CHAPTER 1

I define the turning point in my life as the moment I decided to rush a sorority. Before rush, all my questions had answers and all those answers were simple. I kept no secrets and told no lies. I was virginal, but not a virgin. I was also someone who had no need to reinvent herself.
Layla, the sister interviewing me, studied my nametag. “So, Mackenzie, you’re a legacy?” Her large fake smile wavered. It felt like she was judging me rather than asking me.
I shifted in my seat. “Yeah. My mom was in Rho Sigma here at Throckmorton.”
She looked me up and down, and I could feel her concentrating on my chunky heels. I crossed my ankles and hid my feet behind my purse on the floor. “Well, how did you like Pi Pi Phi? I bet you’d get along great with them.”
I sighed and it was the only sound I heard, despite the energetic conversations swirling around me. I’d heard some fellow rushees gossiping about Pi Pi Phi earlier today. They said their pledge class last year only had five people while Rho Sigma’s had forty-five. “They were nice, but I’m much more interested in this house.” I tried in vain to keep the hitch out of my voice.
“And you’re sure this house is the best fit for you?”
I started to say yeah, but it wouldn’t move past my lips. Tears gathered behind my eyes, collecting like layers of paint on the verge of dripping so turned away from Layla and surveyed the room. Twenty or so girls just like me sat in folding chairs, chatting animatedly with other sisters. Except they weren’t just like me. They all wore black pants and stilettos, and their hair was so straight and stiff that when they nodded their heads, their hair didn’t move with them, stuck in place like starched shirts. I’d squeezed my body into gray pants I bought on clearance and threw my hair back into a low bun since I thought it looked classy. My button down shirt was a one-of-a-kind in a room filled with trendy tops that bordered on low cut. Several sisters stared at me out of the corner of their eyes.
I took a deep breath. “This is the house for me.” The words sounded like a lie even to my own ears. “I have a lot to offer and–”
She glanced down at her nails. “Look, Mackenzie. Here’s the deal. As a legacy, you automatically have a bid to this house. We can’t deny you. I realize I barely know you, but I just thinkÉyou might be happier elsewhere.”
I’d gone out of my way to look the part, and the fact that I’d failed miserably didn’t help the charging tears. “Rho Sigma is the reason I signed up for rush.” All my childhood, my mom pimped Rho Sigma, telling me the sorority was “the best four years of her life.” I wanted to experience something as defining as that, something I held as an ideal above everything else. So far I only had things that held me back. I wasn’t exactly highly ranked on the cool scale in high school, and I’d been starting to worry my lack of a social life might rob me of the experiences I could never have outside college.
Besides, now Mom was gone and all I had left was her encouragement to join. Maybe this was a way I could make her proud, by letting the tradition live on through me.
“Well, I’m just saying maybe you should give this serious thought.”
My face was parched from the blast of the heat and my butt hurt from the uncomfortable chair. Lavender and freesia candles burned throughout the room, giving it a homey feeling, and all I could think was I didn’t feel at home. Layla stopped talking and turned away, distracted by the pile of sisters waiting to take her place. Clearly she wanted out of this conversation. I was being cast off like outgrown clothes.
A familiar girl broke free of the replacements and across the room toward us. Out of desperation, I jumped out of my seat, my back to Layla and extended my hand. “You’re Bianca Cross! We went to high school together!”
Truthfully, Bianca was the other reason I wanted to rush Rho Sigma. She and I hadn’t run in the same circles in high school, but I hoped that could change in college. Bianca looked at Layla, questioning with her eyes. Layla only shrugged and walked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”
“I know. I figured. I’m a year younger than you. We had Spanish class together my junior year. I sat at the front.”
“Oh yeah, you sat with that weird kid, right? He was captain of the Spanish Language Squad?”
I looked down at my lap. That “weird kid” was currently my boyfriend. He used to bring me homemade flan every morning in Spanish and now in college he emailed me funny videos he made in animation class of a talking flan cartoon. “His name is Ryan.”
“Whatev. I don’t care what his name is. He’s a loser.”
Ouch.
She pushed her long, black hair behind her ear. I tried to do the same with my own, forgetting it was in a tight ponytail. Think, Mackenzie, think. I had such determination in high school, aspirations dangling in front of me like stars on an infant’s mobile. I was “that girl.” In the front row, my hand raised for every answer, always asking question after question just so I heard my own voice above the quiet coughing and slow breathing sounds usually echoing in the room. I confronted the teachers after class ended with more questions, or praise, or comments, or anything that made me stand out from the drones of bodies marching back to the anthill of their next class. Why couldn’t I do the same here?
