You only roll with frat guys, if you roll with anyone at all. Mostly, you sit around in your cozy plantation-style home with 80 other girls, watching and re-watching The Notebook and crying again every time you see Noah and Allie's corpses decomposing. Mostly, you live a privileged life, where the chief concerns are remembering what alliances you're honoring today, and which ones you aren't because someone looked at you wrong. A creepy but caring housemother presides over this charade like a 1950s-era housewife. Other girls envy you and the hive-like network of friends you're paying thousands of dollars to keep. You all hate each other, and you're smiling that hard to prove it.