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As usual, lost and uninformed, Dickie turned to me and asked, “Where is this snooze fest, Prez?” I was the president of our fraternity, but I hated that he called me Prez with a Z.
“Downstairs,” I answered curtly. I didn’t talk much, and when I did, I often chose brevity. Being concise kept people from misconstruing your words. I crossed in front of Dickie and pressed the elevator button on the wall.
Dickie pretended to hump said wall and boasted, “Aww-yeah, we going downstairs, boys.” He made all things into sexual jokes.
Inside was a touch warmer than it had been outside, so I unbuttoned the sleeves of my freshly laundered white oxford and focused on neatly rolling up the cuffs rather than rolling my eyes at Dickie’s juvenile lewdness.
Another winner, Andrew Hurston, laughed at Dickie’s seriously unfunny behavior. “That your plan tonight, dickface? You gonna get some unaffiliated ass?”
Jesus, it better not be. We were in the campus center because, right before Christmas break, these morons had almost gotten our fraternity put on probation. They’d built a homemade waterslide out a second-story window that ran off into a three-foot-deep blow-up pool. It was not only cold. It was downright dangerous. Someone literally could have died. Luckily, I was a smooth talker, so instead of going before the IFC, I spent my Christmas break campaigning on our behalf and got us a sweetheart of a deal: a few community service outings and mandatory attendance and sponsorship of a number of non-fraternity events hosted by the student government.
Tonight’s event was a particularly wily one for this crew: a dry, silent disco to celebrate the start of the spring semester. Or, rather, the antithesis of what my fraternity brothers defined as enjoyment, which for them meant raging, loud, packed hump fests, doused in alcohol and other assorted sundries.
Dickie ceased the gyration of his hips and smirked at Andrew. “Unaffiliated or not, if the hunnies come a-knocking …” He trailed off.
What did that even mean? Like, when we pledged our fraternity, did we sign some unspoken agreement that we would only date girls in sororities? Or was it just human nature to draw us-and-them lines so we could take sides? Also, what “hunny,” or any quality woman, would be interested in someone who smelled like dirty socks?
As the elevator bell went ding, I found myself wishing I was Harry Potter or maybe Luke Skywalker or the ever-so-elegant Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Basically, any hero with the moral fiber to stand up to the injustice of commonplace assholiness without worrying about the social consequences. Because I wanted to tell Richard “Dickie” Bartholomew Matthews to stop being such a fucking idiot, but I couldn’t. I was one of them—a Death Eater—and when you live on the dark side, your people can turn on you for even the slightest infraction.
I held back the elevator door and watched them pile in before taking my position at the helm. I spoke calmly as I said, “Remember, we are here cleaning up a mess. Be on your best behavior and schmooze, but make sure not to insult anyone.”
Andrew asked, “How long do we have to stay?”
“An hour, maybe less,” I replied.
Ashton Vos, who was from Texas and vaguely reminiscent of someone worth talking to, said, “We can’t fuck this up, y’all. Zack did us a mighty favor getting us this deal.”
“All praise the Prez,” Dickie chanted like he was breaking a huddle as the elevator doors opened. My motley crew piled out, and we headed through the set of glass doors in front of us, which led to the main event area of the campus center.
The student government had transformed the space so it looked like a dance club—albeit a slightly cheesy one. Mostly, they’d made it dark and set up a lot of spinning colored lights. There was a dance floor in the center, surrounded by the cafe tables that were always there. Off to my left was a DJ and a guy handing out headphones. For those of us living the college life, it was still early, only ten on a Saturday night, so the dance floor wasn’t particularly hopping yet.
I turned to my brothers. “Go grab headphones and make fools of yourselves. I want them to remember we were here.” As they started to move, I said, “Wait,” and their faces turned back to mine, “no humping anyone.”
Dickie smirked. “Damn, Prez, you ruin all the fun.”
I shook my head at him, and then they were off. I casually headed to the corner of the room where Dr. Ford, the Dean of Arts and Sciences, was standing. Best to say hello. Dr. Ford was my favorite kind of people: matter of fact, to the point and unusually intelligent.
She nodded at me as I approached. “Mr. Worthington.”
“Dr. Ford.” I nodded back but also offered my hand for her to shake. She shook hands like she owned the earth. I envied the technique and shook hands with her any chance I got, trying to commit the feeling to memory.
“I see you’ve brought your team.”
“Yes, my brothers are happy to be here, ma’am.” I looked out at the dance floor as we spoke. Andrew was doing the sprinkler, and Dickie was circling him doing the shopping cart. For once, they were behaving exactly as I wished.
“I bet.” She seeded the words with undertones of a scoff, but she didn’t actually scoff.
I added, “They will also happily help with the cleanup tomorrow.”
“Yes, I imagine they will.” She turned to me, her voice softer than usual. “It was impressive what you did at that hearing last week, convincing the honor board this punishment was fitting, when you and I both know social probation was the fitting punishment.” She wasn’t looking for a response, so I didn’t give her one. She continued, “You rule with a heavy hand, don’t you, Zack?”
“As the situation demands,” I answered honestly, shifting my weight to an at-ease military stance, feet shoulder-width apart and my hands clasped behind my back. I hadn’t served, but I was in ROTC, and depending on my law school applications, the military was still a possibility for me.
She asked, “You ever, I don't know, act like a kid?”
I wasn’t offended. Many people found my maturity off-putting. “I am not a kid, Dr. Ford. I’m twenty years old. Legally an adult in pretty much all countries and all states—although still a minor in Puerto Rico for one more year.”
She looked at me quizzically. “Huh, that true?”