Bianca turned her attention away from me and watched a sister handing out paper cups of hot chocolate. She didn’t look at me as she said, “So anyway, tell me about yourself. What’s your major?”
I sat up straighter. “Art,” I said, hoping she’d be impressed.
“Art? Just art? That’s it?”
I opened my mouth to speak but had nothing to say, so I closed it. That’s it? I wanted to scream at her and tell her that art was everything to me! But something told me she wouldn’t understand. I clasped my hands in my lap and slumped back into my chair. She continued looking at the girls laughing next to us, at her own composite photo on the wall, anywhere that wasn’t at me.
I thought Bianca and I might have something in common because we grew up in the same town, had similar upbringings. I was desperate to find something to cling to, or at least something to keep her talking. “What about you?”
She snapped her head back to me and smiled. “Retail. I want to be a buyer one day. Lots of Rho Sigmas are retail majors.” The way she said it sounded like a suggestion rather than a detail.
“That’s good. It sounds fun.” I giggled in a high-pitched tone trying to mimic the voice of the girl near me. I wanted to kick myself. Majors weren’t fun. They were work.
She looked at me with large, green eyes that drew attention to her face and commanded me to gaze straight into them. “So tell me, what do you do for fun? Are you still going to those lame parties in the dorms? Or have you discovered the bars yet?”
Bar was not a word in my vocabulary. I laughed when other students told me they owned fake IDs. The truth was, I didn’t like drinking. “Just the parties still. I’m only eighteen.” I gazed at her, hoping my eyes reflected the brightness of the overhead lights.
“Whatev. Fake IDs are so easy to get. You could probably make one yourself.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “Still, I know why you like those parties. The freshman class has some pretty hot guys, huh?”
Rho Sigmas didn’t have “weird kids” for boyfriends. They had hot guys. I nodded in agreement.
“The bars are much more fun than the dorm parties. I mean, first of all, you don’t have to drink foamy beers. Second, the guys are hotter and they’re all in frats. Third, well, I go to the bars and that’s good enough a reason as any. Oh! And I forgot I’m supposed to tell you about all the great events you’ll experience if you pledge Rho Sigma. I mean there are formals and mixers and theme parties. Seriously, it’s so much fun.”
I wondered if there was anything that didn’t involve drinking, but I decided not to ask. I couldn’t believe Bianca was chatting like she wanted me to join, not deterring me like Layla. I could be like Bianca, if I really tried. I didn’t want to face the reality that her gossiping with me might be fake, a show put on for rush.
Before I knew it, the half hour had expired and girls rose from their chairs. “It was really great seeing you again, Mackenzie. Seriously, don’t listen to whatever Layla told you. She’s a bitch.”
* * *
When I got back to my dorm, I noticed I had a new email.
Mac-attack,
I’ve been thinking about you all night! I’m dying to hear how rush went. Did you get along with the girls? Did you have a lot in common? I really think this is the thing you’ve been missing in college. You’ve been cooped up in your room, talking long distance to Ryan. You need to meet people up at Throckmorton. Get out there. Have some fun. I’m sure everyone loved you tonight.
You’re my little star.
Your mom would be so proud if she could see you now.
Love,
Dad


I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I read my father’s message three times before it became loud and clear what he was telling me, what the Rho Sigma girls were telling me, each in their own way. I didn’t fit. I had to change. Somehow I needed to reinvent myself. I stared at the screen and was about to hit reply when I changed course. With my fingers perched above my keyboard, I knew what I had to do. The monotone drone of the computer filled the space and only the clicking sound of keys could drown it out.
I had gotten as far as opening up an email and typing Ryan’s email address into the TO box. The subject line stumped me. Was “Hey” too casual for what I was about to say? “I need to talk” too serious? I decided to write out the words “No Subject” rather than leaving it at the blank default. A void now filled.
A tear streamed down my face. I shut out the image of Ryan’s crooked smile. This was the biggest favor I could ever do for him, removing my lousy self from his life. He’d missed out on a trip to Spain for his major in order to see me over winter break. He’d gotten into a fight with his roommate more than once over my frequent visits. And his grades dropped, gracing his report card with the first C’s he’d ever received, all because he spent more time on the phone with me than studying.
Finally, I let my fingers glide over the keys and before I had a chance to change my mind, I hit SEND. Or rather, I hit S-END. An end to the past. An end to my relationship. An end to the old Mackenzie.

