Picture Perfect

By Rebecca Norinne Caudill

From the first moment I walked into that bizarre "strangers photo shoot," I knew my life was about to get complicated. Well … more complicated. Because when Emmy walked in? She turned my whole world upside down. Our connection was electric, immediate, and undeniable. With every click of the photographer's camera, our pretend love felt dangerously close to the real thing.

 

But I'm a student athlete at Thackeray College on scholarship, while Emmy is this stunning rich girl destined for a bright future in the glittering world of politics. Our lives couldn't be more different, and as graduation looms and Emmy's path to Washington becomes clearer, doubts begin to cloud my mind. Is what we have strong enough to overcome the hurdles of our vastly different upbringings? Can the fleeting connection we found in a moment of make-believe grow into something lasting and real?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Norinne Caudill
• Release date: May 9, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224627523

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

EMMY

I hefted the textbook from my lap and set it off to the side of my mattress. With a weary sigh, I pressed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, hoping the pressure would ward off the migraine I could feel looming in my skull. My homework assignment wasn’t difficult; it was just one of five I had to complete before tomorrow. I had zero time for headaches. 

Going well? my roommate Hannah asked from atop her twin bed on the other side of our shared room in the on-campus sorority house.

Learning about the rise of white nationalists in America shouldn’t be so boring, but this book—ugh. I gestured toward my textbook which lay open to reveal a photo of several men marching in Charlottesville, Virginia, wearing white polo shirts, khaki pants, and carrying garden tiki torches. Very fine people, my ass.

Hannah chuckled and went back to her own assignment. Yeah, but what do you really think? she muttered loud enough for me to hear. 

It was a familiar refrain in our room.

I laughed and lifted my hands in mock surrender. Sorry. I know the rule. No talk about politics on the weekend. 

That was harder than it sounded, however. As the daughter of a civil rights attorney and an executive with the American Civil Liberties Union, politics was in my blood. After graduation, I planned to move to Washington, D.C. to work for my friend Amerie Clinton’s dad, a U.S. senator whose platform focused on police reform and voting rights. 

But first, I had to get through my last two semesters at Thackeray College.

Knock, knock. The door to our room snicked opened to reveal the face of Madison Troy, the vice president of our sorority. House meeting time, ladies. 

I raised my eyes to check out the digital clock sitting on the shelf above Hannah’s desk. Crap. How’d it get so late? I stretched my arms up over my head, causing my spine to give a satisfying pop, pop, pop. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and slipped my feet into a pair of Uggs. Twisting my long, unruly hair into a thick bun on the top of my head, I followed Madison down the stairs, making sure to snag one of the last remaining stools in our shared common room. 

Hannah joined me, resting her back against the wall to my left. Ten bucks says Morgan starts by complaining about the shower schedule again, Hannah whispered.

I bit my lip to keep my laugh from bubbling over. Morgan Feeney, our sorority’s president, was standing at the front of the room behind the podium she’d had specially made for just this purpose, her gavel poised at the ready. To her right, her minions clapped their hands to get the room’s attention before Morgan brought the gavel down three times in rapid succession, calling  the Sunday night house meeting to order. Our first order of business is about the showers.

Hannah groaned and dropped her head back to stare up at the ceiling. Told you.

You certainly did, I agreed under my breath. 

Not that any of us should be surprised. Every woman here knew exactly how Morgan was going to open the meeting after she’d had to take a cold shower two days in a row. It was the only thing she’d talked about since. 

It was simple math, really. With twenty girls showering every morning—usually within a couple of minutes of one another—someone was going to be the person who finally ran out of hot water. But Morgan had ideas about that and when Morgan had an idea, it was best if everyone went along with it. If you didn’t, you’d never hear the end of it. So I listened as our chapter president outlined the new shower schedule, tuning out once I’d gotten the gist of it. 

It was only when I heard my name being called that I realized I’d tuned out a little too well. I’m sorry, what?

Madison settled her hands on either side of her slim hips. We were discussing the fundraiser.

Oh, right. The fundraiser. I looked to Hannah for help, but my roommate had her lips flattened into a thin line to hold in her laughter. I shot her a look that promised retribution later.

Did you hear anything I said? Madison whined.

Quickly, I sifted through the bits of information that had somehow managed to permeate my brain. We’re hoping to raise at least two thousand dollars for the food bank, I said, hoping that would get her off my back. Unfortunately, it didn’t.

Yes, she said, drawing the word out slowly. And how, exactly, are we hoping to accomplish this?

I scanned the room, hoping one of my sorority sisters would provide me with a clue. Some refused to make eye contact, while a good many others shook their heads in disappointment. One even rolled her eyes. 

My shoulders drooped as I realized not one single woman in this room was willing to help me out. 

I get that you don’t care about this kind of stuff⁠— 

I cut Madison off. I do. You know I do. Addressing food insecurity is⁠—

That’s not what I’m talking about! Madison raged. "I’m talking about us. Your sisters. Theta Delta Gamma." She flung her arm out and gestured wildly around the room as if to encapsulate the people, the building, the traditions. Everything that supposedly made the sorority what it was. 

I felt a momentary stab of guilt. I care about you. 

Kind of.

I cared about the sorority as an entity with a rich legacy that I was happy to have been a part of, but lately, I’d started to feel like all the current members cared about were themselves. 

When I’d first arrived at Thackeray, joining a sorority had been the furthest thing from my mind. I’d seen enough movies and TV shows to know that experience wasn’t for me. But then I’d met Lauren Mitchell while painting signs for the Woman’s March, and everything had changed. As the president of Theta Delta Gamma, she was everything I’d wanted to be someday. But she hadn’t been the only politically-minded woman in the sorority back then; there’d been several, and they’d taken me under their collective wing when I’d pledged TDG myself a couple of weeks later. 

But soon enough, all the women I’d loved sharing a house with had graduated and the sorority’s leadership had drastically changed. Now, instead of lounging around discussing how we were going to change the world, most of the girls stared glassy-eyed at their phones, plotting ways to boost their follower counts on TikTok. Sure, there were a few members I was still friendly with—Hannah chief among them—but on the whole, I no longer recognized the sorority I’d joined my freshman year, nor did I have much in common with its members. And that included Madison and Morgan, who I considered at the forefront of this change for the worse.

Now, the two women stood side by side in a united