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Belonging

Cassandra O’Sullivan Sachar

    The red light shining in her face woke Amy from a restless slumber on the cold, concrete floor. Tara, the pledge mistress, towered over the group of girls huddled together. “Wake up, pledges! 3 a.m. function time!”
    Coming to her senses, Amy stifled a groan. Not again. It was probably 11 p.m. when the last function ended. The sisters had blindfolded them and fed them mysterious substances. At each hesitation, gag, or incorrect guess of what it was, everyone had to drink. Amy lost count of how many Natty Ices she had consumed.
    As her foggy eyes began to focus, she felt her stomach lurch; acrid bile filled her mouth. She swallowed quickly—when Katie puked earlier all over the floor, the rest of them had to clean it up with their toothbrushes. Even in her haze, Amy made a mental note to go to Walmart and get a new one. That is, if they ever made it out of this basement.
    “Pledge Loco, you’re up first,” Tara said, her voice calm in the near darkness, but Amy guessed she was pretty wasted; one of the kinder sisters had warned them that, when the older girls came home from the bar, they liked to screw with the pledges.
    Amy winced, knowing how that name gutted Steph. Early on, the pledges had to tell an embarrassing story about themselves. They thought it was about bonding, and Amy’s own story was awkward but funny from a hindsight perspective—at the science fair junior year in high school, her dress got stuck in her pantyhose, and everyone got a great view of her underwear until one of the judges mercifully let her know to fix her wardrobe malfunction. Introducing herself as “Pledge Granny Panties” was pretty horrendous when getting signatures from fraternity presidents and sports team captains, but at least she wasn’t Pledge Loco. Steph never should’ve revealed that time she was committed to a mental institution.
    Tara or someone else—Amy couldn’t see much more than that damned red light but knew Tara was there due to the shrill, cruel voice and click-clack of high heels on the floor—thrust a chair from somewhere and gestured for Steph to sit. Steph rose, endeavoring to shake off her sleep and drunkenness, preparing for whatever the sisters had in store.
    As Steph steadied herself, the sisters circled together, a coven closing in on its prey. In contrast to the oval of surprise and fear made by Steph’s lips, the sisters, their white teeth gleaming in the shadows, were grinning. They were enjoying this.
    “Pledge Loco, you crazy bitch!” Though she couldn’t really see her, Amy recognized Claudia’s southern lilt. “Recite the preamble to the Chi Zeta Omicron constitution. If you can’t do it flawlessly, and I mean flawlessly, you and your pledge sisters will receive a punishment.”
    In the dim glow, Steph’s ample chest moved up and down. “We, the sisters of Chi Zeta Omicron, um, do establish this constitution in order to form a more perfect union—”
    Claudia cut her off. “Wrong constitution, you dumbass! Looks like you girls need some discipline! Twenty Zeta pushups—now!”
    Like an automaton, Amy got into position, her bare elbows scraping the rough floor as she struggled to form her fingers into the shape of a Z. She hoisted herself up onto her toes and began.
    Amy’s concentration broke as she heard the dull thud of Katie’s body hitting the ground. “Shit,” she heard her say.
    “Excuse me, are these pledges who don’t even know our constitution actually swearing at us?” It was Bethany this time, a tall, thin girl on the lacrosse team known for her ruthlessness, both on the field and at a sorority function. “Punishment number two: Since you worthless lumps don’t know the constitution and can’t even do Zeta pushups, and since you don’t seem to have an overly developed vocabulary, I want you to each write out ‘I will not swear at the sisters’ 150 times. Get your pledge books, and start now. And you’ll each do a shot.”
    Amy grabbed her pledge book and pen, picturing the day when she would get into the sisterhood, finally, when she could call those Greek letters her own. Her head pounding, she attempted to remember why she wanted to do this.
    To belong. To have connections. To walk around campus with people who would have her back.
    Now, all she wanted was to head to her dorm and never, ever have anyone treat her like this again.
    Still, she chugged her shot and waited for whatever came next.

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