Margaret Hayes had all the makings of a classic sorority queen, the kind of young woman you saw in streaming movies and on Instagram Reels. Hailing from a line of cheer moms and country clubbers, she was born into collagen and push-up bras, and she’d been coasting on a golden tide of good genes and popularity since puberty. Blonde, blue-eyed, with a yard of hair and a chest that seemed to defy medical decorum, she was meant for bigger things than a mediocre mid-tier sisterhood like Alpha Beaumont. Margaret longed to be the center of attention but always missed the mark. It was as if she’d arrived little too late for the party, and she resented it with every atom in her body.

The thing about Margaret was that no matter how often she changed her personality—party monster, teacher’s pet, sassy best friend, bad girl—she could never figure out what was missing. Maybe that explained why she hated being told “no.” Although her identity was always shifting, there was one constant in her life: an almost primal need to prove everyone wrong and come out on top.

So when she overheard that her “sisters” were planning a party behind her back, she felt a cellular rage so pure it made her forget why she’d come to college in the first place. Margaret stormed up the zigzag stairs, past the trophy wall and the composite photos of better, meaner girls, and cornered Olivia Barrington by the laundry machines.

Olivia, as always, looked like she’d just finished a commercial for expensive makeup. Her hand didn’t even tremble as Margaret jabbed a finger into the air.

“Why am I not invited, Olivia? Last time I checked, this house was for all of us, not just your little bitch clique.”

Olivia set the Tide pod on the washer, wiped her hands on her yoga pants, and looked at Margaret with the patience of a cat watching a goldfish try to jump out of a bowl.

“It’s not personal, darling. It’s just... well. It’s a hypnotic party. We didn’t think you’d be into that.”

Margaret, who had never been hypnotized and had no idea what it actually entailed, recoiled as if she’d been accused of being Amish, or worse, a virgin.

“Excuse me? Why would you assume that? I love hypnosis,” she lied.

“You do?” The question came not from Olivia but Janice Peters, who’d appeared in the doorway like she’d been conjured by drama. Janice was the only girl in the house who could actually outshine Margaret—tall, black, with a supernova smile and the kind of body that made people reconsider their sexual identities. She wore a bathrobe and glitter eyeliner and an expression of supreme disbelief.

“Yeah,” Margaret said, doubling down. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Janice’s lips curved into a perverse little bow. “Maybe because it’s all about letting go, and you haven’t let go of a grudge since you were five?”

Olivia giggled, and Margaret’s face burned red.

“Well, I’m coming to the party,” she said, “and then you’ll see for yourselves I’m telling the truth.”

Janice and Olivia exchanged a look. Then Olivia shrugged: “Okay. It’s next Saturday, ten sharp. Wear something fun.”

Janice gave her a slow, unsmiling wink. “Looking forward to seeing what’s really inside that pretty little head,” she said.

The next week was a frantic mess, with Margaret trying a little bit of everything to learn more about hypnosis and how it worked. She looked at YouTube spirals, Reddit threads, news articles where the practice was linked to kink and cults... but it was all vague and contradictory. By the end of their so-called “research”, she knew even less than she thought.

The night of the party, she spent an hour on her hair alone, curling it into spiral waves. Her dress was a fever dream of rainbow sequins. She looked better than she ever had, and still, she felt like it wouldn’t be enough to break the mold.

The party was in the pavilion, a glass-walled sunroom attached to the back of the house. From the porch, she could already see the colored lights and the slow, shimmery movement of bodies swaying inside. She arrived at 10:07, and it was clear she was the last one to join the fray.

Inside, Olivia handed her a drink and immediately pressed her into a circle of girls, most of whom seemed so much more relaxed than they ever did in daylight. There were people from other houses, a few boys in shiny shirts, and the DJ, who looked like he was exiled from a Berlin club. But the center of gravity was Janice, seated on a low velvet ottoman, arms draped over the shoulders of two pledges, her voice a smooth and even hum.

At the center of the group, Linda Walker, a straight-A pre-med with glasses, stared, open-mouthed, at a tiny silver pocket watch.

Janice’s voice dropped to a pitch just above the music, but every syllable was clearly audible and enchanting. “Linda, listen closely. Every breath makes your eyelids heavier. Your muscles go slack... loose. When I count you down from three to one, you’ll only be able to listen to my voice, and when I say ‘drop,’ you’ll let yourself go.”

The watch in her hand swung in a slow, precise arc. Linda’s eyes jerked back and forth as if tracking a predator, her pupils dilating. There was a tremor at the corner of her mouth, and she blinked as Janice counted down from three. The numbers fell from her lips like small stones, each one pulling Linda a fraction deeper into the depths of her own subconscious mind.

And then Janice said, “Drop,” and snapped her fingers.

Linda collapsed in on herself, head rolling forward. The glasses slid down the bridge of her nose and hung there. One of the pledges snickered, but the sound was instantly smothered by Janice’s glare. Even the DJ looked up from his mixing console, a little awed, and the circle inched closer.

