Rushing to Die (9 page)

 

Chapter Sixteen

A
S THE OTHER
bleary-­eyed, sweatshirt-­clad chapter advisors filed into the room, led by Panhellenic advisor Maya Rodman, you could have cut the tension with an eyelash curler.

The peacemaker of the Rush Council, sweet Sue Harlow, started off by repeating my request: to postpone rush for all chapters.

Von Douton scowled at the room. “The Delta Beta chapter is under subpoena to cooperate with a criminal investigation.” She said “criminal investigation” like it was a bad thing.

The announcement was met with stony silence. I had been prepared for many things. Dramatics, name-­calling, flouncing. I had not been prepared for five formidable women to say
nothing
. It was terrifying.

I wasn't the only woman in the room discomfited by the lack of outrage.

“Really? No opinions?” Patty Huntington sounded incredulous. “No objections?”

Sarah McLane's nostrils flared as she slid her eyes toward me. “We understand that the Little Debbies have been given a temporary reprieve.”

That was when I knew.

The other advisors weren't just lying back and agreeing to let rush continue because they wanted to be “fair” or “nice.” They had an entirely different agenda in mind.

Patty Huntington looked at me. “Is this true? You no longer need to cooperate with the police?”

“Well, I wouldn't put it that way,” I said, thinking of my last conversation with Lieutenant Ty Hatfield, who had a point about killers still on the loose. “But yes, a stay has been issued.” Because that's what governors do.

Patty and Louella and Sue and Clara-­Jane exchanged a look. Only Von Douton was still simmering, seething at me. I wanted to point out that her frown lines were showing, but that would just be uncharitable.

“I don't see that there's an issue here, then,” Sue said with a little shrug. “Recruitment will continue as planned, or until there's another emergency at the Delta Beta house.”

“You don't work for city government, do you?” I asked her.

Sue's eyes widened.

“She works for the library,” Clara-­Jane answered. “And what should that matter?”

“Nothing,” I shrugged easily. Sue's face had “I put twenty bucks on the Delta Beta 9-­1-­1 pool” all over it.

“All right then,” Louella's voice was clipped as she stood. “That's it then. Everyone needs to get back to work, I should imagine.”

The other members of the Mafia stood and followed Louella out the door in short order, leaving me alone with a bunch of well-­manicured wolves in Chico's clothing.

I pulled my bag over my shoulder and decided now would be the perfect time to pretend to check for texts, but I was halted with a hand placed on my shoulder. “Not so fast.” The tone was menacing, the grip ice-­cold through my coat.

I spun, and the other four chapter advisors were standing in a line, their arms akimbo. Only Maya was sort of standing in the middle, like an awkward referee right before the tug-­of-­war event at the annual Alpha Kapp Olympics.

“Ladies?” I asked innocently, wondering whether I could make it to the staircase and out the front door before any of them. I was a bit younger, but I hadn't been able to work out regularly in months.

“We were being nice to you,” the Epsilon Chi advisor hissed. “Since it was your first year and all.”

“We felt sorry for you,” the Lambda advisor added. “Since the murders destroyed your house's reputation.”

“But that ends today.” Sarah McLane looked like she enjoyed saying that. “You just remember. You started this.”

I held up my hands. “What? I didn't do anything except come here and beg for the Mafi—­I mean, the Rush Council, to help even out the playing field.”

Sarah smirked. “We know you are behind the Twitter account.”

It was only due to years of practice that I was able to lie perfectly with a straight face. “What Twitter account?”

Now Maya chimed in. Maybe she didn't like taking the side of bullies. “The Sutton Rush Anonymous account? The one that's been posting secrets of all the houses all morning?”

“The one that every rushee is now twittering?” the Lambda advisor almost squealed.

“It's not called that,” Sarah muttered.

“It's not?”

“If it's anonymous, then it's clearly not me,” I asserted, wondering why that had sounded different in my head.

“It hasn't posted anything bad about Delta Beta,” Maya said.

Oh, fudge. Surely, the A team hadn't been so obvious. I couldn't check here to prove otherwise, so I had to say something. As in all things, sometimes a woman just needed to fake it to make it. I tossed my ponytail. “Well, maybe that's because Delta Beta has nothing to hide. Unlike some ­people.”

The other four advisors gasped, as if they'd been rehearsing all week. Seriously, the timed reactions were getting weird. But I needed to skedaddle. I had a lot to do in a small amount of time, and with the rest of the chapters out for blood, today might be our best chance to make a great impression.

