Frat Girl. Kiley Roache

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СКАЧАТЬ are people of color being shot by police and imprisoned at alarming rates. Because as much as it bothers me that working women still spend more time doing housework than their husbands who work the same or fewer hours outside the house, there are still places in the world where women can’t vote or safely seek an education. So, which battles do we choose?”

      “Why can’t we...uh, do both?”

      She nods like I’ve made a comment as articulate as hers, when in reality I’m struggling to even say anything. “That’s the problem with the social side, right? Because the legal one is clear, you just get the votes. But the social aspect is so controlled by humans and the ways they react. You can’t force people to act a certain way, so we have to play the game a little bit or else people won’t listen. For example, in 1955 a pregnant teenager gets kicked off a bus. That could’ve been the beginning of the bus boycott. But that’s not very good PR, to have a pregnant teen as the face of the movement. So they wait. As a feminist, that enrages me. But they were right. In 1950s America, that movement had enough challenges without adding to it. So they wait for Rosa Parks, a grandmother, and the world is changed. But no grade-schooler will ever be in a skit about Claudette Colvin.

      “You think only the bad guys have to spin, but when you are trying to change the world, you have to remember that social systems are made of people, and you have to sneak in change like giving vegetables to a child, make it easy to swallow at first. Because if you’re too blunt with the privileged, they will shut you down before you begin. So we have to worry about what our movement looks like, unfortunately. We have to care what people think of feminism, so it’s not written off.”

      She pauses to pour herself a second cup of tea. “If it was up to me, fraternities wouldn’t exist. It’s that simple. I think they’re bad for almost every marginalized community—women, black people, LGBTQA people. But...do I want the next piece of academia with my name on it to say that? Or to say something about education for young women under the Taliban? Am I shying away from it, even though it’s important, because it may be controversial? That would be bad. Or am I shying away from it because there are more important things to focus on and I would needlessly push away those who might otherwise be allies? I just don’t know.”

      She’s quiet for a while, sipping her tea.

      “So, um, with all due respect...” I catch myself nervously playing with the hem of my skirt. I fold my hands in my lap. “Why’d you take on my project?”

      “I’m a researcher, Ms. Davis, so I don’t say no when I’m unsure. I investigate. In this case, you seem better suited to investigate than I would be, but I would like to help you. I guess what I’m saying is, I’m not asking you to go in there and find out if this system is messed up. I need you to go in there and find out if the system is messed up enough that we need to make it our next priority. Is that all right with you?”

      I nod furiously. “Yes, absolutely.”

      “Excellent. Let’s get started.” She stands, leans down and picks up a large crate, setting it down on the desk with a thud.

      “I had one of my assistants compile the research on fraternities, women and minorities, and women and minorities on college campuses more generally. I suggest you get started as soon as possible.”

      I pick up an article off the top; it’s from CNN.com and entitled “Are Frats an ‘American Apartheid’?”

      “I also have arranged for a series of interviews with average Warren students. They won’t find out what the study is about until they have decided to participate and signed a nondisclosure agreement, of course, to maintain the objectivity of the study. And while you’ll be involved, you obviously can’t be in the room without giving your cover away, so we’ll figure out something with that. But I thought it’d be best to have the greatest breadth of information possible for background.”

      I nod.

      “Let’s do our due diligence, pay attention to nuance and see exactly what this problem is and what the best course of action may be.”

      Her words still ring in my ears as I practically skip across campus, pulling out my phone to text Jay and Alex.

       Chapter Six

      I’m leaning against the back porch of Delta Tau Chi, sipping a Natty and looking out at the lake, when a familiar-looking guy walks up to me.

      “Hi, I’m Marco,” he says. He’s tall and athletic looking, with tan skin, beautiful in an all-American way, with broad shoulders and a strong jawline.

      “Cassie,” I say. I don’t think I know any Marcos, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen him before.

      He has a clipboard full of questions, like all the other actives, but slips it under his arm.

      The Rush party has just begun, and people are mostly still milling about, some aggressively kissing ass, while others seem to be working up the courage to talk to an active. I went for the “this is all beneath me” vibe and have been just hanging out.

      “Are you having a good time?” Marco asks.

      “Moderately,” I say. “How about you?”

      He smiles. “Yeah, this time of year, everything feels very forced, you know?”

      I nod.

      “Things should be fun and simple.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

      “Torres!” someone across the way yells. “Where’s the vodka?”

      “My room—fridge!” he yells back.

      And I realize how I know him. I’ve seen that name on the back of a jersey. I’m talking to the quarterback of the Warren football team.

      “Shots?” he says, turning back to me.

      I shrug. “I’m more of a tequila girl, but I’ll settle.”

      He raises his eyebrows. “Tequila it is.”

      My phone buzzes, and I’m looking down to check it when he says, “So, Cassie, have you ever done body shots?”

      I look up, and for a second, although my mouth is open, no words come out. “I—”

      “Hey, Marco.” Peter is walking over to us, smiling.

      He pulls Marco aside and whispers to him.

      “Really?” Marco says.

      Peter nods.

      “Well...” Marco says, walking over to me, “I’ve just been informed you’re not a Delta but a possible pledge, so I guess I should be vetting you instead.”

      I want to say, Instead of what? But I know the answer and have no interest in making the moment more awkward than it is.

      “Okay, then. Let’s do this.” He pulls out his clipboard and flips the pages. “Um, okay.” He scratches his head. “Well, the question I’m supposed to ask all the pledges tonight is, ‘Where did it happen?’ Meaning, uh, like where did you fu—make love СКАЧАТЬ