THE FRESHMAN FIFTEEN
Orientation:
Chapisodes I-III
By Ean Weslynn
Copyright Ean Weslynn 2011
Published at Smashwords
Chloe Clark, Editor
Thomas H. Jones, Publishing Assistant
Chapisode I:
Sconnie
You took a trip and climbed a tree at Robert Sledge’s party
And there you stayed, until morning came,
And you were not the same after that
-Ben Folds, Not the Same
Great Auditorium in Gardner Hall
7:40AM
The First Day of Class
The freshman sat in the back row of the lecture hall by himself and smiled. Most students would have seen a thunderstorm on the first day of class as a bad sign, but this was no ordinary freshman.
This storm was a long time coming, the first rain since the freshman had been a senior in high school. Not one drop of precipitation had hit Wisconsin soil in over three months. June's drought became July's wildfires, became August's rolling blackouts. For almost three hours now, winds swept the waters over the campus. It was a midwestern mess, and that's the way the freshman liked it.
The first of his future classmates walked in, a timid-looking girl with unkempt bangs and a ponytail. Her rain-water slick shoes squeaked a harsh reminder at the freshman. Probably one of those types that was habitually early to everything, not like the freshman. The freshman liked to show up exactly when he wanted to—early, late, sometimes even on time. It was another one of the prophecy perks—an easily accessed internal clock. He always knew what time it was, down to the second.
The girl sat uncomfortably close to him considering they were the only two in the entire building at the moment. He could feel the smack of her gum through his entire body. Most people wouldn't have a problem with this, but then again most people weren’t synestheses.
Worried, he looked down to his hands, but they weren't glowing. So he shrugged, reached into his backpack under his chair, and grabbed a tiny case containing two clear custom-fit ear plugs. Like most people, the freshman loved the sound of thunderstorms, of running water. Unlike most people, he needed it for his sanity.
The freshman's ipod had become a necessity during the drought. It worked two-fold. It evened out his senses, and it stopped people from talking to him all together. There was little that the freshman disliked more than explaining how his senses worked, how he could hear taste and see sound. ‘It’s like a freight train constantly running through my frontal lobe. Right now you’re the conductor.’ That usually answered any further questions. This is why the freshman didn't tell people about all the crazy stuff that came along with his existence, being in accordance with a prophecy.
The freshman tried to avoid the ear plugs for as long as possible, taking to focusing on the blank projection screen at the front of the lecture hall. He ignored the incoming students as they began to populate the seats ahead of him. He covered his nose with the hood of his sweatshirt and concentrated his ears past the rattle of the window panes.
Deep whiffs of bergamot lit the fires of his olfactory; the freshman's freshman junior was damn near erect, before he remembered that he was wearing the senior's hoodie. Oh god, the senior. Just the thought of him made all the extraordinary run from his senses.
A lanky body sat with a graceful thud next to him. The freshman eyed up his roommate. 'How you feelin', Bernie?'
'I'm not.' Bernard pushed his glasses into his sleep-shaped fro and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'I'm dead.' He pulled out the collapsible desk and lied down; although, he was too tall, and it barely supported his neck. 'What happened last night?'
This was not the freshman's first time to the hangover rodeo. He never understood why people asked that question; they never really wanted to know. As soon as you mention their drunken fight, secret admission, or sexual advance, the inquirer plugs their ears and screams until you vow to never to repeat the story. He was beginning to believe that memory blackouts had less to do with drinking than people just wanting to forget what they had done. 'What do you remember?'
'I don't,' said Bernard. 'Did I do anything...bad?'
The party. The senior. The fight. Those eyes. The freshman didn't know too much in the world, but he knew he would never see eyes like those again. The hospital. The other fight. The trespassing. The escape. Oh yeah and then there was the sex. Scenes from the past twenty-four hours skipped around in the freshman’s mind like a scratched DVD. If last night was the first night of the rest of the freshman's life, then the next four years were going to be epic.
The professor came in from one of the doors at the front of the lecture hall. Students came to the realization that there were far more of them than seats in the lecture hall. The freshman put in his ear plugs; the world within him calmed in tandem.
The professor stood behind the podium playing with the controls for the projector and the automated blinds. He was an average man of moderate good looks and mediocre stature—all tweed and elbow patches. Even with the rain, it was still way too hot for such an outfit, but the freshman admired the professor’s commitment to the role. The minute hand hit the nine on the clock over the professor’s right shoulder; the professor began.
'This is Biology 134: Advanced Theories of Evolution. I am your professor, you will address me as such.' The professor paused. 'I am your professor. You will address me as such.'
'Good morning, professor,' the class said in unprepared unison.
'See to it that those are the only three unsolicited words you speak in this class.' The professor left the podium and approached the edge of the stage. 'Attendance is obligatory. And I assure that although I will not know your name, I will know your faces.
‘That settled I would like to begin with a game.' The class cheered like they were on a children's game show. The freshman wasn't so easily fooled. 'How many of you are on the waiting list?' A substantial amount of students, both in the aisles and seats raised their hands, if not a bit reluctantly.
'Alright. Now how many of you believe that evolution itself is a theory?' A different set now raised their hands. The freshman kept his hands in his hoodie pocket.
'Excellent, now if all of you would stand please...there we go...now pick up your backpacks...that's it. Now I want you to leave my classroom, before I waste perfectly good photographic memories on your simpleton faces. I don't think so, face-pleats, stand back up.' The crowd, once more in upheaval, hid the professor from view. ‘Wait-listers, if you are not in a seat by the time the bell rings, you are not in my class. Careful...not too quickly...your skulls are most assuredly still soft. That's it...don't forget your helmet.'
'What’s with the duct tape?' Bernard pointed at the make-shift bandage on the freshman’s forehead.
The freshman smiled. 'Improvisation.'
The door shut behind the last of the exiled; the freshman shifted his attention back to the professor.
'And that, class, was your first lesson in social Darwinism. Any questions? I thought not. Now today we are going to start with the easiest question of college.’ A few members of the audience scoffed audibly at the presumption, the professor did not seem to take notice. 'What is the difference between a first year and a fourth year?’
‘Three!’ a shout from the back right.
‘I’d hoped you only looked stupid.’ The professor removed his spectacles. ‘Though, that is the number of seconds you have to leave my classroom.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’ The professor did not move. ‘Off you go. Actually leave the world of academia altogether, while you’re at it. Save your parents some beer money...’ The door behind the freshman rattled with the hurried exit. ‘Now, class, the difference between a freshman and a senior? You. Mono-dimple.’
'Forty grand?’
'If you have instate tuition and no social life, maybe.' The professor grabbed chalk as he paced, tracing an uneven line along the chalkboard. 'Come on, these are all boring. Give me a real answer.'