“You know, it was great talking with everyone, and I so appreciate this show of Panhellenic support—­”

“Suck it.”

That came from Sarah, and I decided to just be quiet a moment and let that hang out there, like a booger she had forgotten to wipe off the end of her nose. I was the classier person; and even the other women were giving her the judgy side-­eye. There were some things a sorority woman just didn't say out loud, even if she was a Moo.

Now was the time to pretend my phone was ringing. “Ah. Yes.” I checked the screen. “I know we all have so much to do. Best of luck today, ladies.” I gave them my biggest kill-­them-­with-­kindness smile and hustled out of the room.

 

Chapter Seventeen

T
HE A
FTERNOON WHIPPED
by, fast and furious. By necessity, I had to put all thoughts of murder, mayhem, and retaliation out of my mind. It was imperative that we have a successful second day of rush. Tomorrow was not guaranteed: It could be taken away any minute by a cranky police officer or bitter old biddies.

I was so focused on getting everything ready for the day that I even missed a call from Casey. I'd call him after the parties to give him the good news that Delta Beta had successfully recruited the heck out of day two.

Today, the ladies were dressed in matching black loose tops with glittery gold stripes over black skinny jeans with cognac wedge boots. The effect was a preppy chorus line. Ten minutes before showtime, the chapter was lined up in their prescribed order, with ruler-­straight posture, flawless makeup, and blinding white smiles.

If I was being honest, I did see a few cracks in our spackle. How could there not be? There had been two police officers stationed in the Rush Dungeon this morning, questioning the sisters about a mysterious dead body that had been found just yards from where they would now be performing the age-­old sacred bounce-­snap routine. It would fluster even the most professional rusher.

And speaking of professional rushers, where was Sheila DeGrasse? She hadn't attended the emergency Panhellenic meeting earlier, but that didn't mean she didn't know exactly what was going down from her perch in the Tri Mu house.

The social-­media attack of this afternoon would have put the rest of the chapters on notice. Maybe they would even be implementing their own Plan B, as I stood here inspecting our daily banner, in the adorable style of an old-­time theater marquee: “
NO
W PLAYING: DELTA BET
A
.” That anonymous Twitter account had taken the gloves off by posting possibly defaming information about the houses—­including Delta Beta, as I had confirmed as soon as I was able to check. Though I wasn't sure anyone would believe that our sorority's dirty secret was being “too good” at flat-­ironing naturally curly hair.

I couldn't predict what the other chapters would come up with, and, in the case of Sheila DeGrasse especially, what was already planned. Another reason why we had to be perfect. Again.

I ascended the staircase and blew my whistle to get the chapter's attention. It was time to motivate: a heady responsibility, but I was sure I could come up with something to say.

“SISTERS!” I clapped my hands. Everyone went silent and stood at attention. The Gineral must have had them practicing while I was on campus. “We are on the cusp of a day that will live in infamy. Yesterday, we blew apart every single rush record that has ever been set at Sutton. Tonight, we have the best of the best women returning to our house. Don't stop believing! Hold on to that feeling! We are on the edge of glory. The players? They're going to play. All those haters? They're going to hate. And the rest of sorority row? They're going to hear us roar. Because you only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow. This opportunity only comes once in a lifetime.” By the end of my little speech, my positive words had the chapter glowing with pride and confidence. It was just the extra push they needed, right before we opened the doors and started screaming our little hearts out.

Ginnifer tapped me on the shoulder. “Can I say something?” Her eyes were wide and serious; how could I say no? She was working so hard for our chapter, and I had to give her credit for her Latin-­American-­dictator style.

I ceremonially handed over the whistle, and she took a moment to compose herself. It was gratifying that she was also overcome with emotion at my motivational words, but the clock was ticking, Martinelli. I gave her three more seconds; and then she spoke. Actually, she yelled. “Listen up, DEBS! I have not come all this way to this flipping hillbilly town to see you throw it all away!”

The chapter was stunned. I was shocked. Ginnifer was from Alabama, and she was calling North Carolina ‘hillbilly'?” Seemed unnecessary.

“That stunt you pulled today on Twitter was UNACCEPTABLE!” Veins popped from her neck. “DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THE RULES? NUMBER THREE RING A BELL? NO SOCIAL MEDIA! AND WHAT DID I SAY?” She pointed at poor Kennedi Worth, her hair-­sprayed curls were dropping from the fear. “WHAT DID I SAY, WORTH?”

Kennedi shook in her boots. “There would be consequences?”

