Chapter 34
Post-initiation, with all The House’s secrets bared, life took on a certain elasticity, a looseness that came from an absence of conflict.
Dalil—for whom ADHD was regarded, even venerated, as a foundational personality trait—was sailing through her classes with ease; Nina, likewise, found her schoolwork invigorating, her mind well-rested and her intellect freshly ripe.
She read with a voracity she hadn’t felt in years, absorbing new information intravenously.
The rich marination of her thoughts derived new, caramel bursts of inspired conclusions, like the first bite into tender, slow-cooked ribs.
By contrast, Monday night dinners took on a heightened revolutionary energy.
Nina had sensed some element of this before, but now it was clear that the dinners were meant to stave off some deeper, wilder appetite.
The decadence of the food no longer seemed the point, or even the main event; the dinners were, instead, increasingly like opulent rounds of amuse-bouche to whet the palate.
The usual tension, like chattering teeth, radiated in waves among all the sisters, emanating from the older ones who already knew what to expect.
That particular semester had always carried with it a forward momentum, one that Nina had mistakenly associated with her own reinvention, where initiation was the finish line. But no. It had nothing to do with her, except that she now belonged to the feeling rather than observing it from outside.
The week after she’d moved into The House, as the nights grew darker and colder and the leaves fell swirling from the trees, dinner was a hearty beef bourguignon that was a rich, viscous garnet, dripping pearls of ruby red over thick, tender cuts of meat from an ensorcelling vat of vintage Burgundy wine.
The chapter meeting, to which Nina and her pledge class were now not only invited but expected, took place afterward, each of the girls licking stew from her lips with distraction, an air of ongoing hunger, despite the pear and cardamom tart that had followed, crumbling with butter and slick with crystalline sugar like the daydream of a Dickensian orphan or the glossy prelude to sex.
The chapter meetings were overseen by Fawn—Lady Superior, within The House’s nomenclature—and Nina adjusted to seeing herself during these hours as Sister Kaur, Dalil as Sister Serrano, another element of cultlike behavior that instead felt leavening, as if drawing them up to an equal, shared height.
The hunt had no hierarchy. Only a leader. Nina watched Fawn as she always had, but differently now, more protectively than searchingly. Fawn scratched an itch and Nina noticed. Fawn’s gaze went temporarily distracted and Nina wondered who, where, what.
There were no phones allowed in the chapter room.
Disrespectful. Chapter was about togetherness, about sisterhood, about honoring the body, the collective whole.
The House voted on which exchange invitations to accept.
The House was informed of the changes in study hours (The House had its own library, with predictable, institutional rules) and advised how best to take notes.
There was occasional extracurricular programming, sexual health workshops, disaster preparedness, even notably a mini-course on self-defense.
Beauty programming was also present, but it focused obsessively on inner wellness.
They weren’t educated on the use of exfoliants or the latest beauty fads because it was broadly accepted, Nina observed, that such things were mere tedium.
Real sisters understood that beauty came from within.
(Not the soul, obviously. The digestive system. From the energy you consumed, which became the tools your body used to perform its necessary, natural tasks.)
Weeks passed in a flurry of midterms, liaisons, and meat.
Then Monday night dinner was steak tartare, served beneath lustrous, runny eggs that were an almost umber, alongside salty mouthfuls of acid capers.
Nina and Tessa took turns tearing off pieces of the accompanying bread, a rustic French loaf, with sips of the liquified chocolate that was the evening’s beverage, bittersweet lechery topped with a spellbinding cream.
“I haven’t seen much of you lately,” Tessa confided in a whisper during the chapter meeting, when both she and Nina were full to groaning, such that even Nina couldn’t think of sex. She wanted only to slumber deeply, uninterrupted, for several years, or until her next meal.
“Oh,” Nina said, feeling her cheeks heat at the reason for her distraction that she already knew she couldn’t give. “I know, sorry, I just—”
“Sisters,” Fawn called out to the room in greeting as she rose ceremoniously to her feet, and so Tessa motioned quickly to Nina a thing that meant later, they had business to attend to now.
“As you know,” Fawn continued, “chapter elections for next year’s executive board will be taking place soon.
Slate will be meeting this evening, with candidates being announced tomorrow morning.