‘You.’ The freshman froze. ‘In the hill-billy band-aid. You look like you have a social life.’ The freshman tensed; he was under attack.
‘What's your answer?'
The freshman thought a moment and then spoke as if he hadn’t, 'A tolerance for alcohol, penicillin, and rhetorical questions.'
The class erupted to the freshman's horror. It wasn't his fault; he had gotten too much sleep the night before—two whole hours. Why did he sleep so long?
The professor waited for the room to quiet naturally before speaking. 'Tell me. Why did you choose those words?'
'Just reaction.'
'Wit is not just reaction—it’s calculation, it's clairvoyance, it's borderline prophetic.’ Why did the professor have to use that word? Why did the sneer in his voice seem so familiar? ‘Now tell me, why did you choose those words?'
'Just trying to make the best of the situation.'
'If your best is to insult the teacher, then why not take the crude route?'
'My best is to win over the crowd. You already singled me out. So, it's either me and them vs you, or it's you and them vs me. So my best option was to earn their regard while losing as little of yours as possible.'
'You can’t lose what you haven’t earned.’ The professor paused for some British melodrama and walked back to the podium; the freshman stayed standing. ‘So, you’re saying you thought up all of that just now.'
'Explanation takes longer than action; that's why it should happen afterwards.'
'Tell me, freshman, what's your name?'
Stuck on the Rear Balcony of Omega-Phi-Tau Fraternity
10:15PM
The First Night of the Rest of Your Life
‘It’s Huntar, with an A.’
'Nice to meet you, Huntar-with-an-A. I'm Sebastien-with-an-E.'
They were stuck. Locked on the back of the balcony of a mansion, because super expensive electronic locks don’t work without electricity.
Sebastien-with-an-E extended his hand. Huntar-with-an-A tried unsuccessfully to look him in the eyes, though he was finally able to get a good look at the stranger’s face. He sported a beard a month or two in the making, impossibly straight teeth, and a nose that could tell stories. Yet his eyes were obscured by the moonlight on his silver mask and the fact that they were in the middle of a blackout. The party carried on with no music. Huntar turned back to look out towards the lake; he knew better than to shake the hand of someone he's never looked in the eye.
He squinted past the backyard’s lone tree, its saged silence broken by a foreboding wind. The air cried out for rain, for relief from the consuming nature of the heat; on the eastern horizon a cloud front rushed to obey. The midwestern heat and humidity had been at an all-time high over the past week, the last week before the start of school—party week.
He stood on the biggest balcony of the biggest frat at the biggest party of the year—no big deal. The courtyard below them. The lake before them. They were five hundred feet away from frat row, but the scene would not betray that. It wasn't the Franco-Swiss architectural influences or the fact that they had two saunas and a hot tub in the basement. Huntar finally understood why they called it The Chalet—because every other house in madison was beneath it.
'So, Huntar-with-an-A, what are you doing here?'
'Trying to lose my innocence.' Huntar didn't look back over his shoulder. He didn't want to talk, but he felt compelled to continue the conversation. 'What about you?'
'Trying to find mine.'
Huntar figured out the lilt in Sebastien’s accent, French-Canadian, definitely. Had he met Sebastien before? He’d only been to Montreal once for one of his grandmother’s speaking engagements. He didn’t remember the trip, but in the pictures it looked like Huntar enjoyed himself. Huntar contemplated removing his masquerade mask and wiping his brow, but then thought better of himself.
'So who's guest are you?' Sebastien seemed to take Huntar's pause as an admission of ignorance. 'Your mask. Black is for the brothers. The white masks are for the guests. The red means potential.'
'Potential what?' asked Huntar.
'Pledge.'
'What's silver mean? King of the fraterni-d-bags?'
Sebastien turned back towards the lake. 'Not exactly.'
'Sorry, I should be alone right now.'
Sebastien did not pick up on the hint. He widened his stance, leaned against the railing, and took a sip out of his red cup. 'So what classes are you taking?'
'Really, dude?' Huntar was so sick of talking about what classes he was taking; it's all anyone could talk about in the dorm. 'Why is it on the last night of summer, the first thing people want to talk about is school?'
'Okay, we don't have to talk then.' It was such an aggravating response that Huntar just had to say something.
'Nah, I like talking to you.' That was not what Huntar meant to say. He winced at his own vulnerability. Where did that come from? Sebastien turned towards the moonlight and smiled. His mask and teeth took on a sexy smurf glow.
'Need a light?' Sebastien offered up a silver zippo that shared his aire de lune.
Huntar squinted at the question. 'I don't smoke cigarettes.'
'Me neither.' Sebastien gestured to the black cylinder tucked behind Huntar's ear. 'So what's that?'
'It's a clove; it's different.' Huntar who lit the clove with the tossed lighter and took a drag while a made-for-TV Christmas special played in his mouth.
'I hear those things are bad for you.'
'Me too.’
Sebastien breathed in deeply as Huntar exhaled another smokey aura; Sebastien reached for the extended clove. Huntar played with the lighter—flicking it, tossing it, getting used to the weight in his palm. Sebastien handed back the clove and brought out a small wooden box that held a smaller cigarette that looked burned a third of the way down.
'I thought you said you don't smoke cigarettes.'
'It's a one-hitter; it's different.'
Sebastien handed it over to Huntar who studied it. It was a small weed pipe disguised as a cigarette. Huntar admired it; though he had never smoked weed, he did appreciate pot-head ingenuity. 'Nifty.'
'Indeed.'
Huntar offered the hitter back to its owner, and their fingers touched for the first time. A rush of cooling numb ran up Huntar's arm and coursed down his spine. They stared at one another for at least three moments too long.
The power returned. Cheers arose from within the depths of The Chalet, the click of the balcony door unlocking.
Huntar broke the connection. He had never felt anything like it, and this was coming from a guy had just emped so hard he’d knocked out the power on frat row and probably half of State Street.
Huntar stared. Sebastien stared. Huntar looked away. Then Sebastien said, 'I'm gonna go get another drink.'
Huntar slammed what was left in his cup, taking the opportunity to make sure his mask was still fastened tight. He held out the red cup upside-down and said his goodbye, 'Make mine a double.'
'You got it.' Sebastien’s sincerity was almost convincing. Huntar watched Sebastien disappear into The Chalet, for what he assumed would be the last time.
‘Shit.’ Huntar was beginning to worry that he spoke to himself too much. The numb had spread through his entire body, but in Sebastien's absence the feeling was replaced with one that was much more familiar—imminent emping. Shit.
Every electron of his body seemed to share the excitement at meeting this strange new being—this Sebastien-with-an-E. The hair on his forearms stood on end. Huntar tried to control it, but the energy was building in his spine. A handful of words and all Huntar wanted was a handful of Sebastien.