Margaret, who had come here ready to mock the whole enterprise, felt something like genuine respect for Janice’s control. There was no question that Linda was under, whatever “under” really meant. She leaned toward Olivia, who stood next to her with her arms crossed and her expression telegraphing that she was above being impressed.

“Did this really happen?” she whispered.

Olivia didn’t take her eyes off the scene. “It sure did. Janice is a pro. She’s done it at, like, three other houses. Sometimes she makes people forget their names. Or do gymnastics. One time she got this guy to propose marriage to a chair.”

“What is she going to do to Linda?”

Olivia shrugged, her ponytail bouncing. “Not sure. Janice says Linda needs to blow off steam or she’ll wind up running a meth lab in med school.” She paused and turned, her gaze narrowing on Margaret’s face. “She has a secret, you know?”

“What secret?”

“She’s a total freak, but likes to hide it. I’m sure Janice will help her get in touch with her kinky side one way or another. Honestly, you should do that too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re too high-strung sometimes. Going under would help you with that, not that you’d ever go for it.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Come on, Margaret. You’re here for the FOMO, not the experience. I doubt you can even be hypnotized.”

“Bullshit! I’d be a great subject,” Margaret said, barely able to keep her voice steady. “Better than Linda.”

Janice, who’d apparently been listening the whole time, swiveled toward her.

“Oh? That’s a challenge,” she said. “You want to see how deep you can go?”

Margaret shrugged, but it was all defense.

“Fine. Try me.”

Janice stood up, and the entire group adjusted their seats to make room. She pocketed the watch and produced a pendant shaped like a mercury drop.

“At your own risk... Keep your gaze right here.” Janice said.

There were at least sixteen eyes on Margaret as she sat rigid, knees together, hands gripping the edge of her dress. Janice dangled the droplet-pendant in front of Margaret’s nose, its surface catching every glint from the party’s star-shaped LEDs. The air in the pavilion was humid and alive.

“Just watch,” Janice instructed. “Let yourself be curious, at least for tonight. Allow your eyes to get tired, or bored, or numb. It doesn’t matter. Give me your undivided focus, and we’ll turn it into something beautiful and worthy of remembrance.”

The pendant moved as if Janice was drawing slow infinity signs in the air, and Margaret’s attention refused to snap away. She stared, and stared, and stared. It was like those late afternoons as a kid when she’d lie on the carpet and lose herself in the static of the ceiling fan, letting the world fade into white noise. She forgot to blink, and the fact didn’t worry her at all.

“You’re so used to fighting everything,” Janice said, this time with gentleness. “You always have to be right, or first, or the loudest. But you don’t have to fight me, or yourself, or anything, right now.”

Margaret almost snorted, and then realized she couldn’t move her nose the way she wanted. She felt the effort echo, like a command that got lost between her brain and her face.

“Just let go,” Janice whispered, and the pendant moved faster now, almost blurring. “It’s time for your thoughts to slow down like a sleepy river. Whatever you’re thinking about, you can set it aside and focus only on the shiny pendant, and how it feels to let that happen… You want to let it happen…”

The words seemed to stick inside Margaret’s head, swelling. She was aware of Olivia, elbowing closer, and the way the other girls leaned in, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away. The pendant was hypnotic in the dumbest, most literal sense: her mind kept trying to follow the flashes of color, and every time she thought of a snide comeback or a way to “win” this, her attention just looped back to the shining surface and its geometrical allure.

“You’re doing so well,” Janice said. “You’re already lighter, softer, floating... You didn’t know you could do that, but now it’s all that makes sense.”

Margaret’s arms went slack, falling from her knees to the ottoman. She didn’t remember relaxing them, but now her hands hung like gloves from her wrists. The room seemed weirder, more two-dimensional, as though everyone else was fading into cartoons and she alone was real.

Janice’s voice dropped further, becoming almost a purr: “Every breath makes you heavier, more relaxed. Every swing takes you deeper, all the way down. You can already imagine going under, can’t you?”

Margaret wanted to say she couldn’t, that she was immune to bullshit, but her lips parted unwillingly, and the unspoken words melted into a loud exhalation, a sigh of relief. Janice stepped closer, all the way into Margaret’s personal space, filling her strained vision with the gleam of the pendant.

“I want you to listen to me,” Janice murmured. “Don’t do it with your ears, though. Instead, do it with that secret part of your mind that’s always waiting for someone to take control. The part of you that gets tired of trying to be perfect. Wouldn’t it be nice to rest for a moment?”

It would, Margaret thought, and she almost blushed at how much she meant it. This was different, and good, and so many other things that she lacked the words for.

“Ready?” Janice asked, and Margaret nodded slowly as if underwater. “When I say the word ‘sleep,’ you’re going to let everything drop. Your thoughts, your muscles, your doubts. It will feel amazing. And you’ll continue to listen to me, because you want to. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Margaret replied.

Janice held up the pendant, swinging it in a tight, perfect ring. “Sleep.”

