Rushing to Die by Lindsay Emory

form an alliance with the Epsilon Chis, like on Survivor . . . I shook my head. No, Margot . “Not exactly,” I said. “The purpose of this rule is to make sure each house makes its sisterhood decisions free from the influence of others.” I looked around the room and was satisfied that everyone was nodding. “Anyone know the next one?”
    Cheyenne, the pledge trainer, called out from the back of the room. “No dirty rushing!”
    I nodded in the affirmative. “Why is that a rule?”
    â€œBecause every rushee”—­Cheyenne flinched at Ginnifer’s glare—­“I mean, potential new member, should make her decisions without sisters in the houses lying and promising sh—­stuff—­they’re not going to deliver.”
    â€œExactly. Number three?”
    Two more ladies held up their hands. I chose Katie, the cutie from Kansas City. “No social media?” This was one of the most unpopular rules. But, as I liked to remind the women, it wasn’t that long ago that Delta Beta successfully rushed women without constant checking of Instagram, Twitter, and Snap Chat.
    â€œYes. No social media during rush. Again, this is because we don’t want to make decisions about women based on 140 characters, or just a fun pic of their roommates goofing off on the weekend. And”—­I held up a finger—­“we don’t want them to make a decision about us based on the same considerations.”
    Ginnifer stepped forward and grabbed the megaphone from my hand. “IF I SEE ANY OF YOU ON SOCIAL MEDIA THIS WEEK, THERE WILL BE SEVERE CONSEQUENCES.”
    I reached over and flipped the OFF switch on her megaphone. “Number four?” I asked loudly.
    There was a moody silence after the social-­media restriction, and the next rule was even more chafing. I put a hand up to my ear, but no one volunteered. “All chapters must abide by a mandatory curfew during rush week. Everyone will be in the chapters’ houses between the hours of 7 P.M. and 7 A.M. ”
    Dissatisfied rustling and murmuring spread through the room. “Come on, ladies,” I said in my best empathetic but stern chapter-­advisor voice. “You’ve been here twenty-­four/seven this whole week, and it hasn’t killed you. What’s another week?”
    There was a cough at the back of the room that sounded suspiciously like “Kill me now,” but I had learned long ago to ignore the negative and focus on the positive. “The fraternity parties will still be there next weekend!” I said cheerily.
    I tapped on the whiteboard and circled the number one on the list. “Speaking of, the most important Panhellenic rule is, of course, that no men will be involved in—­”
    Ginnifer cleared her throat obviously.
    I’d give her this one. We were talking about rules and all. “No men will be involved in recruitment ,” I said, with a nod in her direction. She looked satisfied, and I was glad to appease her. I paused and looked out over the room, waiting for the inevitable sarcastic comment. When it didn’t come, I had to ask. “No one has something to say about that one?”
    The women looked around, and some of them shrugged. Callie half laughed, and said, “I don’t think most of them want to be involved in rus—­I mean, recruitment.”
    Asha nodded in agreement, as did several other women. “What would we even have them do ?” Giggles at the absurd idea of having boys involved in rush spread throughout the room, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It was refreshing to finally have a group of women who weren’t obsessed with the idea of men being included in every activity. Maybe the ideal of true sisterhood had finally become reality here at the Deb house.
    Ginnifer turned down the lights and switched the TV on, and soon, the chapter settled into an enjoyable communal