LUKE
On Monday, we have our chapter meeting, where we go over the calendar, the budget, and any issues that may arise. These are just as dreadfully boring as they sound, although I understand why they’re necessary.
If you don’t arrive early for these meetings, you don’t get a seat, but even though I’m five minutes ahead of schedule, I’m still relegated to a standing spot against the wall.
Until Tanner, of all people, says, “Bailey, sit here. Anthony, move your ass.”
I try not to raise my eyebrows. I’ve been receiving a helluva lot of praise from the guys since last night’s home run, but Tanner is Team Keaton. Since when do Keaton’s friends ask me to sit with them? And kicking Anthony off the couch, to boot? Is this an alternate dimension?
Still, I’m not about to look a gift frat horse in the mouth.
I settle on the sofa next to Tanner, while lowly sophomore Anthony scampers toward the wall.
“Yo,” Tanner says. “Guess who texted me this morning.”
“Who?”
“Cassidy,” he answers, and there’s a red tinge to his cheeks. “I’m taking her to dinner on Friday.”
I nod in approval. “Well done. She’s a sweet girl.” In fact, Cassidy is of my favorite dancers at Jack’s. I get along with all the women, but I have a soft spot for Cassidy. Not only because she’s sweet as pie, but because we both grew up in Darby. The locals have to look out for each other.
“Can’t believe you’re friends with all those strippers,” Paxton says from Tanner’s other side. He sounds envious. “That’s so fucking cool, bro.”
I just shrug. But inside, I give a mental fist pump. I knocked my Dance-off party out of the park yesterday. Even Hayworth knows it—his face was darker than a thundercloud as he watched all his friends dance and flirt with my girls until the wee hours of the morning.
Cassidy and company aren’t complaining, either. I paid them an hourly wage for serving the dinner, but then the brothers put a lot more cash in their hands. And nobody took things too far, thank God. I only had to remind one drunken sophomore that he wasn’t allowed to touch the dancers.
“Are we starting or what?” Judd grumbles from the other couch. “I got shit to do.”
Brad, our secretary, takes attendance on a clipboard. Along with sending out communications to our email list, this might be his only job. No free room for you, sucker.
“Okay, ladies,” begins Reed, our president. “We have several items of importance to get through before we feast on hot dogs, beer, and the hockey game. Go Bruins. First up! An investigation into an item that’s gone missing. Has anyone seen the toilet plunger that belongs in the second-floor bathroom? If this was some kind of prank, can it end now?”
I settle in as several theories are advanced and rejected. Someone makes a motion to buy a new toilet plunger and the motion is passed.
My mind wanders, as does my gaze. Keaton sits in one of the armchairs across from the couch, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up a couple of times to expose his muscled forearms. I have to wonder if he wore that shirt to look more presidential. Or if sending shirts to the cleaner is just easier for him than doing laundry like a normal person. Maybe he just likes dressing like a Vineyard Vines model.
I fight off a yawn, but at least I’m not the only one. Last night was lit. I don’t think anyone woke up before noon today. Except maybe Keaton, since he left my party early and went upstairs to sulk. Reed is now talking about the signup sheet for kitchen-cleaning duty. “This semester we went in alphabetical order. Next semester we’re reversing it.”
When I’m president, we’re going to have to spice up these meetings. I take the lid off the cup of coffee I brought, and gulp the rest of it down just in time to hear Reed say, “And now, each of our presidential candidates will have ninety seconds to answer the following question. Why do you want to be president next year? We’ll start with Keaton.”
Reed taps the stopwatch on his phone, and the timer begins to race forward.
Still, Keaton takes a thoughtful moment before he opens his mouth. “It’s funny, but I have two different answers to this question. The obvious one is that my father was president of Alpha Delta in 1988, and before that, my grandfather was president in 1962. So this is what my family does. And this gives me a nice perspective on what really matters here—not the missing toilet plunger in the green bathroom, but how to make sure that Alpha Delt is still here for the next hundred graduating classes.”
There’s no way I could ever compete with that kind of legacy. Which is why if he wins, the free room will go to the guy who needs it least.
“But, honestly, my history with this place isn’t my real reason for running.” Keaton’s brow furrows. “Good thing, right? Because it’s not reason enough. I’m really here because you are my people. When I come home every day, there’s always someone to talk to. There’s always a game on TV, and someone to say, ‘What’s up? Grab a seat.’ The real reason I want to be president is because I care about this place and I can’t think of a better use of my…”
“Time,” Reed says.
Keaton cocks a thumb toward Reed. “What he said.” And everybody has a chuckle for our favorite muscled-up blue blood.
So now I’m supposed to top that? The whole “you are my people” thing would never play from me. So my gut suggests that some amount of honesty might be the best course of action.
Too bad I hate sharing.
All eyes are on me as Reed resets his timer. “Okay, Luke. How about you?”
Indeed. I wait for him to tap the timer. And then I give it my best shot.
“My history with this place could not be more different.” Hello, honesty. “I have no family legacy here. I grew up in this town, in the shadow of the college. When I was a kid, I’d watch all the European cars line up outside freshman yard on move-in day. They had stickers on the back from schools that I’d never heard of. I’d ask, ‘where the heck is Choate?’”
“It’s nowhere interesting,” a brother interjects, and wins himself a ripple of laughter.
