Page 78 of These Secret Years

Dillon mentions a party for Saturday night that isn’t at one of the usual fraternity or sorority houses where we usually go. It’s at a house a few streets over—a friend of a friend of his apparently.

“So, it’s a bunch of strangers?” I ask in the kitchen where the twins and Rod are tearing up one of those family size Stouffer’s lasagnas. Their calorie requirements just to survive in their huge bodies are insane, so it doesn’t matter what or how much they eat as long as they can still maintain their muscle mass beneath their bulk. I still argue that they should drink less, but I’m not their mom.

“They’re only strangers if you don’t talk to ‘em,” Rod says wisely around a mouthful of food. He swallows it all down with a swig of beer.

Deandre walks into the kitchen with a weird look on his face. “We might need to reconsider this plan.”

Dillon looks thoroughly annoyed. “Why? You shy all of a sudden?”

“This girl I talk to—she’s been to one of these parties I guess, and she’s saying some things.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like it’s not your typical party.”

I shrug, palms up like he’s gonna need to elaborate. Look, I need very little reason not to go. I wouldn’t hate staying home tonight, especially if I had the house to myself.

Deandre continues. “She says it’s like a—pay for play thing.”

“Like they charge a cover?” Rod asks, as clueless about what this means as I am.

D sighs like we’re all a bunch of morons. “Like if you want to hook up, you need to bring cash.”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “So, it’s not a party.”

“I mean—she described it like a meet and greet.”

“The hell? We’re definitely going,” Dillon says.

“Whoa. Hell no. If he’s saying what I think he’s saying…” I cut Deandre a look. “And you could use your words at this point because you might have to with these guys, then we don’t need to be seen anywhere near a place like that.”

Derek stares blankly back at me when Rod speaks up instead. “Oh, come on, QB. Who’s gonna say anything? We’re just looking. We don’t have to hang around long, but you’ve gotta be curious, right? Or does being in the presence of people fucking spoil your whole purity thing?”

I try to be patient with Rod. I really do, but of all my friends, he’s the most uncomfortable with my supposed virginity. My guess is it makes him feel guilty for how indiscriminately he hooks up with girls. As if I give a shit. I’m just glad I have a working set of headphones and my own room. I get off at least as much as he does, if not more. At this point, I prioritize it up there with hydration.

However, going to what sounds like a modern whorehouse is stupid for athletes trying to go pro. People have phones, and they’re not afraid to use them.

“Don’t the Sig Eps have something going on tonight?” I ask.

Derek, who’s still not a big talker, leans back from the table with his beer in hand. “How much money are we talking about?”

Everyone shuts up, all eyes on Deandre.

The wide receiver’s eyes get comically big. “Why do you think I know?”

“What does the girl say?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Derek and his brother share a look and then a nod. “We’re gonna go,” they say.

A not very heated argument and a lot of peer pressure later, I’ve agreed to give it half an hour “for the experience.”

Over the next hour, all the guys exploit all their contacts to find out everything they can about these particular parties.

It turns out they’re a new, decently well-kept secret around campus. It takes some prying to get anyone to admit they’ve heard of them, and even more cajoling for two people to finally say they’ve been.

A few of my fears are allayed. Someone collects phones upon entry like a coat check. You pay either a high entry fee—a hundred bucks—or a low cover fee—twenty-five bucks—and you have to let them take your picture. Then, we’re told, it’s like a regular party, but if you wind up connecting and wanting to hook up with one of the “hosts” there’s an up-charge for that, too.