have to
drink what someone else brought.” Slowly the tide of opinion was changing,
going in favor of Jeremy’s idea. “You could have Cuban sandwiches, whatever
they eat in Russia.”
I laughed. “Have everyone get in a line when they
arrive, give them a slice of bread,” I called out. The people who had already
decided in favor of Jeremy’s idea shouted approval.
“Right! Right! And like, you could have commie-themed punch or something, something
Cold War.”
“Give people a ration card for
their drinks,” one of the history buffs suggested. “Of course, girls get an extra three or four punches on their cards…” I rolled
my eyes as everyone around me started hooting their agreement with that idea.
“How many punches does Mia get?” the guy sitting
next to me, Robbie, asked.
“Same as a guy,” Rodney said.
“Give her two cards—one for a guy and one for a
girl. See which one she fills up first.” Everyone in the frat knew I was a
girl, of course; but they’d adopted me as one of their own. If it weren’t for
the restrictions on membership, they’d have taken me on as a pledge—and one of
the seniors had suggested I join the sister sorority so I could work with them
and hang out with them in an official capacity. But the idea of living in a
house with fifty girls, synching up my period with them or having to go get my
nails done every other week just didn’t appeal to me. So I’d become the
unofficial mascot of the Phi Kappa Alpha frat, always there and one of the
guys, but not an official member. It was better than hanging in my dorm, that was for sure.
Ideas started flying; the handful of history geeks
in the group were all about Jeremy’s idea, and it was
fun and amusing enough that everyone else jumped on it too. Fred, the senior
member of the group, proclaimed that he’d bring it to the other leaders and
they’d vote on it, but he was personally sold.
“If this gets off the ground, Jeremy, I’m putting
you in charge of the punch. Come up with something good we can tie in to the
theme.” Jeremy nodded.
Taking my eyes off of the screen for a moment, I
could see he was pleased, more than he was showing; he was trying to work his
way up into some kind of authority in the frat, and if he could take credit for
a raging party idea, he’d be on his way to getting elected by his brothers to
one of the lower authority positions when elections came up next semester.
He’d been my ticket into the group. I turned my
attention back onto the game, shouting with the rest of the guys when a bad
call was made or a particularly good strategy played off but really thinking
about my first week at college. I’d made my plans right away; all through high
school I’d been one of the guys, and I had no intention of changing that now
that I was, as my mom said, a “grown woman”. I kept a sharp eye out for the
kind of event I wanted—and kept my ear to the ground for gossip about who I could fit in with. I’d heard about the Phi Kappa Alpha
guys within the first day; they were known around campus as the “bad boy”
frat—and I knew I wanted to at least be friends with some of them.
When I’d heard about the afternoon basketball game,
on my second day of orientation, I’d made sure to remember the time. During
orientation week there weren’t any classes, so apart from going to seminars
about safe sex or the different clubs on campus, my schedule was free. I put on
my raggedy gym shorts and tee shirt and ran out to the courts while everyone
was gathering; there were enough people there for two teams—just enough,
including me. I was the only girl who wanted to play. The
rest of them all crowded on the other side of the fence, filling up the benches
to watch the guys. One of the guys, an upperclassman and orientation
leader, scoffed at me insisting that I really did want to play. “This isn’t
high school JV,” he told me. “You play with us, you’re
going to break a nail.” I rolled my
drink what someone else brought.” Slowly the tide of opinion was changing,
going in favor of Jeremy’s idea. “You could have Cuban sandwiches, whatever
they eat in Russia.”
I laughed. “Have everyone get in a line when they
arrive, give them a slice of bread,” I called out. The people who had already
decided in favor of Jeremy’s idea shouted approval.
“Right! Right! And like, you could have commie-themed punch or something, something
Cold War.”
“Give people a ration card for
their drinks,” one of the history buffs suggested. “Of course, girls get an extra three or four punches on their cards…” I rolled
my eyes as everyone around me started hooting their agreement with that idea.
“How many punches does Mia get?” the guy sitting
next to me, Robbie, asked.
“Same as a guy,” Rodney said.
“Give her two cards—one for a guy and one for a
girl. See which one she fills up first.” Everyone in the frat knew I was a
girl, of course; but they’d adopted me as one of their own. If it weren’t for
the restrictions on membership, they’d have taken me on as a pledge—and one of
the seniors had suggested I join the sister sorority so I could work with them
and hang out with them in an official capacity. But the idea of living in a
house with fifty girls, synching up my period with them or having to go get my
nails done every other week just didn’t appeal to me. So I’d become the
unofficial mascot of the Phi Kappa Alpha frat, always there and one of the
guys, but not an official member. It was better than hanging in my dorm, that was for sure.
Ideas started flying; the handful of history geeks
in the group were all about Jeremy’s idea, and it was
fun and amusing enough that everyone else jumped on it too. Fred, the senior
member of the group, proclaimed that he’d bring it to the other leaders and
they’d vote on it, but he was personally sold.
“If this gets off the ground, Jeremy, I’m putting
you in charge of the punch. Come up with something good we can tie in to the
theme.” Jeremy nodded.
Taking my eyes off of the screen for a moment, I
could see he was pleased, more than he was showing; he was trying to work his
way up into some kind of authority in the frat, and if he could take credit for
a raging party idea, he’d be on his way to getting elected by his brothers to
one of the lower authority positions when elections came up next semester.
He’d been my ticket into the group. I turned my
attention back onto the game, shouting with the rest of the guys when a bad
call was made or a particularly good strategy played off but really thinking
about my first week at college. I’d made my plans right away; all through high
school I’d been one of the guys, and I had no intention of changing that now
that I was, as my mom said, a “grown woman”. I kept a sharp eye out for the
kind of event I wanted—and kept my ear to the ground for gossip about who I could fit in with. I’d heard about the Phi Kappa Alpha
guys within the first day; they were known around campus as the “bad boy”
frat—and I knew I wanted to at least be friends with some of them.
When I’d heard about the afternoon basketball game,
on my second day of orientation, I’d made sure to remember the time. During
orientation week there weren’t any classes, so apart from going to seminars
about safe sex or the different clubs on campus, my schedule was free. I put on
my raggedy gym shorts and tee shirt and ran out to the courts while everyone
was gathering; there were enough people there for two teams—just enough,
including me. I was the only girl who wanted to play. The
rest of them all crowded on the other side of the fence, filling up the benches
to watch the guys. One of the guys, an upperclassman and orientation
leader, scoffed at me insisting that I really did want to play. “This isn’t
high school JV,” he told me. “You play with us, you’re
going to break a nail.” I rolled my
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