Justice by Lotty Winner

The sorority girls stash their Prada bags under their bed, boxed away from prying eyes. A knock on their bedroom door interrupts them. They look up, every last one of them, and wait for a second before putting on a brave face. Oh hi, they say in a pretend voice that neither of them know is real. I have missed you. Oh I have missed you, too.

But our heroine knows the truth. The girls cannot stand each other, and as Miranda walks down the stuffy hallway, her feet hitting the soft carpet like crushed snow, the tiny oval of present and past sorority girls greet her with fake smiles that, on the outside, try their best to greet her with warmth and care, but on the inside, revile every inch of Miranda that doesn’t measure up. She stops at her own picture and studies the photograph so closely she can see the pixels from the printer. Her slightly crooked nose, for example, stands out against all the other pictures. Her eyes are too close together, not like the other pictures which are uniform and “perfect.”

Miranda wants out. Life as a sorority girl was never something she was genuinely interested in, and her family ignored these fears and injustices to get her “with the other girls,” to be someone in the new college campus.
But she wasn’t anyone, she was a nobody. She did not hate any of the girls, though that particular sentiment was not mutual, as the white-hot beaming stares practically burned her back when she had it turned.