Huntar looked down at his palms; tiny bolts of red energy coursed through his veins, turning his brown skin auburn. Huntar leaned against the house, cooling his hands against the stone of The Chalet. He tried to focus on suppressing the emp, but his mind kept flashing minute details of Sebastien's nature.
Fingers twitched against the wall with the thought of messing with those curly tangles, of their noses meeting for the first time. Pressure built in Huntar's tailbone with the contemplation of Sebastien's biceps. Not even the wind roaring across the balcony could soothe the burn between Huntar's shoulder blades.
The angles of Sebastien's chest sent a wave down Huntar's arms. Huntar's body hummed with energy, his palms aflame with the potential of the night. Huntar's hands shook against The Chalet; he was on the edge of emping imagining the consuming pressure of Sebastien's body on top of his, the sweet and sour smell of earned sweat.
And with that thought Huntar emped harder than he had ever emped before. Red light erupted in the space between his hands and The Chalet, shooting him backwards through the air. His head missed the balcony railing by a matter of millimeters as he somersaulted through the air into the unwelcoming arms of the oak tree. Twigs and branches snapped along the way. He landed with a thud against the trunk, the wind knocked from his lungs, the clove from his mouth. He struggled to breathe in the crook of one of the sturdier branches of the tree. He stared at The Chalet through the hole his body had just created in the foliage.
No one was in the backyard to verify what didn't just happen. Huntar's hands looked a raw shade of red and smelled of burned ions. Then Huntar noticed something; all the lights on the block were still on. That big of an emp and no blackout. 'Well, that's different.'
Huntar and Bernard’s Sweet Dorm Room
11:35AM
The First Day of the Rest of Your Life
'Oh, come on, that’s what my mom says when she hates something.'
Bernard took a step back to admire the half cork board/half whiteboard message center he had just mounted between their construction paper name tags on the door. This semester's theme was Super Mario Brothers, Huntar's name centered on a yellow invincibility star, Bernard's on a fireball.
'I guess I just don't see why we need one.’
'In case people want to leave us messages.'
'It's called a cell phone.'
'Not everyone has a cell phone.'
'Yeah, only those worth talking to.'
Bernard sat at his desk, opposite Huntar on the futon. 'So you wanna go grab lunch?'
'Sure, Loo should be over soon.' Huntar turned and grabbed a picture frame out of one of the boxes. It was a black and white photo of the silhouettes of two boys suspended indefinitely, mid-jump over a lake—two sacrifices to the endless promise of summer .
‘I love that picture.’ Bernard peeked over Huntar’s shoulder; Huntar turned to face him. ‘Who are they?’
‘No idea.’ Huntar only knew three things about the photo: he was the silhouette frozen in mid-back flip arms out-stretched, he had no idea who the other boy was, and he hadn’t packed the picture.
‘Well whoever they are, they look happy.’
‘Really? I kind of think they look...’ Huntar pretended to study the picture once again, ‘grey.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I meant.’ Bernard grabbed the photo; they held it in tandem. ‘They look sad.’ Their finger tips touched. Bernard’s skin was smooth and icy, refreshing in the swelter of their surroundings. Bernard stole Huntar’s gaze; they stood motionless.
They were interrupted by a courtesy knock on the door. 'Greetings, citizens of the republic.' Lukas stood, framed by the doorway, hair in his eyes, big smile on his face. 'Bernie, nice message center.'
'Thank you.' Bernard shot a look at Huntar; Huntar had already forgotten why.
'You ready for lunch?' Lukas entered the room.
'Yeah just gotta run to the bathroom.' Bernard exited the room. Lukas shut the door after him. Lukas took Bernard's place at his desk. 'I like what he's done with the place.' Of course Lukas did, Bernard's half of the room was covered in comic book posters and memorabilia; Lukas shared that obsession. Lukas looked back at Huntar; Huntar looked anywhere but at Lukas. They were alone. He knew what was coming.
Huntar grabbed some clothes at random from his new, obscenely-tiny closet and began to try them on in Bernard's mirror that hung on the door.
'I come bearing gifts.' Huntar looked at his best friend in the mirror; Lukas held up a new energy-efficient bulb.
'We already have light bulbs.'
'These are better for the environment.'
'Thanks, I guess.' Huntar grabbed the bulb from the top and set it down on his desk. 'Well, I have a better present.' Huntar dropped his clothes and opened the tiny white refrigerator underneath the TV. 'Whiskey, rum, and a bottle of Fleischmann's that's two brita filters away from a bottle of Grey Goose.'
'I'll be sure to thank Val and Fisch.' Lukas pulled out his phone, most likely to text Huntar's parents. Huntar's mom and step-dad were known to his friends as “the cool parents,” which always seemed a lot cooler to everyone else but him. He supposed it was better than the alternative, but then again, it probably wasn't. Sometimes Huntar didn't know why he bothered.
'So, I think I found the perfect place for tonight.' Lukas played with a wolverine figurine on Bernard's desk. ‘We’re going to Mike’s.'
Lukas meant St. Michael’s, the abandoned hospital off of the lakeshore path. Once when they were ten, Huntar and Lukas had used it as a hideout, when they snuck out of the children's hospital. It was full of tiny rooms, old medical equipment, and beds. once the place where townies and students were treated for drugs and drunken injuries. it had become the place where students and townies alike came to take drugs and injure themselves drunkenly. Huntar liked what Lukas was throwing down. 'That's the perfect place for a party!'
'Practice, Huntar. Not party.'
'Practice like pregame?'
'Like training montage.'
'I don't need to workout,' Huntar flexed shirtless in the mirror. Lukas looked out the window at the courtyard below. ‘Prophecy perk.’
'We talked about this, Hunt.' Lukas took on that dad-voice Huntar hated so much. 'You need to learn to control this power—'
'—prophecy perk. Remember?' Huntar pulled a different shirt over his head. 'And I am managing my perk just fine.'
'Are you sure you don't have two powers already? Your ability to forget shit is superhuman.'
Huntar thought about lying and saying that it was because of the funeral, but Lukas was right. Huntar had the uncanny ability to only remember what was convenient for him. He kept trying to change that but tended to forget.
‘Well, we should at least go skinny dipping.’
'Would you keep it down, Loo? People can hear us.'
'People are too busy listening to themselves to hear us.'
'I remember us agreeing that we weren't going to talk about it.'
'I never agreed to that.' Loo had an inconvenient memory in that it was near flawless, and it was more inconvenient for Huntar than Lukas. Lukas stood behind Huntar; Huntar braced for the offensive. 'You sure you don't want to take online classes this semester?'
