just looks at her like she’s insane.
“I—I mean, have you ever experienced any of those things that you just mentioned, at a Greek organization?” Stephanie asks.
“Are you kidding me? I’d never set foot in one of those places.”
“So you don’t know anyone involved with Greek Life?”
“God no, and I’m better for it.”
I place my head between my hands. Can’t do much with that level of proof, but thanks, Lav.
“Are we done here?”
Yes, please.
When the interviews are finally over, I drag myself back to the dorm and do homework until Leighton bursts through the door at 8:00 p.m. and declares she’s going to sleep.
That’s her pattern: stay awake for days at a time partying, or stay in bed for a week, going to sleep at seven or eight and then spending most of the day watching Netflix.
Her sleep schedule flips back and forth between rock star and retiree. I have no idea how she plans to pass her classes.
I start gathering my stuff to go work in the lounge downstairs.
“How was your weekend?” Leighton asks.
I look up, trying to mask my surprise. “Um, it was pretty fun,” I say. “I had a good time Saturday, but maybe too good of a time, considering how I felt today.”
She nods knowingly and wraps herself in her white Ralph Lauren duvet, so only her thin face peeks out.
I sometimes feel like she’s a small child, but with expensive things. Like something broke when she was shipped off to boarding school at the age of nine. The work has transitioned from multiplication to linear algebra, and the fun has transitioned from toys to drugs and boys, but I’m not sure if she’s much different.
While so many of us are homesick and getting used to living on our own, calling
our parents crying when we have a cold or get a bad grade, Leighton has a Post-it taped to her desk that says, “Call parents! At least every two weeks!”
“I’m jealous,” she says to the ceiling. “I can’t wait for the frats to be done with their dumb recruitment so we can have real parties. Now it’s all about flirting with the little boys instead of us.” She scoffs.
“Did you rush a sorority?”
“Yeah.” It’s like I can hear the duh in her voice. “Kappa Alpha Delta.” She adds this like it should mean something to me.
“But you moved in at the same time as me?”
“I stayed at my house in the city during Rush.”
“Oh.” But I thought you didn’t like girls?
I expect the conversation to end here, this being the longest Leighton and I have ever talked.
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know...that doesn’t really seem like your thing.”
“The baking cookies and shit?”
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t matter. Not going Greek? That’s like social suicide. I had to be Delta, like, it’s top house, hello, and if I didn’t get in, oh my God, I’d be transferring.” She rolls over on her side, facing me. “Luckily it all worked out.”
She smiles and cuddles up to her pillow. The happy look falls from her face like she’s flipped a switch. “That is, it will all have worked out once the fun can actually start.”
I nod.
She closes her eyes, and I think she might be asleep. And then her eyes flicker back open.
“I mean... I’m sure you’ll be fine, though.” It’s like she just processed that she insulted me. “Maybe you can do deferred Rush? Actually, I can ask my recruitment chair about you, if you want,” she says.
“Thanks, Leighton, that’s very sweet.” I don’t quite know what to say. But I can tell this is a very big favor in her messed-up view of the world.
She’s supporting an exclusive social system and the ranking of cliques...but at least she’s offering to help me into her own toxic clique.
I shake my head.
I throw the notebook in my hand back on my desk and decide to go to bed now and work more tomorrow.
Because there is no way I could write a coherent thought about Greek Life right now even if there was a gun to my head.
Chapter Ten
The coffee tastes thin and watery, like the kind you get on an airplane, and the headphones press into my ears.
It’s just another typical day in the lab, and with my computer on the desk and the one-way glass in front of me, I’m flipping through old notes and only half paying attention to the current interviewee, a girl named Lily with a pixie cut and light blue dress.
“Do you understand this study is being done on a voluntary basis?”
“Yes.”
“That it will be recorded, and that portions of your interview may be published, although your name will be changed?”
“Yes.”
I chew on the end of my pen and look through the window, thinking her headband is cute. It’s really more of a scarf she’s tied around her head.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Are you currently part of a Greek organization?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been a part of a Greek organization?”
“Yes.”
I shuffle through my papers, trying to find the transcript of an interview we did a week ago with a football player and Sig Nu where he kept referring to women as “biddies.”
“How long ago did you leave?”
“About two years ago.”
“Have you ever been sexually assaulted?”
There is a pause. “Yes.”
I drop my pen and look up.
“By a current or former member of a Greek organization?”
She turns her head and looks at the mirror, at me. After a second, she turns back to Stephanie. “Yes,” she says, her voice barely making it across the room to the mic.
I grab the computer and pull it onto my lap.
STOP, I type.
Stephanie clears her throat, stalling.
I’m so sorry that happened to you, I type, and Stephanie parrots it. If it’s not too much to ask, could you tell me as much as you feel comfortable with about what happened?