We will also,” she said, with a slight gleam in her eye, “be discussing the matter of our annual solstice dinner, which will take place next month on the evening of elections, per House tradition.”
There was a ripple of motion throughout the chapter room. Nina looked over at Dalil, whose gaze had sharpened, somehow. Nina thought idly of stakes, and then steaks.
“For those of you who are new to the matter of dinner, you are each asked to present a candidate on the evening of the feast,” said Fawn, whose sly smile quirked then. “Dinner is, as you know, best prepared fresh.”
“Wait, what?” Nina whispered to Tessa, managing to sit up slightly despite the compression of her waistband. “We have to bring a guest?”
“They all get slipped something right away,” Tessa assured her, “don’t worry.
Assuming they’re not chosen, they have basically no memory of the evening.
” She made another quieting motion of her hands—they’d discuss the details later, as if Nina could so easily be made to wait. Assuming they’re not chosen.
“The matter of deliberation should be as expedient as possible. Let’s not have a repeat of last year, ladies,” said Fawn, with a knowing look in her eye. “Please come prepared.”
“What?” said Nina again, only for her chair to be kicked by Alina, who was sitting behind her.
Tessa leaned closer to Nina, her voice barely audible as she explained.
“Everyone has about two minutes to explain who they brought as a candidate and why, and then we vote. Last year we ran a little behind and had to do a couple of rounds of voting—The House was gridlocked between four candidates, and the whole thing took so long that someone’s guest woke up. ”
“God.” Nina’s hand flew to her mouth. “Then what happened?”
“Oh, it was fine,” said Tessa with a shrug. “Alex took care of it.”
“Wait, but—”
“As you know,” Fawn continued, “the ultimate honor of preparing dinner goes to our seniors, whose participation in the ritual means they’re allotted the best portions as a reward.
It’s only fair,” Fawn added, “since they’re the ones who are about to enter the real world.
Or grad school,” she joked, “for those who can’t cut it quite yet. ”
“Boooooo,” called Sienna, a senior.
“I’m joking, Sister Lee, we know you’re going to be a very talented surgeon. We’re less sure about Sister Antwerp’s aspirations. Doesn’t the world have enough PhDs?”
Behind Nina, Alina lazily flipped Fawn off and the room collectively laughed.
“All jokes aside,” Fawn said once the laughter had subsided, “I invite you to think very carefully when you make your selection.” Fawn’s eyes got a hardened look to them.
“Consider what is being asked of you as you make your choices this year. We must protect the sisterhood as well as nourish it. We do not only eat. We also decide.”
There was a ripple throughout the room of something; an unusual current of discord.
Someone had nudged Summer’s shoulder as if to gesture at something unsaid.
A few girls shifted in their seats, exchanging glances.
Something had clearly energized or disgruntled the crowd, though Nina couldn’t tell what.
She looked at Tessa, who shook her head. “Later,” Tessa mouthed, this time without an aside.
“With that, chapter is adjourned,” said Fawn, recovering some of her usual brightness. “Slate, you’ve got a long night ahead of you, so we’ll take some volunteers to send up an assortment of pastries and other snacks—”
There was a bustle of movement, Tessa taking an iron hold of Nina’s hand to drag her out of the room and out to the roof, where they had last spoken privately during initiation.
“Okay, where do you want me to start?”
“Fawn,” said Nina instantly, which was so clearly not the answer Tessa wanted to hear.
Nina, too, didn’t know why she’d said it.
She supposed she’d meant something along the lines of why was Fawn being so weird and serious for a second there, or maybe just let’s talk about Fawn, isn’t she so pretty?
like any idiot with a crush, but Tessa—probably for the best—had other interpretations.
“The truth is, she’s probably going to lose,” Tessa confirmed, a shocking answer to something Nina hadn’t even intended to suggest. Tessa, meanwhile, glanced over her shoulder as if she feared someone might hear.
The two of them were alone on the roof, but even Nina understood The House was always listening.
“I’m not sure if she plans to run again, actually,” Tessa continued in a low voice, “and it really might be better if she turns down Slate, but if she doesn’t, it won’t be easy.
She’ll have at least one challenger for sure. ”
“What?” Nina was rattled to hear it—the possibility that Fawn was in any way unpopular. “Are you serious? But she’s so perfect for the job. And everyone loves her.”