Dancer's Body

Chapter 8

"Stop fidgeting."

Olivia willed her knees to stop knocking against each other and began picking at a cuticle instead. It had taken a full week of apologies and near begging to get Wyatt to agree to still attend the ice cream social with her—and it didn't help that he was starting to hint at being fed up with her "good girl act."

"How long do we have to stay again?" he asked with a sigh. He maneuvered his ancient Kia into the decrepit mini-mart parking lot that charged ten dollars per head afterhours for Greek event parking.

"An hour, technically, but—"

"One hour it is then."

He reluctantly reached for her hand as they walked up the creaking steps to the fraternity house. She smoothed her recruitment-approved dress, modest with cap sleeves and covering the knees.

"Olivia," the freshman boy said at the door, ticking her name off a clipboard. They were required to learn all of the sorority girls' names as part of their own initiation. "Wyatt," he said with an air of annoyance.

She was always shocked at how well the fraternity houses could clean up for sober events. All national sororities on campus were governed by a Panhellenic society, which meant no alcohol in their own houses—or boys. But the fraternities largely went unmonitored.

"Olivia." Ava came at her immediately, with impeccable makeup and loose, beachy waves. "Wyatt, so glad you could make it." Ava offered him air cheeks, which he accepted awkwardly, while Olivia felt the sweat between their hands turn into glue.

"Hi," Olivia said, looking around at all the young, excited freshman girls. Some didn't make the cut during fall recruitment, while others simply took a little longer their first year to figure out Greek life might be for them.

"Remember, you're starting at number seventeen," Ava said to her quietly.

Olivia nodded and surveyed the room. The recruits had big, blue numbers plastered on tags right above their name. Seventeen looked too young for college and skittish.

"And smile," Ava said. "Jesus, you look miserable. Listen for my cues."

Olivia began the rounds she'd been honing since her own freshman year in spring. The first time she'd been on this side of the process, she'd been nearly as nervous as when she was the recruit. Now it seemed too calculated, fake and cold. One after another, she moved from girl to girl, taking subtle ranking notes. The recruits didn't notice when Ava changed the music to a specific song or when the lighting dimmed—all signals to the sisters to move to the next number.

That's all we are.

"Hi!" Number twenty-one seemed surprisingly comfortable in the room of circling sharks. Fresh faced with sparkling eyes and flawless box braids, she actually made Olivia relax. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"Hello." Olivia plastered on her plastic grin and glanced at the girl's nametag. Nyla, dance major. "You're a dance major? So am I."

"Really?" Nyla's face glowed even brighter. "That's awesome! What year?"

"Junior. It's a great program, I hope you're enjoying it. Oh, this is my boyfriend, Wy—"

She looked to either side, and he'd disappeared. Nyla looked at her curiously.

"Well, he's around here somewhere." She was flustered and embarrassed. Wyatt was nowhere to be seen. He was just there a minute ago.

Nyla shrugged. "Yeah, I'm really excited about everything, like rush—oops, I know we're not supposed to call it that. Recruitment. The dance program and everything. It's amazing being so close to RCDC and all."