9:00 am, Saturday – TCW Laundry Room

The room shakes. Alarms sound. The smell of adrenaline, sweat, and tide fills the air. Since 7 am, these Wellesley students have been camped outside. Watching. Waiting. Stalking. Their baskets are full of jorts, women’s boxers and their favorite exes’ favorite sweater. Desperate to be clean of goose poop, the ever-present smell of weed, and religious guilt, these women will do anything for a wash cycle. Two machines are out of order– the competition is fierce. This weekend promises women fighting tooth and short-cut nail for the chance to do laundry. A girl growls, her patchwork Victorian floriography tattoos mark her as an alpha; that was her machine. She smeared it with period blood at dawn. But the bold runt, unaware of the hierarchy she disturbs, has darted to the empty washing machine, skittishly loading it. This naive first-year will soon be blacklisted from TZE, a careless mistake that will have a colossal impact on this young cub’s next four years. Sirens sound. The cycle ended minutes ago, three students swoop in on the empty dryer, voraciously digging socks, pajamas, harnesses, onto the dirty linoleum floor. It’s a ferocious battle. A carabiner jingles at the door, announcing the buzz-cut owner of these freshly washed clothes: another alpha. These three girls are performing a risky maneuver, removing the clothes of a leader, triggering territorial war and a violent overthrow of power. The alpha bares her teeth, the three girls shake their septum rings in fear and pride. Detergent will be spilt, clothes will be ruined, friendships lost, and enemies made. Here, there are no winners.