CHAPTER 1

I define the turning point in my life as the moment I decided to rush a sorority. Before rush, all my questions had answers and all those answers were simple. I kept no secrets and told no lies. I was virginal, but not a virgin. I was also someone who had no need to reinvent herself.
Layla, the sister interviewing me, studied my nametag. “So, Mackenzie, you’re a legacy?” Her large fake smile wavered. It felt like she was judging me rather than asking me.
I shifted in my seat. “Yeah. My mom was in Rho Sigma here at Throckmorton.”
She looked me up and down, and I could feel her concentrating on my chunky heels. I crossed my ankles and hid my feet behind my purse on the floor. “Well, how did you like Pi Pi Phi? I bet you’d get along great with them.”
I sighed and it was the only sound I heard, despite the energetic conversations swirling around me. I’d heard some fellow rushees gossiping about Pi Pi Phi earlier today. They said their pledge class last year only had five people while Rho Sigma’s had forty-five. “They were nice, but I’m much more interested in this house.” I tried in vain to keep the hitch out of my voice.
“And you’re sure this house is the best fit for you?”
I started to say yeah, but it wouldn’t move past my lips. Tears gathered behind my eyes, collecting like layers of paint on the verge of dripping so turned away from Layla and surveyed the room. Twenty or so girls just like me sat in folding chairs, chatting animatedly with other sisters. Except they weren’t just like me. They all wore black pants and stilettos, and their hair was so straight and stiff that when they nodded their heads, their hair didn’t move with them, stuck in place like starched shirts. I’d squeezed my body into gray pants I bought on clearance and threw my hair back into a low bun since I thought it looked classy. My button down shirt was a one-of-a-kind in a room filled with trendy tops that bordered on low cut. Several sisters stared at me out of the corner of their eyes.
I took a deep breath. “This is the house for me.” The words sounded like a lie even to my own ears. “I have a lot to offer and–”
She glanced down at her nails. “Look, Mackenzie. Here’s the deal. As a legacy, you automatically have a bid to this house. We can’t deny you. I realize I barely know you, but I just thinkÉyou might be happier elsewhere.”
I’d gone out of my way to look the part, and the fact that I’d failed miserably didn’t help the charging tears. “Rho Sigma is the reason I signed up for rush.” All my childhood, my mom pimped Rho Sigma, telling me the sorority was “the best four years of her life.” I wanted to experience something as defining as that, something I held as an ideal above everything else. So far I only had things that held me back. I wasn’t exactly highly ranked on the cool scale in high school, and I’d been starting to worry my lack of a social life might rob me of the experiences I could never have outside college.
Besides, now Mom was gone and all I had left was her encouragement to join. Maybe this was a way I could make her proud, by letting the tradition live on through me.
“Well, I’m just saying maybe you should give this serious thought.”
My face was parched from the blast of the heat and my butt hurt from the uncomfortable chair. Lavender and freesia candles burned throughout the room, giving it a homey feeling, and all I could think was I didn’t feel at home. Layla stopped talking and turned away, distracted by the pile of sisters waiting to take her place. Clearly she wanted out of this conversation. I was being cast off like outgrown clothes.
A familiar girl broke free of the replacements and across the room toward us. Out of desperation, I jumped out of my seat, my back to Layla and extended my hand. “You’re Bianca Cross! We went to high school together!”
Truthfully, Bianca was the other reason I wanted to rush Rho Sigma. She and I hadn’t run in the same circles in high school, but I hoped that could change in college. Bianca looked at Layla, questioning with her eyes. Layla only shrugged and walked away. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember you.”
“I know. I figured. I’m a year younger than you. We had Spanish class together my junior year. I sat at the front.”
“Oh yeah, you sat with that weird kid, right? He was captain of the Spanish Language Squad?”
I looked down at my lap. That “weird kid” was currently my boyfriend. He used to bring me homemade flan every morning in Spanish and now in college he emailed me funny videos he made in animation class of a talking flan cartoon. “His name is Ryan.”
“Whatev. I don’t care what his name is. He’s a loser.”
Ouch.
She pushed her long, black hair behind her ear. I tried to do the same with my own, forgetting it was in a tight ponytail. Think, Mackenzie, think. I had such determination in high school, aspirations dangling in front of me like stars on an infant’s mobile. I was “that girl.” In the front row, my hand raised for every answer, always asking question after question just so I heard my own voice above the quiet coughing and slow breathing sounds usually echoing in the room. I confronted the teachers after class ended with more questions, or praise, or comments, or anything that made me stand out from the drones of bodies marching back to the anthill of their next class. Why couldn’t I do the same here?
