The annual mixer at Delta Phi was buzzing with energy. Rushes mingled with their boyfriends in the sorority house’s spacious living room, laughter and music filling the air. Upstairs, the upperclass sisters had gathered around a laptop, secretly reviewing photos snapped throughout the night. They rated each boyfriend on a strict scale of sex appeal—face, body, presence, and that indefinable “fuckable” factor.

Jake stood out immediately. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a chiseled jaw and an easy athletic build, he scored a unanimous 10. The verdict was swift: his girlfriend, Emily, the most promising new Rush, would be told to bring him back the following week for the sisters-only dance. He was to wear “as little as possible.” The upperclass women grinned at the prospect. Jake would be the only man in the room, and they would be free to let their hands roam while dancing with him.

Emily’s eyes sparkled when she received the instructions. She loved Jake, but she also wanted this bid more than anything. She came up with a plan.

The next Friday, Jake arrived at Emily’s dorm in a sharp suit and tie, looking handsome and a little nervous. Emily greeted him at the door dressed in oversized clown overalls, a polka-dot shirt, and a silly rainbow wig under a floppy hat.

“Costume party, right?” Jake asked, adjusting his cufflinks.

“Totally,” she said, kissing his cheek. “But I have something better for you. I was saving it for when we reached that level in the bedroom, but tonight’s perfect.”