'Oh yeah, cause emping and electronics have been best friends so far.'
'Well, what happens when it happens in a class full of laptops?'
'A class trip to simpler times.'
'Clearly the prophecy has started, Huntar. Simpler times are over.'
'No, that time is when I'm twenty-five. That's why it's called the Quarterlife Prophecy, god.'
'How do you know what it’s called? Have you actually seen it?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what’s it say?’
‘Exactly what I’ve told you.’ Lukas did not look satisfied with Huntar’s answer. Huntar went to the desk and grabbed the light bulb, holding it from the base for Lukas to see. With a tiny push, the light bulb shone with a new power source—Huntar. Lukas set his jaw; Huntar knew it was because Lukas had no reason to believe his best friend of eight years would lie to him. A fact that Huntar hated exploiting, but there were some things that he couldn't even share with Lukas.
Huntar opened the door and spun back around to finish his point. 'But today I'm going to get some grub, buy my books, and then get my drink on. In fact, I’m going to start right now.’ Huntar grabbed the brita from the mini-fridge and turned around just in time to see a lanky blond in a white hockey jersey and khaki shorts courtesy knock on the open door.
Huntar stopped cold. ‘Huntar Fischer. Lukas Ortez-Olsen. How’re my two favorite residents?’
John Johnson, Resident Assistant, was beginning to become a pain in this resident’s ass. He had done nothing in particular, but Huntar still didn’t like him. Lukas said it had less to do with John Johnson and more to do with Huntar’s issues with authority.
John Johnson couldn’t be a day over twenty; yet, his hair was already receding away from his giant forehead, as if embarrassed to be seen with a guy who wore socks and sandals simultaneously. He clutched a clipboard in his left hand; around his neck was a residence hall lanyard with a set of keys and a name tag that read John Johnson. John Johnson, Resident Ass-Munch, from Podunk, Wisconsin was standing in the doorway.
‘Some what?' John Johnson pointed to the brita in Huntar's hand.
'Oh, you mean water.'
'That is your water isn’t it?’
'I like your jersey. Who’s number eight?’
‘You haven’t heard of the Green Sea Bass? He’s only the greatest hockey player Wisconsin has ever seen.’
‘That’s so interesting tell me more.’
‘Some other time, kinda in a rush.’
‘Oh, well then you should go.’
‘As soon as I get some water.’
‘I thought you said you were in a rush.’
‘I am. So it’d really save me a lot of time, yeah?’
'Yeah, no.'
'No?'
'No.'
'Huntar just let the man have some water; he's thirsty.' Huntar had almost forgotten that Lukas was watching this Norweigian standoff. And now he was part of it, because Huntar was going to kill Lukas. Why was Lukas throwing him under the bus? There was no way he was going to be able to train, if he got kicked out of the dorms.
'I am thirsty, Lukas Ortez-Olsen. Thank you for noticing. Now may I please have some water?'
'We don't have any cups.'
'I have my nalgene.' John Johnson offered the plastic explosive over to Huntar. Huntar refused it.
'The bathroom is down the hall.'
'The pitcher is right there, and that water is filtered.'
'Thrice.' Lukas was all grins. ‘Isn’t that right, Hunt?’
Huntar just shook his head and mouthed, ‘What the fuck?’ when John Johnson wasn’t looking.
‘Fine, Huntar, I'll do it. Sorry John, Huntar Fischer here has such bad manners sometimes. I really find it quite shocking.' Lukas stomped on Huntar's toe as he grabbed the pitcher. 'So did I hear you talking about an ultimate game earlier?' Lukas grabbed the nalgene and took a step away from Huntar, taking John Johnson's attention with him.
Tiny bolts of energy coursed through his hands; he focused, rubbed his itching palms together, and pushed outward.
'I knew you'd love ultimate. Tonight at—hey!' Behind John Johnson, Huntar emped a tiny shockwave of light. It took all he had not to vocalize the pain of the energy emanating laterally from him. He tried to focus it as locally as possible, but it still took out every light and most likely every electric device on the floor.
In the impending confusion, Huntar moved enough to warrant Lukas' over-acted spilling of the vodka, most of which ended up all over Huntar. Bernard returned, revealing a panicked floor. John Johnson sprang into action valiantly forgetting his clipboard, nalgene, and desire for Huntar's fire water.
The birkenstocks had barely left their carpeting before the door was locked behind him. Huntar looked at Lukas, already setting what was left in the brita back in the fridge.
‘What do you got there, Bernard?’
Bernard held up two masquerade masks. Even in the dim light Huntar could see one was a metallic red the other an almost glowing white silk. 'There’s writing, on the inside...I think they are invitations.'
'Who's Hef?' Bernard held the red mask close to his face.
Huntar Everest Fischer didn't say anything, just went to his closet and changed clothes for the third time that day. ‘Whoever he is, he may be chosen, but we’ve got his invites.'
'Chosen for what?'
Up a Tree
10:45PM
The First Night of the Rest of Your Life
'I haven't climbed a tree since I was a kid,’ said Sebastien.
Huntar tried to stay present but his mind was preoccupied with the effect this person had on him. Huntar and Sebastien sat high in the old oak. Huntar had been at a loss for words when Sebastien came back out looking for him and heard him catching his breath in the tree. Sebastien had filled in the blanks about how Huntar must have gone downstairs and missed him. Next thing Huntar was helping Sebastien bring their new drinks up into the tree.
'I haven't worn a mask since I was a kid.'
Sebastien swung under a branch closer to Huntar. Huntar waited for Sebastien to stop before he moved away. Sebastien's presence overwhelmed, his voice intoxicated, and his touch seemed to diffuse any anxiety caused by the previous two. But Huntar was wary, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to fall. Sebastien peaked around the trunk. 'What was your favorite Halloween costume?'
'I was a pineapple once. That was fun.'
'Oh come on, you never went as a superhero?
'Nope.'
'Why not?'
'Cause Halloween is the one weekend a year you get to be whoever you want to be.'
'And who did you want to be?'
'Not a superhero.' Huntar let his hands go, hung upside down, and leaned into the swing. The blood pooled in his temples. He decided he loved this tree, that it deserved a tree house or at the very least a tire swing.
Sebastien let out a groan of ease and re-positioned his foot against the tree trunk. 'But if you had to choose...'
'Gun to my head?'
'Gun to your head.'
'Spider-man.' Huntar stopped himself on a lower branch and slowly oriented himself upright once more. 'Sarcastic and scarred.' Huntar swung around to face Sebastien, daring himself to get as close as possible. 'Let me guess. You're a superman guy.'
'Is it that obvious?'
'Yeah, it's that obvious. But it's not that bad, or that good. It's just that.' Huntar suddenly wanted out of the tree. 'Don't you think we're being a bit anti-sosh?'
