Handpicked Read online

  HANDPICKED

  by Dani Oden

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by Dani Oden

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2014

  For H.B.

  ONE

  I never thought I'd be a sorority girl.

  So you can imagine my surprise when I found myself fighting for mirror space in the third floor women's bathroom at my university's temporary dorms. Mountains of make-up and hair accessories were piled on the sink counters and girls in flashy clothes and heels hovered in front of the mirrors, fawning over each other and themselves. Every single color imaginable was represented in the tight, shiny rainbow of dresses, and some more than once. Teal and purple were apparently the colors that season.

  I just had a small patch of mirror near the end, where I was secretly watching the show more than I was getting ready. Behind me, a bored blond in a black sequined cocktail dress held one of the stall doors closed with one hand and checked her phone with the other. Under the door, a pair of uncomfortable-looking heels pointed at the toilet. Someone was aggressively coughing and sputtering inside the stall.

  Catching my eye in the mirror, the door-holder rolled her eyes. "She's fine," the girl mouthed. Checking over her shoulder to make sure her indisposed friend wouldn't hear, she leaned forward and stage-whispered, "Drama queen."

  "Oh," I said, blotting my face with neutral-colored powder. We both jumped at the loud gag that was audible even over the crowd.

  "Better out than in," the blond called to her friend in a tired voice, then went back to thumbing away at her phone.

  Before I could say anything else, my own cell phone buzzed from my pocket, so I grabbed it and scooped up my small make-up bag, glad to get away. It smelled like cafeteria food had been sitting out in a Victoria’s Secret store.

  Out in the hallway, I greeted my best friend Lindy with, "Where are you?"

  "I just parked," she said. "I'm walking up now."

  "I don’t know how to handle all these wannabe sorority girls." I said, heading toward my room. Two girls in nearly identical dresses shot me death glares as they walked by.

  She laughed, and reminded me, "We are wannabe sorority girls," as if I didn’t already know.

  "I know, but this is crazy."

  "My mom says it only gets better."

  "I tried getting ready in the bathroom, it was a shitshow.”

  "Well, that was your first mistake."

  "Someone was ralphing."

  "Gross! Eating disorder?"

  "Nerves, I think."

  "Ew. That's too bad."

  "I seriously don't even get what we're supposed to be nervous about," I unlocked the door to my dorm and tossed my make-up bag onto the bed I wasn't using. Lindy and I had planned on being roommates during rush, but at the last minute her mom decided to get a hotel room off-campus so they could talk about the houses every night.

  “What? Jill?” Lindy said. I tried to repeat myself but she interjected, “Hang on, I’m at the elevator. I’ll be right up.”

  She arrived moments later, movie star perfect with her blond hair in an updo, her make-up expertly applied, and a fitted blue dress hugging her slim figure. She heaved her designer purse onto the other bed, tugged the blue-tooth out of her ear and dropped her extra bag on the floor. "Ugh, that was heavy," she said. Turning to me with a grin, she added, “Are you ready for this? One more night of stress to balance out four years of awesome.”

  I forced a weak smile.

  “Trust me,” she insisted. When she first brought up the Greek System, I thought she was crazy. But, we’d been best friends for nearly a decade so if there was anyone I’d follow into the sorority trenches, it was her.

  “I do trust you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” I reminded her.

  She sat me down in the uncomfortable dorm desk chair and got to work. In under an hour, I was dolled up like prom night again, right down to my fingernails which she painted a soft pink. As much as I tried, I just didn't have the feminine gene like the women in Lindy's family, so I relied on her help with anything dressier than Driver’s Ed.

  “One more thing,” Lindy said, as I slipped on the dress she brought for me, an emerald green one that went well with my red hair. “I have something for you."

  "You do?"

  "Not to keep, just to borrow. I'm going to wear my mom's, so you can wear mine."

  She dug through her purse and produced a velvet box. Snapping it open, she pulled a strand of pearls out vertically, like a snake emerging from a charmer's basket.

  “I've never worn pearls," I said, tempted to offer her something for them, like Starbucks for a week, or a kidney. “People still wear these? I thought they went away in the fifties.”

  She pretended not to hear my question. "Well, you better try them on now because if you don't like it, we might need to rethink this whole sorority thing."

  My feet were hurting in Lindy’s shoes before we even made it to our final rush group meeting, but I knew better than to complain in front of her. We’d been planning for this night all summer. Well, technically, she’d been planning for it, and I nodded along while we swung in the hammock out back behind my parents’ winery. I was an only child, so it was tough for her to sell me on the idea of signing up for ninety extra roommates, but she managed to do it. Ultimately, it had been the promise of meeting new people who knew life outside of our small, rural, Eastern Washington town. For as long as I could remember, my entire existence lied within an eight block radius from the house I’d grown up in; my friends, my school, my parents, every boy I’d ever kissed, every house my girlfriends and I had ever TPed, everything that had ever mattered to me. Until now.