“SEVERE CONSEQUENCES!” Ginnifer screamed, now with a little vein dangerously bulging on her forehead. I had to calm her down, or someone at the fire station was going to win thirty bucks in the Margot Blythe emergency pool.

I placed a hand on Ginnifer's shoulder blade. “I think they got it,” I whispered. “We have a minute before the door opens.”

Ginnifer made a visible effort to recover her composure. “I think we got the message across,” she muttered.

The chapter's shine of confidence seemed a little dimmer. But I had no time to try to counteract Miss Negativity. “Places!” I yelled, holding my hand up so everyone could see me count down the seconds. “Heads up! Shoulders back! SMILE!”

At the designated time, I threw my hand down like I was the flag girl at a NASCAR race. The front doors flew open, and the best singers in our chapter stood in the doorway.

“We the girls of Delta Beta,” rang out in angelic three-­part harmony.

Silently, we all counted.

One. Two. Three.

STOMP

STOMP

STOMP.

I lifted an eyebrow at Ginnifer. Their stomps were as fierce as ever.

“WE ARE THE GIRLS! THE GIRLS OF DELTA BEE!”

“WHO ARE THE GIRLS?” asked one half of the chapter, on one side of the entry.

“WE ARE THE GIRLS—­THE GIRLS OF DELTA BEE,” the other half screamed.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

“DONCHA WONCHA BE A DELTA BEE, TOO?”

Bounce snap.

“YOU KNOW YOU WANNA BE DONCHA WANNA BE . . .”

Bounce snap.

They hadn't missed a snap. I blew out a sigh of relief as pickups started. Maybe Ginnifer's scream-­a-­thon hadn't negatively affected their confidence.

The first party went as well as could be expected. Maybe the energy level could have been higher, maybe the bumping lagged a bit, but as the week went on, and the ladies' sleep deficits grew, it would be harder and harder to operate at a hundred percent.

As soon as the next party started, the energy level was still down, and I could tell something was off. To identify the problem, I had to join the throng.

Normally, the chapter advisor wasn't visible during rush. She could be in a corner with a clipboard, or on the staircase with a secret remote control for the lights, but she wasn't circulating and greeting potential sisters. But seeing as I was only twenty-­six and remarkably well preserved for my age, I figured it wouldn't hurt the Delta Beta image for me to be seen.

Walking around the groups of women, I didn't see or hear anything that explained the shift in energy I felt. As far as I could tell, the chapter sisters were doing everything they were supposed to be doing, if maybe 2.3 seconds slower than they should be.

By the third party, there was a definite change in the rushees. They were hyped up about something, and when I started walking through the floor, I overheard enough proof to know exactly what was going on.

I ran back to the Rush Dungeon and pulled up Twitter. After a quick search, I could see that Nick Holden's account was the culprit. His accusatory tweets about sororities mirrored some of the questions that the rushees were asking the actives during the party. “Do you really circle the fat parts of pledges' bodies?” “Do you force pledges to make out with each other?” “Do you give out free beer?”

Everyone knew the answers to these questions: “Of course not,” “Totally their choice,” and “That is illegal and high in carbs.”

To post these blatantly defaming and insulting tweets about sorority rush was a clear declaration of his intent. He wanted to destroy our way of life, and I had to wonder if he knew what he was getting into.

And although we were fully prepared to field questions about any tacky allegations the rushees were reading on their phones between parties, we were not prepared for what was about to happen.

When a rushee asked Aubrey about the port-­a-­potty in our front yard, she laughed it off, thinking maybe the girl had just called our atrium by the wrong name. Then someone else asked about the sign on the front of the port-­a-­potty. Then I was alerted, and because technically chapter advisors could leave the house during a rush event, I made a beeline for the front yard. There, I discovered that the rushees hadn't been confused, or misinformed.

There was, indeed a bright blue port-­a-­potty in our front yard. The turquoise did not match our theme for the day at all, and neither did the signs painted on the front. “
DELTA BETAS ARE
FULL OF
. . .”

I whipped out my phone to call . . . who? Who would I call? Emergency ser­vices? They'd laugh at me, and some guy named Joe in Sanitation would be sent out because he won fifty big ones.

Panhellenic? That was an option, of course, but I would need more evidence before I brought this to the Mafia. I had to be strategic about these things, especially as I had used up all of my goodwill today.

The most I could do at the moment was tear down the signs, lift my chin, and show the rushees outside the house how a Delta Beta chapter advisor reacts when her enemies try to take her down.