“Oh, hey, Maya,” she said. “How was your summer?”
I thought about how I’d spent the summer working at the restaurant. “It was fun. You?”
“I was getting so behind last year, so I had to do a semester at the Sorbonne. The French boys were trop beaux. Highly recommend. Anyway, are you going to Lawnparties?”
“Oh…yeah, of course,” I said, even though I hadn’t planned on going to the outdoor day-drinking festivities that marked the start of fall term. I didn’t have anyone to go with.
Taylor nodded. “We’re meeting at Cottage, and a group of us are walking over. Alex Bain put us on the list.”The listwas the only way to get into the eating clubs if you weren’t a member. It was something that I had no access to, not knowing any upperclassmen members well enough to ask the favor. But because Taylor was in a sorority, she knew older girls who could make sure she and her friends could get in anywhere.
I must have looked eager, because after a quick sideways glance at her friends, she added, somewhat reluctantly, “Want to come?”
My heart squeezed. I’d never set foot inside Cottage, but I’d heard stories. It was where F. Scott Fitzgerald had passed out drunk as a student, so of course I wanted to go.
—
The sun hadfaded over the horizon by the time I set off for The Street, the nickname for Prospect Avenue, where the eating clubs lined the tree-studded road, stretching a third of a mile into the distance. Princeton didn’t have frat houses but eating clubs, the architectural masterpieces with crystal chandeliers and opulent décor where the upperclassmen could live out their college fantasies. They should really be called drinking clubs, but in the university’s eyes, “eating” was more respectable. And the membersdidtechnically eat meals there during the day before the tables were cleared for parties all night. I’d heard rumors of waiters, candlelit dinners, and wild parties.
Sophomore year was the year most students’ fates were solidified—either you ended up in an eating club or you didn’t. And something like eighty percent of students…did. There were a few who chose to be “independent,” but you had to be confident in yourself and your campus meal plan to make that choice. I could never be independent; I wasn’t brave enough to be untethered. I wanted more than anything to belong to something, to find a place in this world, even if I didn’t yet know where that would be.
—
After getting dressed,I made my way past quadrangle Club or “Quad,” the eating club Jeff Bezos had attended where B.o.B was playing to a cheering crowd, past the plush lawn of Tiger Inn, where tall shirtless waterpolo players had set up tables with beer pong, and Colonial, where a skinny guy with glasses hung from a zip line, aiming his body for an inflatable pool. It was like each of these students had been sorted into their perfect club.
—
Cottage was setback from the street past an iron gate. It towered above the others, all red brick, white trim, and Georgian symmetry. A long line of students spilled out the front door.
Pulling out my phone, I tried calling Taylor. No answer.
An hour later, I finally made it to the front of the line and saw Taylor and her friends dancing in the distance, red cups swaying overhead.
“Name and ID.” A stern bouncer towered over me, holding a clipboard.
“Uh, yeah, here.” I fished my Princeton ID out of my pocket and handed it to him. “Maya Mason.” I was thinking of what to do when I walked in. Would I go up to Taylor and throw my arms around her like we were good friends? Or casually get two beers and hand her one?
“You’re not on the list.” The bouncer looked up from the clipboard, shaking his head.
“Oh, my friend Taylor said she’d put me on. She’s right there. Let me just—” I tried to move around him to get Taylor’s attention, but his large torso blocked my path.
“Ma’am. You’re not on the list,” he said before gesturing to the group of girls behind me. “Next.”
I stepped onto the front lawn to call Taylor.Hello, you’ve reached Taylor Little, please leave a message.
A group of rowdy football players hung out of an upstairs window. One of them, I recognized.
“Alex! Hi,” I called out, waving. He looked down at me with a smirk before turning back to his friend. “I’m not sure if you remember me,” I said, “but we went to Sacred Heart together? I’m Taylor Little’s friend?”Please don’t ignore me.
“Oh yeah, what’s up?” Alex shouted, and his friends laughed and slapped him on the back.
“Yeah, hi! So, uh, Taylor said she put me on the list? But they’re giving me a little trouble. Could you go downstairs and get her? I think there must have been a mix-up or something—”
“You wanna come in?” another guy yelled from the window.
“Oh yes! That would be amazing.”
“Come here,” Alex’s friend said. “If you catch this in your mouth, we’ll let you in.”
Alex’s friend extended a bottle of champagne out the window. I made my way to the window, standing directly below.