  I didn’t have to hide my aching feet for long. As soon as we arrived at the meeting, our counselor gave us our schedules and told us to go straight to the first house on our list. I was bummed to see that, even though Lindy and I were down to the same three sororities, we’d be going to them in a different order that night.

  Even after all the work we’d put in, I could still barely tell our final houses apart. Lindy swore up and down that they were "good" houses, whatever that meant. She was about to be third-generation Greek, so I just had to trust her.

  The first two preference events I attended were total snooze fests. All of the active members wore matching black dresses and carried candles around, singing ritual songs and smiling tearfully at one another and at us rushees. They each had these presentations where members got up and talked about their lifelong friendships. Girls from both houses told the same joke about how they knew who their future bridesmaids would be, even though they didn't know who the groom was. I was seriously starting to doubt that sorority life was for me.

  Then, I went to the third and final house.

  I was greeted on the front steps by a senior named Jenna, who I had met earlier in the week. "Hi, Jill," she said, squeezing my shoulders. "I'm so glad you're back."

  She led me inside, where, instead of being all dim and serious with the candles like the first two, they had white lights strung up and colorful flowers out all over the place. They were in vases, on tables, pinned to members, and even circling their composite, the sorority’s elegant version of a giant, framed yearbook page with every member’s picture. The girls all had on black dresses at this house too, but in different styles so they weren’t cookie cutter.

  "This is beautiful," I com
mented, stepping over the threshold. A swarm of women of all different ages buzzed around me. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, like I’d just arrived at someone else's family reunion.

  "Welcome to Iota Beta," said a lady about my mom's age. She smiled kindly at me. "Can I take your purse?"

  "Sure," I offered it to her. Her name tag read Carol, Pledge Class '82.

  "Many of our alums come back to show their support during recruitment," Jenna said smoothly in my ear. "We're so lucky to have such supportive alumni."

  "That's great," I said, surveying the crowded room. I could spot my fellow rushees easily since they had excited deer-in-headlights expressions, probably similar to mine.

  "By the way, I love your dress,” Jenna said.

  "Thanks," I ran my hands over the green bodice Lindy had zipped me into.

  She led me into the dining room, "And how did your other pref events go?"

  I hesitated, "They were good."

  "Nothing quite hit home, huh?"

  "No," I shook my head, relieved at the opportunity to be honest. "Not really."

  "I think you'll find things are a little different here. I remember the same thing when I preffed. This was my third house, too. And I didn't know going into the night which house I wanted, but once I got here, I was like, 'oh, thank goodness.' It was a breath of fresh air. I just knew. Iota Beta was my first choice. I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else."

  I peered around the room, wondering if the same thing was happening to me.

  She walked me to get my nametag, casually chatting the whole time. Jenna reminded me of one of those girls a few grades ahead in school that I always looked up to, even though they probably had no idea who I was. It was surreal to be getting so much of her attention.

  We sat at a round table filled with other active members and rushees. Soft piano music played under all the voices. Hundreds of framed candid photos of the members crowded the walls, with more strands of lights weaving around them. On a far wall was a table filled with an impressive collection of trophies and certificates.

  There was almost a slumber party vibe in the room, with more gabbing and lighthearted chatting than at the somber displays I'd seen elsewhere. As the event wore on, I grew more and more comfortable, to the point of actually enjoying myself. It was the first time during the entire rush week that I actually began to like the idea of sorority life.

  My hostess leaned over at one point and asked, "Can you remind me of your major again? I was telling some of the other girls about you, and I couldn't remember if you and I talked about that."

  I quickly wiped my mouth with my cloth napkin, nodding to let her know my answer was coming. "English," I swallowed. "I think. Or maybe Communications. Or, Psychology. I'm not sure yet."

  "Right! You were thinking English because you were editor of your school’s paper, right?"

  "Yearbook, actually." I didn't tell her that I only got the position because Rebecca Baker, who was supposed to do it, got mono and missed the first two months of school. I’m pretty sure her extended absence also contributed to the fact that I ended up on Homecoming court, but that’s a whole different story.

  "Now I remember. I'll have to mention that to the other girls."

  I was tempted to ask why she was talking about me, but I stopped myself. I could just imagine repeating the conversation to Lindy, who would most definitely say something like, "Oh my gosh, Jill, you can't ask that. They all talk about us during rush. We’re just supposed to pretend we don’t know."

  Eventually, the Iota Beta Chapter President interrupted the event by clinking her knife on a glass. There was a collective groan as we all curbed our chatting.

  "I know, I know, I'll be brief," the President said apologetically. She elegantly stepped onto a stool so we could all see her, carefully holding the skirt of her tiny, tight dress in place. A beautiful, slender blond with perfectly curled hair resting on her shoulders, she smiled so broadly at us that her eyes got squinty. "It's my pleasure to welcome all of the potential new members back into our home. It’s an honor to have you here, and to have you consider joining us. There’s only a few minutes left, and we wanted to take the time to make sure we convey just what membership in Iota Beta means."

  On cue, a girl from the next table over stood up and said, "Love."

  Across the room, another girl rose and said. "Support."

  A voice behind me stated, "Friendship."

  "Growth."