Lily shifts in her seat. “Um...sure. So, I was at a party at—at one of the bigger houses three years ago, my freshman year. I’d been there a few times for events. I’d made it into a pretty good sorority, one of the top houses, you know? My mom was a member, and she’s superbig with all the alumni stuff. I didn’t really fit in with those girls, but...but that doesn’t matter. I’m getting off topic. So anyway, I didn’t have that many friends among the girls, like real friends, you know, that would have your back, but it felt like I was safe, right? Because I was with my sisters. So I guess that made me feel like I could get really drunk, you know? But it’s not like I was really drinking that much more than anyone else. I mean it was a frat party, so...”
She exhales. “So we’d had the pregame with them and I’d started drinking pretty damn early. But I didn’t black out.” She holds up her hand. “That’s really important to know, that I remember everything. Not that it would excuse anything if I didn’t. But I’m just saying I remember everything he did, and there’re no parts I’m missing, so this should be good evidence, right?”
Stephanie nods.
“So right. I’m pretty drunk by the time other people start to get to the party. I see this guy I’d met a couple times at other events. He’s older, and seemed pretty nice the other times I’d seen him...
“I’m that level of drunk when you’re feelin’ good but not like superdrunk anymore, and you’ve convinced yourself that you’re gonna sober up any moment so you need to drink more.
“So he starts talking to me, and pretty quickly I ask if he knows if they have any more alcohol, since the kegs were running out. It’s pretty common at these things to have the bad alcohol in the main room, and then people, like upper-tier Greek Life people, they can go into the back rooms and drink better stuff.
“So he nods and leads me off, and I’m thinking we’re gonna go to a room with like ten or twenty people in it, my sisters and his brothers, that kind of thing.
“And then, well, yeah...” She looks at her shoes. “The room was empty. He, uh, he locked the door and pushed me onto the bed and started kissing me, and, ugh, at this point I just, like, think he’s gotten the wrong idea. That maybe I’ve been sending signals that I wanted this, that maybe this is my fault.”
She laughs, and it’s a hollow sound.
“So I kind of start to push against his chest, lightly at that point, and saying things like, ‘Hey, let’s go back to the party’ and ‘I’m not really in the mood’ and ‘I don’t really want to right now.’ Trying to be nice.” The last word sounds like she’s spitting.
“But he keeps advancing and shushing me. So I start pushing harder and saying no, like a forceful no, and I start to realize he doesn’t really care what I’m saying.
“And that’s when I panicked, when I knew what was happening.
“And I yelled, but it’s so loud at those things, people probably couldn’t hear me. Or, I mean, that’s what I’d like to think.”
She wrings her hands. “He, um, he raped me, and then he left. He went back to the party.”
Her face is pale, her lips almost white.
“And I just left, walked across campus alone. I kind of, uh, shut down. I should’ve called the police right then, I guess, or told someone, but I just went home. The pain was gone, but only because I felt, like, nothing. Not like I was okay, but the opposite. Like my mind could not handle what happened and just stopped.
“And I showered, which apparently
was a bad move.”
She’s quiet for a long time.
“Did you tell anyone?” Stephanie finally asks.
“Not for a while. I didn’t know how to tell my ‘sisters’ or whatever, you know, because I was this quiet freshman they only put up with because of my mom, and he was in one of the best frats on campus. I mean, maybe they would’ve believed me. In retrospect, of course they would have—they weren’t monsters. But then...” She shakes her head, and tears bead in her eyes. “I was just so confused and so mad I didn’t know what to do.”
The room is quiet.
“And it got pretty bad, and I—I ended up in the hospital, and they made me talk to someone. But she kinda sucked. But they wouldn’t let me quit counseling if I wanted to go back to school, so they switched me to Sasha instead.”
She smiles, weakly. “She kind of rocks. So I ended up telling her, and getting better, you know, and quitting the sorority and finding new friends, good friends, and some of them are in sororities even.”
She touches the scarf. “That really helped, talking about it. Telling someone. I can live now.” Her voice is tight.
She slides off the scarf. “It’s kind of warm in here, huh?”
“Yeah.” Stephanie stands. “We can turn on a fan, if you want. Or take a break? Get some water?”
“No, I’m fine.” Lily straightens her back. “What’s your next question?”
“We really don’t have to—”
“What is your next question?”
“Would you like to see them gone?”
“What? The frats?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t care.”
“Why?”
“Because fuck that. Because I was raped and they want to change his fucking housing to deal with it? Are you kidding me? He wasn’t playing music too loud after hours—he attacked me. I want him in jail. I want him hung, for God’s sake. Not his club disbanded, boo fucking hoo.”
“Some people think frats create misogynistic environments.”
“The world is a misogynistic environment. He was in math club, too. Do you think if they get rid of that, it’ll make up for what happened to me? Getting rid of the frats is a fucking cop-out. Something big needs to be done. It’s not a frat problem—it’s a human problem. It happens everywhere, in the army, at work. Hell, you wanna talk about misogynistic environments, I worked at a tech start-up last summer and let me tell you—”