There was no warning. It was as if Margaret’s entire body collapsed in on itself, her spine folding like a lawn chair. Her chin smacked her chest, and her eyelids closed so hard she saw sparks behind them.

“That’s it,” Janice crooned. “Just let it happen. Let all the stuff you carry drop away. So quiet, so soft, just floating.”

Margaret drifted, everything else edited out of her mind. The world went away. The party vanished—no lights, no music, no sensation at all except for Janice’s words, the sound of which now seemed to come from inside her own head.

“You’re doing so well,” Janice said. “Now, every time you hear my voice, you’ll go even deeper. You can open your eyes for me now, Margaret.”

Margaret did, and the lights seemed so much dimmer. The room was blurry, everyone’s faces a watercolor of interest and delight, and the only thing that made sense was Janice, who was beaming down at her like a benevolent goddess, blessing her with her power.

“How are you?”

“Good,” Margaret said, and meant it, even though her voice sounded wrong in her own ears.

“See?” Janice looked at Olivia, who was now grinning with all her teeth. “Completely under. Model subject.”

“Wow,” someone said, and others echoed it.

Janice flicked her fingers in front of Margaret’s face, capturing her glassy eyes without effort. “Margaret, what’s your favorite dessert?”

“Chocolate mousse,” Margaret replied.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, dear. It’s actually pickles with hot sauce,” Janice giggled.

Margaret’s face crumpled. “Eww... Like, really?” She stuck her tongue out and made a face, then paused. Strangely, she could almost taste it on the back of her tongue, and her whole body shivered. “Well, if you say so…”

Everyone laughed. Janice smiled broader. “Yep, she’s really under,” Olivia said. “You should make her do something crazy now.”

Janice pinched her lower lip in mock consideration. The room had gathered that crackling attention reserved for party tricks that might actually work, and Margaret, blinking dumbly at her own hands now, barely registered the silence. Janice put away the pendant and clapped, loud enough to startle everyone but her subject.

“All right,” Janice said, “Let’s have some fun with this.” A hush rippled outward. “Margaret, whenever you hear someone say ‘rainbow,’ you’ll stand up and recite the Pledge of Allegiance as if you’re in a beauty pageant. You won’t remember doing it, but you’ll do it automatically. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Margaret said, toneless.

Janice turned to the group. “Let’s see how well this sticks. Three, two, one, wide awake!” She snapped her fingers, and Margaret’s head jerked up as if she’d been electrocuted. Her eyes, blurry at first, snapped into focus. For a second she looked lost—blinking, wet-lipped, searching the room for a joke she’d missed. But Janice was right there, sitting thigh-to-thigh on the ottoman, her hand gently on Margaret’s knee to steady her.

“So, how did it feel?” Janice asked.

Margaret waited, expecting a trick, then shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t remember much, except…” She squinted, then smiled sheepishly. “I think I almost fell asleep. Like, the inside of my head got really quiet for once.”

“That’s what happens when you let go.”

“What did I do? Anything embarrassing?” Margaret asked.

Janice shook her head. “You were perfect.” She squeezed Margaret’s knee.

Across the room, Olivia leaned in with a syrupy, “You looked so pretty in trance. Like a living Barbie.” Her eyes crinkled, and Margaret couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a compliment.

“I bet I did,” Margaret shot back, but with less bite than usual.

It was then that a voice from the kitchen called out: “Hey, who wants a shot of rainbow liquor?”

Before Margaret could even process the word, her body propelled itself upright. One hand, palm flat, shot to her breastbone; the other lifted as if greeting imaginary judges. She began, “I pledge allegiance to the Flag—” and the words tumbled out, each vowel shaded with the faintest hint of a Southern belle. By the time she added, “and to the Republic for which it stands…” a hush had fallen over the whole house. Distantly, on the deck, someone whooped.

When Margaret finished, she curtsied and sat, her cheeks flushed as if she’d just run a mile.

Silence filled the room. Then a seismic crack of laughter rolled around the room. Janice’s smile was pure Cheshire.

“What just happened?” Margaret asked, but the moment she spoke it, the memory slid away, and she was left with a sense of déjà vu. The room shimmered and refocused around her.

“That,” Janice said, “was a post-hypnotic suggestion. You killed it.”

The other girls were in awe. Even Olivia, who normally defaulted to withering sarcasm, looked at Margaret with glee. “You’re like, incredibly suggestible. I really didn’t think you had it in you,” she said.

Margaret started to laugh, but it came out as a hiccup. She looked at Janice, then at her own trembling hands, and enjoyed the extra attention she was getting. It was as if some heavy, invisible yoke had disappeared from her shoulders, replaced by a cloud of weightless curiosity.

That’s when Janice leaned in once more, close enough that Margaret could smell her strawberry lip gloss. “Want to go again? I want to show you something even better.”

Margaret nodded, and the gesture felt as automatic as breathing. “Sure,” she said. “Let’s see how weird you can make me.”

She was going to live to regret those words.