'I made a new friend tonight.'
'Friend,' Huntar echoed, 'yeah.'
There was another one of those awkwardly loaded moments. Huntar climbed away from it and up to a spot with a clear view of the lake. He leaned his head against the tree and did what he did every time he was at a loss for words, he sang someone else’s. It was one of Huntar's favorite songs by one of his favorite musicians—Ben Folds.
You took a trip and climbed a tree, at Robert Sledge's party.
And there you stayed til morning came, and you were not the same after that.
Much to Huntar's surprise, he did not hum alone for long; a voice harmonized from below. Huntar stopped before the chorus.
'You're a Ben Folds fan?' Sebastien seemed surprised. Apparently he had underestimated Huntar; that made Huntar happy.
'His music got me into music.' Huntar stopped his legs cold, worried he might accidentally brain Sebastien with his sneaker. His body begged to move. Huntar settled on running his hand over his newly shorn hair. 'Just saw him again at summerfest. Third row center.'
It had been his fifth Ben fold’s concert. At each one the piano man liked to tell the story of the song. A hippie friend took acid, climbed a tree, and then in the morning climbed down a born again christian. After the laughs would die down he'd get the audience to separate into three sections, each taking a note in the chord to drunk-slide during the bridge. Huntar took a moment to enjoy the pleasant nostalgia that accompanied thoughts of Ben Folds—music reminiscent of lives Huntar would never live, but could remember all the same.
'Huh, I was second row center. I didn't see you.' Sebastien looked at Huntar; Huntar looked at the ground.
'Probably weren't looking.'
'What's your favorite song?'
'Annie Waits.' Huntar answered so fast he wasn't even sure if that was his favorite song. 'You?'
'Brick.'
'Lame.' Huntar ducked and dodged branches on his way to the side of the tree that faced The Chalet. 'That's everyone's favorite. I mean come on, that's the All-American Abortion Anthem.'
'It wasn't always my favorite.'
'Oh yeah?' Huntar swung in close to better tease his fellow tree climber. 'What happened?'
'Life.'
It was clear from the way Sebastien said it that life was exactly what didn't happen. Sebastien sat and picked at the tree bark. Huntar picked his brain for a way out of this conversation. 'Well it doesn't count anyway.'
'Why's that?' Sebastien didn't look up, so Huntar sat down next to him. The leaves applauded as their branch bowed lower.
Sebastien's hand covered Huntar's mouth, and he instantly fell quiet—less for the gesture, but more for the comfortable numb. Huntar followed Sebastien's eyes to the source of the shush. Cops.
Or rather, cop. There was only one of him. He was standing outside opposite the water fountain from the tree seemingly just minding his own business. Neither of the tree residents moved as the cop took a survey of the area. He had a moustache and a bandage on his right hand. The cop moved close enough so Huntar could read his name tag in the light. Pierce. Huntar watched in detached horror as Officer Pierce looked up into the tree, straight at them.
Huntar wanted to panic; Huntar wanted to feel his heart race, his breathing quicken or even stop altogether. But with Sebastien's hand on him his body could neither fight nor take flight. Officer Pierce took another step forward and—
A scream on the other side of the house startled the cop and Sebastien. Huntar only noticed, because Sebastien tensed. Officer Pierce raced back into the house and away from their tree of horrors.
For a few moments they stayed there—silent, unmoving. Huntar struggled to lower Sebastien's hand from his mouth. Sebastien began his descent, but once the contact was broken, so was the silence. The sound of the party. The lake. The wind. Huntar fell backwards in such slow motion that somehow Sebastien was able to catch him, before he fell through the tree. Suddenly they were nose to nose. Mask to mask. It was the last night of summer, and Sebastien had caught him mid-fall.
'Thanks,' Huntar spoke first, 'that was—‘
'Close.' Sebastien’s supportive arms kept Huntar in the precarious mid-fall position, yet Sebastien didn't move. Huntar didn't care.
'So what do we do now?' Huntar re-oriented himself and pushed back away from Sebastien with all of his might. He didn't make it very far.
'Now. We drink.'
Huntar offered Sebastien what was left in his cup, only to realize he'd dumped it out at some point.
‘No, I meant a real beer. Before we go though...' Sebastien held up the one-hitter to Huntar. Huntar smiled at him and sat back down on the lowest branch. 'It's not acid, but it'll do.'
Cafeteria
12:05PM
The First Day of the Rest of Your Life
'What are you high?'
'You don't want to go to the biggest party of the biggest party week of our freshman year, Lou?'
'I was talking about your trays, Huntar.'
'What's wrong?'
'There's two of them, Huntar. The freshman fifteen are coming.'
‘Both the entrees looked really good.’
‘The grass will always be greener, Huntar.’
‘My ass will always be leaner, Louise.’
‘I’m just saying that the freshman fifteen is a clear and present danger.’
‘So’s my pimp hand.’ Huntar sat down next to Bernard and showcased his right hand to Louise. ‘Sorry I don’t have the guile to survive on soy lattes and virgin blood like you.’
‘I will street-fight you, E. Honda.’
‘Bring it, Dhalsim.’
‘Kids, not at the dinner table.’ Lukas dad-voiced. ‘You’re scaring the little one.’ All three of them looked over at Bernard, his eyes wide as if watching a slow-motion accident. They smiled and with the tension of the moment released, began to enjoy their food. The cafeteria was packed with groups of freshman and a few of the left-over parents, who hadn’t gotten the hint yet.
‘I’m Louise.’ Her chestnut eyes warm and inviting. Her voice low and purposeful. ‘Bernard, love, I need more coffee.’ Bernard didn’t understand, but this was his moment—she was testing him.
‘Sure.’ Bernard grabbed the cup, smiling as he scooted out of the booth.
‘Thank you. Skinny tall mocha, extra hot, just like you.’ Bernard left to wait in the cafe line.
‘Jesus, keep it in your pants.’ Huntar’s mouth already full of mac and cheese. ‘I thought you were off men, Lou-two.’
‘Don’t call me that.’ She eyed down Huntar. ‘Huntar, one of these days you’re going to learn the difference between friendly and flirting. It’s harmless.’
‘Harmless is on the shortlist of qualities you don’t possess, Lou.’ Lukas was busy texting Helena what he was about to eat, no doubt.
‘Yeah, and going through a dry spell is not the same as giving up men.’ Huntar dug in. He had no idea why he was so hungry, maybe it was the heat.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to sleep with him. You are.’
‘What? Bernard’s my roommate. That’d be an awful idea.’
‘Precisely why it will happen.’ Louise gestured towards her new coffee bitch as he returned. ‘Bernard’s clearly as queer as Huntar.’
