The Makedown Read Free Page B

sex kitten voice.
    “Kind of. Well actually, not at all. People can develop and lose allergies at any time,” Nut responded with his mouth full of food. “I got to go; I’m rushing. I’m a senior, so this is my last shot; I really want to get in— be with the boys— you know, have brothers for life—”
    “Um, yeah, completely. I’m rushing, too. I only have a brother. I thought it would be good balance to get some sisters. Go girls! Hey sisters! Anna’s in the house!”
    Sororities evoked images of girls with Sharpies circling fat pockets on my body while laughing maliciously. I doubted those “sisters” would even let me buy their sweatshirt. However, I desperately wanted something to share with Nut, and my freshman orientation packet— a seventy-page document I’d immediately highlighted and taken notes on, as well as committed to memory— recommended rushing as an excellent way to meet people. I figured there had to be a nerdy sorority, this was the Ivy League, after all. Penn was filled with nerds; surely there was an appropriate group for me.
    I opened the packet to the section on student life and surveyed my options. Why did I have to be born a godless white chick? Hadn’t I suffered enough? My lack of religion and ethnicity barred me from some very nerdy groups, which listed studying and watching television as activities. After contemplating some very unethical alternatives, I decided to try Delta Beta, a dry sorority that prided itself on academic standards, conservative politics, and the protection of women’s virtues. As an intelligent virgin, Delta Beta was a good fit, barring the conservative politics. I had always considered myself a nonpracticing liberal due to my prochoice stance. However, I was far more desper ate than I was liberal, so I registered for Republican groups online. Rocking Repubs, Teens Against Terror, and My Elephant Is an Honor Student But Your Donkey’s Not all listed Anna Norton as a member. I picked the most cutting-edge of the Republican youth groups in an effort to diminish my feeling of selling out.
    A mere twelve girls showed up at Delta Beta’s orientation; apparently, its no-alcohol policy hadn’t done much to help boost its appeal. I rejoiced in its unpopularity, since it exponentially increased my odds of acceptance. The evening began with Maureen, the Delta Beta leader, asking us about our personal heroes. As luck would have it, I went first, naming Jesus Christ as my personal hero. The candidates that followed responded with Ronald Reagan, Richard Nixon, Gerald Ford, and George Bush. It quickly became clear that my choice of Jesus Christ was a bit unusual in the context of this politically obsessed group. After hearing everyone’s responses, Maureen decided to dig a little deeper, starting once again with me.
    “Anna Norton?”
    “Yes,” I responded cautiously.
    “You chose Jesus Christ as your hero.”
    “That’s correct, Mr. Christ,” I intoned, attempting to sound pious.
    “What are some of Jesus’s teachings that have influenced you?”
    “Um . . . um . . . ,” I stuttered nervously before spitting out the first thing that came to mind, “Thou shall not vote Democrat . . . or smoke cigarettes?”
    “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Maureen asked.
    “Um,” I said, racking my brain for some Jesus-ism. Damn Mother. Why hadn’t she taken me to Sunday school?
    “Well?” Maureen prodded me.
    “Thou shall not covet my neighbor’s wife.”
    “What does that mean to you?”
    “Um, no lusting after ladies . . . who belong to . . . ,” I stammered desperately.
    “Moving on.” Maureen sounded irritated. I sounded like a lesbian, or at the very least a phony Jesus lover, especially once the rest of the group described their heroes with terms such as
family values, patriotism, liberty,
and
freedom.
    My opportunity for sisterhood was evaporating, so I decided to convey both my regret over my inappropriate answers and my longing to be included to