  "Elegance and class."

  "Thick and thin."

  Jenna stood and declared, "Sisterhood."

  She looked right at me, and I got goosebumps. As other actives rose and offered their words, I realized I had tears in my eyes. Soon, nearly all the black dresses in the room were standing, and all the rushees were sitting, silently staring up at them.

  I knew it was just a show for us, but it still got to me. Before I could help myself, I was sniffling behind my gold cloth napkin. And I wasn't the only one; a few other girls around me were doing the same thing.

  Sister President continued, "I wish I could invite everyone to stay longer, but unfortunately the recruitment counselors are waiting for you. Thank you all so much for coming, We'll be excited to welcome some of you back as pledges tomorrow."

  Around me, chairs were pushed back from tables and heels began clicking loudly on the floor. I blinked away my tears and sniffled into my napkin. Jenna sat back down and leaned over. "Are you okay?"

  I nodded, but didn't speak.

  "Do you need a minute?"

  "Maybe just a sec," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I'm not upset. That was just really sweet."

  "It's okay. I've been there. Take your time."

  I took a sip of water and wiped my eyes. "I'm good," I declared after a few moments.

  She linked her arm in mine as we walked toward the door, where the same alum as before was waiting with my purse. I was one of the last to leave, and she took me slowly past rows and rows of alumni smiling at me knowingly.

  After a final squeeze, Jenna gently closed the door behind me. I descended down the front steps of Iota Beta in a daze, wondering if I dreamed it all.

  Under a moonlit, starless sky, I joined the crowd of passing girls who’d just been released from preference parties at neighboring sororities. Recruitment counselors lined the sidewalks, forbidding us from talking and herding us toward the biggest lecture hall on campus to fill out our preference cards. If I wasn't in the middle of it, I would have thought that hundreds of dressed up young women walking silently in rows might seem a little creepy, but who was I to judge? I was one of them. One of us.

  At the end of the block, below a streetlight, was a line of guys in dress pants and collared shirts. A couple of them were all disheveled and wrinkly, clearly out of their element in the nice clothes, though for the most part they were a hot bunch. I tried not to stare but one in particular, with grayish pants, a light blue shirt and a face that rivaled the boyband posters that hung in my old locker, was particularly difficult to look away from.

  When the wave of girls I was with passed, they handed each of us a rose with a crookedly cut tag tied on with ribbon. My cheeks burned as the one in blue held his back as a few girls went by and then handed it directly to me, smiling.

  I wanted to stop and say something, but the sea of girls behind me pushed me along, forcing me to keep walking. I settled for a smile, the best one I could muster through shaky lips and soggy eyes. Once I was down the block, I peeked at the tag hoping to see his name, but all it said was, Congratulations on completing rush, from the gentlemen of Nu Mu Chi. We hope to see you at our parties this year.

  I made a mental note to go to every single one of them.

  When I tried to wait for Lindy at the door to the lecture hall, I was handed a preference card and shooed into one of the desks by a counselor. Craning my neck and searching the huge auditorium, I finally spotted my best friend about ten rows behind me. Her head was down and she was focused on her list. I got my phone
out to text, but the same counselor stopped me.

  "It's your decision. Follow your heart," she whispered. I tried not to roll my eyes at her.

  Iota Beta was the only house I cared about, so it took me all of twenty seconds to complete my list. Then, I carefully made my way down the row of chairs, stepping over the legs of girls with tougher decisions to make than mine. The counselor at the end of my row watched me approach, waiting with an outstretched hand.

  "Good luck," she whispered, taking my list and sliding it into an envelope.

  TWO

  I lingered for Lindy outside the lecture hall, but after at least a couple hundred other rushees left, I began to wonder if I’d missed her. By the time I peeked my head back in, she was gone. The only people remaining were a dozen or so girls with panic-stricken faces, still trying to decide how to order their houses.

  For whatever reason, she wasn’t answering my texts either. So, I sent her a message telling her how I ordered my houses and walked back to my dorm alone, her pearls swinging around my neck with each step I took. The path was dark and deserted except for me as I click-clacked down the pavement, hugging myself for warmth. My feet were killing me but I managed to keep my shoes on until I made it to my dorm room, where I triumphantly kicked them off against the bed. I had to get used to heels if I had four years of sorority life ahead of me.

  It was impossible to sleep that night, partly because the temporary dorm beds were terrible, but also because I was trying to wrap my head around the idea that by morning, I could be an Iota Beta. For hours, I tried to ignore my packed suitcase sitting on the floor, and tried not to wonder where I'd be wheeling it the next day.

  Lindy and I had practically been inseparable since third grade, when she showed up in the same Eastern Washington third grade classroom as me from some mysterious place called New England. We were the only two girls in our whole classroom who wore glasses, and they were those big round ones with thick lenses that magnified our eyes and colorful plastic frames. Mine were clear purple, and hers were light pink. She came up to me first, after our teacher had told us all to find a buddy and say what we did over the summer. "I moved here and I hate it," she'd told me plainly, tugging at her little overalls and coral top.