‘Hey!’ Bernard sat down next to Huntar.
‘No one is as queer as Huntar.’ Lukas’ phone beeped; he flipped it open.
‘Hey!’ Huntar’s mouth full of macaroni, cheese, and indignation.
Bernard looked around the cafeteria to make sure no one was listening. ‘Um. Is it that obvious?’
‘Huntar?—Yes. You?—I was just guessing.’
‘She’s kidding,’ Huntar reassured Bernard. ‘The bitch has ridic gaydar.’
‘Huntar, that’s an awful word.’ She waved a chipped fingernail. ‘Gay...’ Louise returned her attention to her tray of a plain burger, celery sticks, and a carton of skim, but Bernard didn’t relax. Louise took notice.
‘Oh, did I ruin your coming out moment?’ Underneath her sharpied on smirk, her tone was genuine. ‘I tend to do that. Well, whatever. We’re here, we’re queer, where’s the beer?’
‘You’re a lesbian?’ Bernard was shocked at this revelation; Louise sipped her coffee.
Louise was in a word—stunning. She had the misfortune of being an outsider that everyone wanted to get inside of. Cursed with porcelain skin, auburn waves, and a killer rack. Since Huntar had known her, she had shied away from the attention of boys but was rarely met with success.
She was an accidental trendsetter. A month after she dyed her hair black for the first time a Hot Topic opened at the local mall. It was rumored that Jeniffer Aniston’s stylist copied the “Rachel” after seeing one of Louise’s elementary school pictures. During high school she relented and seemed to conform; although, Huntar suspected that this was simply because no one expected her to. Unfortunately for her, guys and girls alike couldn’t believe that she should have no long-term interest in boys. Despite her best efforts, on paper she’d scored less than an alcoholic co-ed passed out at a pride parade. ‘No, young Bernard, we’re queer.’
‘Oh, I mean, it’s just that you don’t look like—’
‘Who? KD Lang? Melissa Etheridge?’ Louise sneered, ‘...Ellen?’ She had a long list of things she could not stand; Ellen Degeneres was number three.
‘What’s wrong with Ellen?’
‘She knows what she did.’ Louise reached across the table and grabbed the fruit cup from Huntar’s tray, who was too busy scarfing to protest. ‘Just because we don’t look alike, doesn’t mean we aren’t. All us queers are in the same fruit cup. See, you’re a strawberry—’
‘I’m allergic to strawberries.’ Bernard shied from the out-stretched gift.
Lukas was somehow able to eat his salad, text his girlfriend, and moderate the conversation at the same time. ‘Strawberries are classified as a pseudo-fruit.’
‘Just like you.’ Louise tossed the strawberry to Lukas who happily masticated it. ‘Bernard can be our cherry.’ She threw the cherry at Bernard. He easily caught it in his mouth much to her apparent pleasure. ‘And Huntar can be the grape.’
‘Racist.’
‘Hardly.’ Louise laughed at the insinuation. ‘They are dark and round, like your future.’
‘Please.’ Huntar grabbed back what was left of his fruit cup. ‘Everyone knows I’m a pineapple.’
‘Here.’ Huntar picked out a blueberry and tossed it at Louise. ‘Matches your balls.’
‘Speaking of which, last night of summer, first night of college. How are we getting laid tonight?’ She nudged Lukas.
‘Include me out.’ Lukas’ phone beeped again.
‘What about you, Hunt? Ready to pop that cherry?’
‘Oh, are we back on the fruit cup already?’ Huntar popped a blueberry into his mouth. ‘Good, cause I’m not done with your balls.’
‘If virginities are such a big deal, why the rush to get rid of ‘em? Just do it already, Hunt.’
‘I don’t want to just do it already, Lou.’
‘You know what your problem is?’
‘I have friends who tell me what my problem is?’
‘No, Huntar, you want the other sex.’
‘I’m not you, Louise. That is not my problem.’
Louise held up a fork and spoon for the table to see. ‘There are two types of sex—’
‘—Male and female!’ Bernard had not learned that brown-nosing was frowned upon during Louise’s lectures—he would.
‘I’m not talking about genitals, but what you do with them.’ Louise set the utensils down on opposing sides of her tray. ‘And what you do with them falls into two categories: good sex and other sex.’
‘So what’s good sex?’
‘Better than the other.’
‘And other sex?’
‘Not good.’
Huntar stood up. ‘Well, Lou, this has been thoroughly endarkening...’
‘Good sex is free.’ Louise continued; Huntar found himself seated once more. ‘Free of emotions, free of names, free of everything but the basic levels of respect—the way almighty Darwin intended it.’
‘So, what’s the other sex?’ It was story-time, and Bernard was eating goldfish crackers out of the palm of Louise’s hand.
‘I don’t know, Bernard, and I don’t ever want to know. But what I do know, is that you end up looking like that.’ Louise pointed to the texting Lukas, huddled away from others in the corner of the booth.
Lukas pointed to the ceiling with the middle finger of his non-texting hand. ‘Don’t judge my relationship.’
‘It’s not a relationship; it’s a waste of anytime minutes.'
Huntar and Louise disliked Helena, but Louise was the only one who voiced it regularly. Both Louise and Huntar had hoped they would have broken up when Helena left for Northwestern but no dice. In order to stop the inevitable argument, Huntar informed Louise of the invites that had been on their doors for the First Night of the Rest of Your Life party.
‘You know what I say about frats,’ said Louise.
‘Frat parties suck?’ said Huntar.
‘Frat boys blow?’ said Lukas.
‘I’ve taught you boys well, Bernard, pay attention.’ Huntar was pretty sure that Louise kicked Bernard under the table. Bernard looked more alert, and he was rubbing his shin a lot more than he had been only moments before. ‘Since the only relations Lukas will be having tonight will be textual, I suggest a gay bar. Huntar, didn’t you go to one last week?’
Huntar went silent and picked at his food, not because he didn’t want to share, but because he didn’t have anything to share. Both Louise and Bernard stared at him intently; Lukas showed no concern. But then again, why should he? What little there was to know, he already knew. Huntar had gone to a bar. Blacked out. And woke up eight hours later with no solid memory, a fully healed tattoo down his spine, and matching-glow-in-the-dark-hands. For all Huntar knew, he had been slipped a radioactive roofie.
‘Huntar!’ Louise snapped Huntar back into the conversation.
Startled, Huntar knocked one of his trays to the ground amidst the humiliating applause of his fellow diners and the groans of the cleaning crew.
‘The bar was that bad, huh?’
His face red and his ears hot, Huntar bent down to pick up the empty containers and emptying milk carton, at least he didn’t spill any food. ‘I’d rather not think about it.’