Bianca turned her attention away from me and watched a sister handing out paper cups of hot chocolate. She didn’t look at me as she said, “So anyway, tell me about yourself. What’s your major?”
I sat up straighter. “Art,” I said, hoping she’d be impressed.
“Art? Just art? That’s it?”
I opened my mouth to speak but had nothing to say, so I closed it. That’s it? I wanted to scream at her and tell her that art was everything to me! But something told me she wouldn’t understand. I clasped my hands in my lap and slumped back into my chair. She continued looking at the girls laughing next to us, at her own composite photo on the wall, anywhere that wasn’t at me.
I thought Bianca and I might have something in common because we grew up in the same town, had similar upbringings. I was desperate to find something to cling to, or at least something to keep her talking. “What about you?”
She snapped her head back to me and smiled. “Retail. I want to be a buyer one day. Lots of Rho Sigmas are retail majors.” The way she said it sounded like a suggestion rather than a detail.
“That’s good. It sounds fun.” I giggled in a high-pitched tone trying to mimic the voice of the girl near me. I wanted to kick myself. Majors weren’t fun. They were work.
She looked at me with large, green eyes that drew attention to her face and commanded me to gaze straight into them. “So tell me, what do you do for fun? Are you still going to those lame parties in the dorms? Or have you discovered the bars yet?”
Bar was not a word in my vocabulary. I laughed when other students told me they owned fake IDs. The truth was, I didn’t like drinking. “Just the parties still. I’m only eighteen.” I gazed at her, hoping my eyes reflected the brightness of the overhead lights.
“Whatev. Fake IDs are so easy to get. You could probably make one yourself.” She raised her eyebrows at me. “Still, I know why you like those parties. The freshman class has some pretty hot guys, huh?”
Rho Sigmas didn’t have “weird kids” for boyfriends. They had hot guys. I nodded in agreement.
“The bars are much more fun than the dorm parties. I mean, first of all, you don’t have to drink foamy beers. Second, the guys are hotter and they’re all in frats. Third, well, I go to the bars and that’s good enough a reason as any. Oh! And I forgot I’m supposed to tell you about all the great events you’ll experience if you pledge Rho Sigma. I mean there are formals and mixers and theme parties. Seriously, it’s so much fun.”
I wondered if there was anything that didn’t involve drinking, but I decided not to ask. I couldn’t believe Bianca was chatting like she wanted me to join, not deterring me like Layla. I could be like Bianca, if I really tried. I didn’t want to face the reality that her gossiping with me might be fake, a show put on for rush.
Before I knew it, the half hour had expired and girls rose from their chairs. “It was really great seeing you again, Mackenzie. Seriously, don’t listen to whatever Layla told you. She’s a bitch.”
* * *
When I got back to my dorm, I noticed I had a new email.
Mac-attack,
I’ve been thinking about you all night! I’m dying to hear how rush went. Did you get along with the girls? Did you have a lot in common? I really think this is the thing you’ve been missing in college. You’ve been cooped up in your room, talking long distance to Ryan. You need to meet people up at Throckmorton. Get out there. Have some fun. I’m sure everyone loved you tonight.
You’re my little star.
Your mom would be so proud if she could see you now.
Love,Dad


I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I read my father’s message three times before it became loud and clear what he was telling me, what the Rho Sigma girls were telling me, each in their own way. I didn’t fit. I had to change. Somehow I needed to reinvent myself. I stared at the screen and was about to hit reply when I changed course. With my fingers perched above my keyboard, I knew what I had to do. The monotone drone of the computer filled the space and only the clicking sound of keys could drown it out.
I had gotten as far as opening up an email and typing Ryan’s email address into the TO box. The subject line stumped me. Was “Hey” too casual for what I was about to say? “I need to talk” too serious? I decided to write out the words “No Subject” rather than leaving it at the blank default. A void now filled.
A tear streamed down my face. I shut out the image of Ryan’s crooked smile. This was the biggest favor I could ever do for him, removing my lousy self from his life. He’d missed out on a trip to Spain for his major in order to see me over winter break. He’d gotten into a fight with his roommate more than once over my frequent visits. And his grades dropped, gracing his report card with the first C’s he’d ever received, all because he spent more time on the phone with me than studying.
Finally, I let my fingers glide over the keys and before I had a chance to change my mind, I hit SEND. Or rather, I hit S-END. An end to the past. An end to my relationship. An end to the old Mackenzie.