I shook my head and forced the negativity out. I squared my shoulders, bit my lip, and took a deep breath. The front door of the house was wide open, and I could see a table set up just inside for registering. The house wasn’t like the others on the mall—the others looked like plantation houses with wide verandas and columns. The Beta Kappa house was more modern looking. To the right of the entryway the house was about a story and a half high; the wall facing the mall was all glass but hidden behind curtains. To the left it was two stories high. That was the dormitory side—two floors of rooms to house the brothers.

A group of guys brushed past me and headed up the walk to the front door. This is it, I told myself, and followed them. Just inside the door I could see the entryway into the larger room, and over it was a sign reading WELCOME PROSPECTIVES TO CASINO NIGHT! I could see a couple of blackjack tables set up, and the dealers were relatively attractive young girls. The group of guys who’d passed me had stepped to the side, filling out application forms while a guy seated behind the table was making name tags for them. I took a deep breath and walked up to the table.

The guy making name tags was good looking, wearing a tight red polo shirt over a pair of jeans. His dark hair was gelled so it stood up in the center of his head, and he had a light dusting of pimples on his face. His ears stuck out a bit, and he had a gap between his front two teeth. His own name tag read BRANDON BENSON, RUSH COMMITTEE. He looked up at me and gave me a strained smile. “Hi.” He slid a stapled form and a pen toward me. “Your name?”

“Jordy Valentine,” I replied. He started making out a name tag for me.

“You need to fill out the application,” he said without looking up. He was having trouble fitting VALENTINE on the tag, having to squish TINE onto the end. He handed me the name tag as I filled out the form. It was relatively simple, actually, but I hesitated when I got to the part about my parents’ annual income. I didn’t have a problem with writing 4.0 as my high school grade average (which was what my grades at St. Bernard translated to), and I didn’t have a problem with listing my address at the Alhambra, but my parents’ annual income? I laughed to myself. Truth be told, I actually didn’t know what their annual income was. I hesitated, and said, “Um, Brandon?”

He looked up.

“I don’t know what my parents’ annual income is.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then estimate. It’s not rocket science.” He gave me a strange look.

“Okay,” I replied, scratching my head. Okay, be conservative. If Dad and Mom have assets of about seven hundred million and earn a basic 6% interest per quarter, that would be forty-two million per quarter, which would be about a hundred twenty-five million per year. Pleased with myself, I wrote that amount in the blank and was about to continue filling out the form—the next section was Hobbies and Interests—but paused as I noticed someone else walking up to the back side of the table. I glanced up at him and did a double take.

Gorgeous was probably not a strong-enough word. There had been a lot of good-looking boys at St. Bernard, I’d done my share of looking at men on Internet porn sites, and both Jeff and Blair were handsome enough to be underwear models. But this guy was in a completely different class than anyone I’d seen before. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, and he had thick blond hair parted in the center and hanging down almost to his chin on either side. Like Brandon, he was wearing a tight red polo shirt that hugged a strong chest and biceps. His bare arms were lined with veins under his darkly tanned skin. His eyes were wide and blue, his hair bleached white blond by the sun. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow, his stomach completely flat. He didn’t look like he had an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. His teeth were strong and white, and he had deep dimples in both cheeks. He didn’t acknowledge me at all—all of his attention was on Brandon. His name tag read CHAD YORK, RUSH CHAIRMAN.

“What a bunch of losers we’re getting,” he said, slipping into the chair next to Brandon. “I’m starting to think we might be better off not bidding anyone this semester, the way this is going.”

“Tell me about it,” Brandon muttered as I slid the application back to him.

Chad chose that moment to notice me. He looked me over from head to toe in a slow-moving glance that made me shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. One of his dark blond eyebrows went up, and the corner of his mouth also went up. He stood up and stuck his hand out at me. “Chad York, Rush chairman. Welcome to Beta Kappa.” It sounded canned and insincere.

“Jordy Valentine.” I shook his hand and gave him a smile.

“You have spinach in your teeth.” His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes widened.

Mortified, I closed my mouth.

“The bathroom’s just down the hall.” He gestured over his shoulder. “You probably want to do something about that.” He turned back to Brandon, made a face, and they both laughed.

I wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow me whole.

“Seriously, go do something about that.” Chad didn’t look at me, just waved his hand in dismissal.

My face felt like it was on fire as I stumbled past the table and down the hall. Nice going, way to make a great first impression, why oh why didn’t I check my mouth before I left the apartment, would it have killed me to brush my teeth again, you just made a complete ass out of yourself in front of one of the hottest guys you’ve ever seen, thank God Blair and Jeff aren’t here. I reached the saloon doors that led to the communal first-floor bathroom and shoved my way inside. Standing in front of a mirror, I bared my teeth. Sure enough, there was some spinach lodged between the canine and the front tooth. I grabbed a paper towel with my shaking hands and removed it, taking some deep breaths, fighting the urge to leave and forget all about Beta Kappa. I turned on the cold water tap and splashed some water on my face. I looked at myself in the mirror and could see tears filling my eyes. This is going to be no different than St. Bernard, you were so stupid for thinking you could get a fresh start, it wasn’t the guys at St. Bernard, it was YOU, you’re never going to have any friends and you sure don’t belong here, you might as well just slip out and head home, no one would notice you were gone anyway . . .

“Hi,” a voice said from behind me. “You rushing?”

I jumped.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice said.

I turned and found myself looking at a guy about my height. He was heavier than me, and his shirt was a little too small for him. His stomach strained against the front of it. His arms were thin, and his skin was very pale. His mousy brown hair looked a little greasy, and angry red pimples were scattered over his face. He was wearing a pair of tortoiseshell glasses that had slid partway down his nose. His teeth weren’t straight, and his lips were narrow and thin. His name tag read ROGER DEVLIN. His face was expressionless. “Yes,” I replied. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m Roger, one of the brothers here.” He shook my hand. His hand was soft, warm, and a little moist. “Nice to meet you, Jordy.” He narrowed his eyes and examined my face. “Are you okay?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Just a little overwhelmed, I guess. I’ve never been to anything like this before. . . .”

A sardonic smile crept across his face. “And let me guess, you met our estimable Rush chairman, Chad.” He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Charming, isn’t he?”

“He seemed nice,” I said cautiously, remembering Blair’s advice—“Never criticize a brother, even if one of them invites you to. Don’t criticize the house under any circumstance, even if you think the paint is hideous and the carpet an abomination. All it takes is one brother to blackball you and keep you out. No matter how tempted you are, no matter how friendly a brother might seem, remember they are evaluating you and deciding if they want to let you in. Even as a pledge you don’t criticize a brother to another brother. Once you’re an active, you can do or say whatever you want, but until you’re initiated you can be bounced at any time. Don’t forget.” “I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him. But he did seem nice.”