‘He’s bar-scarred,’ Lukas chimed-in, his texting uninterrupted.
Louise looked down at Huntar and noticed his secret peaking out from beneath his collar. ‘That’s one hell of a bar-scar.’ She turned to Huntar and Lukas. ‘Huntar Everest Fischer, the boy who has trouble committing to pizza toppings, got a tattoo!’
‘That’s not true—
‘Don’t change the subject. So it's agreed. We will attend the first night of the rest of our lives party tonight.'
'How? We only have two invites.'
‘We will make it work, Bernard.’ Louise then turned back to her favorite target. ‘You need an anonymous freshman with gross hair and a secret desire for same sex shenanigans. A guy you'll see after and laugh at, not pine for.’
'What are we talking about?' Seth, the six foot six ginger from down the hall towered over their table wearing a staff apron and one of those paper grill hats. Huntar’s eyes darted to Louise. Gingers were number two on her shit list.
'I said pine, not redwood.’
'I couldn't help but overhear that you got an invite to the party.'
'What party.'
'What party? The party. The only party that any one is talking about.’ Seth leaned into Louise real close. ‘So are you going?'
'Are you going to be there?’ Louise batted her baby browns; Seth leaned in closer.
‘It just so happens that—’
‘—Seth, get back to work,’ said a very brutish looking woman with a visor and a hairnet on.
‘Yes, sir.’ Seth left with a promise to stop by the room later. Louise said goodbye with a promise to deadbolt the door.
'I just want a guy that is real and grounded and calls out my bullshit.' Huntar couldn't stop himself. The whiny wheel was in full motion.
'Bullshit,' said Seth. 'If you wanted that, you wouldn’t be in college here.'
'Huntar goes here, cause he didn’t get in anywhere else.'
Union Terrace
11:10PM
The First Night of the Rest of Your Life
‘Bullshit.’
‘Honest.’
‘You’ve never done the Scandinavian shuffle?’
‘Nope.’
‘The midwestern mambo?’
‘Nope.’
‘You mean to tell me you’ve never danced the forbidden dance of the Far North?’
‘Still nope.’ Sebastien finished pouring a beer and handed the paper cup to Huntar. ‘Though I do appreciate the alliteration.’ Sebastien nudged Huntar, slow and deliberate. ‘Got any more?’
‘I’ll think of one.’ Huntar gulped the dark, heavy micro brew in his cup, turning away from Sebastien, however briefly, to hide his grimace. They sat on the end of one of the piers that protruded in front of the student union. Across the lake, clouds swirled around trapped lightning. Their toes broke the lake water’s warm plane. ‘And here I thought you were a true Sconnie.’
‘I am a true Sconnie.’ Sebastien sat back. ‘I was born here, just not raised ’
When Sebastien’s dad finished grad school they moved to Montreal, where his brothers, Stephane and Sam, were born. Sebastien’s voice was proud and kind when he spoke about his family, especially Sam. ‘He looks just like me.’ Sebastien laughed at an unshared memory, while he played with his beard. ‘Growing up he was my biggest fan.’ Sebastien glided his feet just above the surface of the water. ‘Now I’m his.’ Huntar had always wanted siblings, but all he got were Val, Fischer, Loo, and Lou.
‘You have a...’ Sebastien leaned in and grabbed something off of Huntar’s shoulder. He opened his palm to show, ‘...firefly.’
The bug lit up but was quickly blown from Sebastien’s hand by Huntar. ‘Fire-fucker.’
‘Wait, you mean to tell me you hate fireflies?’
‘Hate is a strong word.’ Huntar poured himself another beer. ‘Loathe is stronger.’ Sebastien’s eyes squinted in incredulity.
The conversation died, and Huntar tried to think of a way to fend off the impending awkward silence. Huntar slammed what was left of his beer, stood up, and held out his arms, but
Sebastien stayed seated.
‘Come on. I’m a very good teacher.’ Sebastien just looked backward at the people enjoying the terrace. ‘I spent a summer as the social director for Parson’s Retirement Community.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Would I lie to you?’ By his count, Huntar had inadvertantly lied to Sebastien three times—and twice on purpose.
‘What?’ Huntar slid his shoes to the side of the dock.
Sebastien looked around before admitting, ‘I’m not a good dancer.’
‘You can’t be that bad.’
‘No, seriously.’ Sebastien’s voice was heavy with certainty. ‘It gets weird.’
‘Tonight could not get any weirder.’ Huntar looked at his out-stretched hands. Ever since they left the tree, they had felt normal. Huntar couldn’t tell if it was the weed or the company, but the longer time went without touching Sebastien, the less he felt at ease. At this point, the dance lesson would be more for his benefit than Sebastien’s. ‘I promise.’
‘To be completely honest there’s a lot of flailing.’ Sebastien looked up at the expectant Huntar. ‘The last time I tried to dance I was called epileptic—’
‘—Oh, come on—’
‘—By my dad.’ Sebastien seemed serious; his voice took an ominous tone. ‘It’s very likely that you’ll end up in the water.’
‘I can swim.’ Sebastien didn’t move, so Huntar began to dance around their shoes arms out expectantly keeping time with the accordian and the tuba. ‘Come on, cave to the pier pressure.’
In the distance the Kenosha Kickers struck up a rousing version of “Roll Out the Barrel” that got everyone, including Sebastien, to their feet. Huntar-with-an-A lead Sebastien-with-an-E, as they danced on the edge of the pier hidden away in the dark between the crowds and the clouds. Soon their dancing brought the first rain of the summer. Behind them people cheered, maybe for the Kickers’ encore, maybe for the end of the drought, or maybe, just maybe, they were cheering for two guys dancing on a dock. By the time they left the pier they were soaked wet. Sebastien had improved greatly; although, if Huntar was completely honest, there was still a lot of flailing.
‘See, I knew you could Sconnie samba.’
‘There it is.’ Sebastien laughed at the final alliteration. They passed a girl taking shelter under an awning while eating a slice of pizza. ‘You hungry?’
Huntar and Bernard’s Sweet Dorm Room (Again)
8:00PM
The First Evening of the Rest of Your Life
‘No more drinking, please.’ Bernard tugged nervously on his sleeves.
‘Lame!’ Huntar, Lukas, and Louise sang in three-part harmony, each taking a shot of the vodka from the filter.
‘We’re not drinking; we’re celebrating.’ Louise put her arm around Bernard and presented their makeshift bar, as if they hadn’t been drinking for the past hour. Louise was rarely the one to cheer someone up, but apparently she had taken a liking to Bernard. Huntar didn’t like it. ‘Fine no more shots.’
‘Okay.’
‘Bring on the mixers!’
