One of the other girls, Letitia Monroe, gasps. “That’s so mean!”
“Hardly,” I grouse. “It’s the truth. We had nannies and housekeeping staff. It’s not like she was a stay-at-home mom.”
“That’s the perk of the Pies! I bet she met your dad through Greek life, right?” Mary prompts.
I shrug. “I guess.”
“There you have it.” Determination has her jutting out her chin. “I want that forme.”
“I don’t think we’re high up on their list of pledges,” I say dryly, leaning back against the wall.
When the straps cut into my chest and shoulders, I tut, stop leaning, and start fiddling with them.
Everything about this dress feels wrong. It’s too long yet too short, too tight and too revealing. It’s everything I hate and it’s still not enough.
I’mstill not enough.
Refusing to think about how I kinda liked the dress earlier, I suck in a breath, resenting both my parents for putting me through this. Resenting myself for being weak and letting Mom talk me into it.
“You don’t know that,” Mary argues. “There’s always a chance we’ll get in.”
“Sure I do. You heard that girl out there. We’re the rejects.”
“Speak for yourself.” Letitia peers down her nose at me. “Why are you even here if you don’t want to take part?”
I glower at her. “There’s taking part and there’s being humiliated for it!”
“You would say that. If your mom was a Pi, then you’re a legacy. You’re a shoo-in. It’s so unfair!”
“Hardly. They refused me last year.”
The gasp that earns me is insane. They look at me like I just pissed in their cornflakes.
“They refused a legacy?!” Mary groans.
I hitch a shoulder, trying and failing to feel like less of a loser than I already am.
My cheeks gust out.
I’m not a loser. I’m not a loser. I’m not a loser.
The other girls back away from me.
Like I’m contagious.
Like the rejection is catching.
Like Iama loser.
I swallow, stung by their cruelty when we’re in the same boat.
“God, it’d be so cool to live here,” Mary remarks. “Did you know they nicknamed it Arcadia?”
“Mom says that?—”
Letitia steps in before I can finish the sentence. “That’s so neat. I wonder if they share or if they get their own rooms?”
Wounded, I back off. My shoulders round, hunching of their own volition as I make myself smaller.