‘We’re here, we’re queer, where’s the beer, right?’ Bernard looked at Louise, his big eyes almost watering for validation.
‘Thatta lady-boy.’ Louise patted Bernard on the back. 'If Huntar doesn't want any action then I guess it's up to us. Now who do you think is cute on the floor Bernard.’
‘Seth is cute.’
‘I thought you said you were allergic to strawberries?’ Louise pushed Bernard away.
‘So what do we do now?’ Huntar called from the closet.
‘Now, we drink. We dance. We fuck.’
Quality Pizza Place
11:45PM
The First Night of the Rest of Your Life
‘That’s disgusting.’ Sebastien’s grimace was made even more boyish by the mask.
‘Didn’t your parents teach you not to judge a book by its cover?’
‘They didn’t say anything about judging a pizza by its toppings.’ They were sitting at the corner table of a pizza joint opened by a former alumnus who had seen a market for drunk dining on campus.
‘So what’s with this obsession with pineapple?’
‘I’m not obsessed.’ Huntar could barely understand himself with his mouth full. He swallowed before continuing. ‘Okay I’m a little obsessed. I don’t know, rough outside/sweet center.’
‘And just when you think you have it figured out, your tongue goes numb.’ Sebastien took another bite of his philly cheesesteak pizza. ‘I always wondered why that happened.’
‘What?’ Huntar said between bites. God, either drinking, smoking, or emping really made him hungry. ‘That’s never happened to me.’
Sebastien stopped and looked at Huntar who shook his head. ‘Hmm, well I wonder what makes you so special?’
‘Nothing.’ Huntar hated that word. Special meant short bus. They both chowed on their slices. Huntar stopped after the BBQ-chicken-pineapple and eyed up his second paper plate with the piece of mac and cheese pizza.
Two jock-types with backwards baseball hats and flip-flops walked by and yelled, ‘Kick his ass, Sea Bass!’ to the enjoyment of all the other drunk guys in flip flops around the restaurant.
‘Wow, people really like dumb and dumber.’ Huntar rolled his eyes. It was the third time that it had happened since they had arrived at the pizza place.
‘Yeah.’ Sebastien had sunk into his chair. ‘I think it’s gotten a little old.’ Sebastien stuffed the rest of his crust into his mouth. ‘You ready?’ He got up and headed for the door without waiting for Huntar.
Huntar caught up to him outside in the alley by the building, he looked bothered but smiled all the same. Huntar felt like he was missing something. Sebastien began to walk a pace or two ahead of Huntar. ‘So I told you all about my family, what about yours?’ Sebastien asked over his shoulder.
‘Not much to tell.’ Huntar’s dad had died in the fire that took his memories. He didn’t remember much about Brandt Franklin. Aside from going to the same college, he had no idea if he was like him. Huntar, instead, had grown up living with his mom Valerie and his step-dad Fischer. Fischer owned a very successful construction company, and Valerie owned an indestructible liver. They had married when Huntar was ten, and Fischer had even adopted Huntar as his own. His parents decided that the best way to be a parent was to be a best friend.
‘I think that’s why all these freshman go crazy. It’s their first time in life without people telling them what to do. My parents never did me that favor.’ Huntar pointed to a girl puking in the bushes to their right. ‘I guarantee you her parents put their alcohol under lock and key. Poor thing was never able to establish a tolerance, much less a pace. Plus, look, no one to hold her hair back.’
‘Are you volunteering?’ Sebastien seemed genuinely interested in Huntar’s opinions. No one was interested in Huntar’s opinions.
‘Not at all.’ Huntar kept walking, jumping a pool of puke. ‘Her parents never thought that those bad influences might be good teachers.’ They were on a dimly lit side street walking further from the dorms now. They were not walking with a specific destination in mind, but neither seemed to notice or care. ‘Then there’s this guy.’
Up ahead there was a boy stumbling backwards wearing only his boxers, simultaneously draining a beer bottle and his bladder. The drunkard threw the empty bottle. It shattered against a mailbox. Making him work so hard has clearly made him anti-establishment and anti-pants.
‘Though, he is an excellent multi-tasker.’ Sebastien playfully nudged Huntar again. Huntar savored the skin to skin contact. Up ahead he noticed a pair of feet east-witching out from under a bush. The legs were covered in calf socks; the shoes were a bright red color. Huntar stopped.
Sebastien didn’t. ‘And then there’s this guy who’s—’
‘My roommate.’
‘No way!’
Huntar pulled Bernard out from beneath the bush. His shirt was torn, and there was a burn mark on his right sleeve. Huntar shook him a bit until he came to. He looked at Huntar then slurred something into his ear. Sebastien knelt down beside them.
‘What’d he say?’
Great Auditorium in Gardner Hall
7:47AM
The First Day of Class
‘Speak up or get out. We haven’t got all bloody morning.’
‘Huntar,’ said the freshman. ‘My name is Huntar Fischer.’
The crowd laughed; the lights flickered. The professor visibly racked his brains, ‘I-haven't-seen-Huntar-with-an-A-since—‘
The professor went silent, no doubt because he was remembering the last place he’d seen Huntar. In Mitchard Scurville’s defense, at the time Huntar’s hair had been long, when they shook hands in front of the casket, and half of his face wasn’t covered in duct tape, when he gave the eulogy.
‘Huntar-with-an-A?’
The class continued to laugh. Huntar had had enough of the chuckles.
‘Okay, guys, you can laugh all you want—’
Walking to the Omega-Phi Fraternity
9:20PM
The First Night of the Rest of Your Life
‘I’ve got my philosophy about invitation-only parties.’
‘What’s that, Seth?’
‘Only attend when not invited.’ Seth winked at Louise. Louise made a hand/tongue gesture that mimicked cunnulingus. Seth responded by pretending to fellate an obscenely large, yet invisible penis. Huntar did not understand the mating rituals of breeders.
The Omega-Phi-Taus, known as the Mega-Phis, were the elite frat, known for the best theme parties in the Greek system. Not the Greek system in Wisco. The entire Greek system.
'So how do they choose these freshman?'
‘Test scores, blood work, semen samples—your guess is as good as mine.’ Lukas prepared to jump the wall. ‘I’ll be sure to ask them as they throw us out.’
‘Oh come on, trust me. We’ll get in.’ Seth sat on the fence, then turned around. ‘You’re coming with, right? They only have two invitations, sugar-tits.’
‘I have a standing invitation, salty-balls.’ Louise pushed Seth over the wall, waited for the thud before lighting a clove, and calling out, ‘We’ll see you inside, Lukas.’
‘Invitations?’ Huntar, Bernard, and Louise stood in front of the two brutish, bouncers with bald heads and masks sitting sentinel at the door, like two gay gargoyles.