I ignore the interruption. “They told me, never mind, kid, your school is this one with the bars on the windows and the metal detectors at the front door. But it turns out that if you have a lot of drive, you can still make it to Darby. And I rushed Alpha Delt when I got here, because I wanted the full college experience.” Okay, not entirely honest here. But I can’t exactly say, I rushed the frat because my brother is a hooligan. “I’m running for president today because I believe that this can be a place for everyone.”
I check the faces around the room, and I’m getting some nods. So this is resonating with a few people, at least.
“In other words, let us carry the torch forward—so that wings night and poker and spring bash are the rule of the land!” As I raise an arm grandly, my cynicism is rewarded with laughter. But I barely have any time left on the clock.
“And by the way, I happen to be a finance major. So I like some of the jobs that other people don’t. During my term as president I want to implement a new electronic bookkeeping system to make the house run more smoothly. So there’s more time for everything fun. Thank you for your…” I break off and glance at Reed.
“Time!” he says, tapping his phone. Then he laughs. “See that? You flunkies are in good hands no matter how the vote goes in January. With that, I draw this meeting to a close. Hockey and dogs for all!”
A whoop goes up, and I rise from my chair.
“Nice job, man. Top shelf,” Ahmad says as he slaps me on the back. “Great party, too.”
“Dude, it was sick,” enthuses Owen Rickman, another one of Hayworth’s pals.
“That’s high praise, my man.” I manage to keep a straight face.
“Hey, Bailey? Hayworth? Wait up a second.” Tim Hoffman is waving us over. “I need party receipts from you guys.”
“Oh sure.” I dive into my pocket, happy to be asked. I fronted the money for the party, and I’m counting on the reimbursement to make rent this month. Plus, I blew off Friday night’s shifts, too, so I could witness Keaton’s Dance-off. “Here’s all my receipts, plus a spreadsheet printout with the totals.”
“Thank you kindly,” Hoffman says. “Keaton?”
“Oh, uh…” Keaton frowns. “I’ll run upstairs and see what I can find. What was the budget? I’ll just bring you receipts for that much.”
“Twelve hundred,” Hoffman says. “But dude, that was the whole budget. You weren’t allowed to go over.”
“I’m covering it,” Keaton says.
“No.” Hoffman shakes his head. “The point of the Dance-off is to throw a killer party inside that budget.”
In the silence that follows, I realize what just happened. Keaton broke the campaign rules. Badly, if the color of his face and neck are any indication.
And I might have just won the presidency.
“It’s right there in the chapter handbook,” I say slowly. But I’m suddenly cheering inside.
Our treasurer frowns. “Hey, Reed?” He beckons to our president. “We have ourselves a situation. Hayworth overspent the budget, which is against regulations.”
“Really?” Reed’s attention swings in our direction. “How much over was he?”
All eyes shift toward Hayworth.
Keaton hangs his head. “I easily spent triple that.”
“It’s a blatant violation of the rules,” I say, just in case that’s not clear.
“I didn’t know!” he snaps. “Jesus. I was just trying to throw a good party.”
“Uh-huh. Nice job.” My laugh is merciless. “We definitely need to elect a president who doesn’t bother to read the handbook.”
His hazel eyes flash, and his big hands open and close again. The dude would like nothing better than to grab me and hurl me across the room.
So of course I smile at him. Because I never did know when to shut up.
“Guys?” Reed puts two fingers in his mouth and lets out a piercing whistle toward the TV room. “Come back here for a second! We’re not done.”
A collective groan rises up among the brothers. I can feel their frustration. So close to freedom.
After Reed explains the situation to the guys, it doesn’t take long for most of them to draw their lines in the sand.
My buddy Jako leaps into the fray. “Obviously Keaton should bow out of the race.”
“Says who?” Keaton demands
“Says common sense,” Jako answers with a smile. “And honesty. Decency. Respectability…”
“Bow out?” Judd snaps, stepping in. “Nobody’s bowing out.”
“Keaton cheated,” I growl.
“Unknowingly,” Keaton says quickly. “You make it sound like a plot to overthrow the government. Chaos reigns! The plunger will never be found!” He rolls his eyes. But his neck is still the color of an embarrassed tomato.
“This is stupid,” Judd declares. “K is as honest as they come.”
“Damn straight,” says someone else, and there are noises of agreement. I feel all my new allies slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
And I now realize this is not so simple. Keaton ought to bow out immediately. But if he doesn’t, and I make a big stink over it, I’m going to look like a tight-ass for pushing him out on a technicality.
Goddamn it.
“I know,” Owen says, brightening up. “Let’s have another round of parties! It’ll be a do-over.”
“No,” both Keaton and I snap in unison. Then we look at each other with identical frowns of irritation. But hey, at least we agree on something.
“There’s no budget for two more parties,” I point out. “And budgets matter. That’s kind of the point.”
Yup, I sound just like a tight-ass.
“Not to mention that winter break starts in four days,” Judd says. “Are we done here yet? Keaton made a mistake. He’s sorry. Would you really want to exclude the probable winner from the race on a technicality?”
As a matter of fact I would. But everyone is staring at me. They all want a hot dog and a view of the TV screen. I’m in the way of it.
“You know what?” I decide in a hurry. “Let’s just say that candidate Keaton ought to go read the rules of the fraternity he’s so keen to run. But it’s true that the Dance-off isn’t the most important measure of a man.”
“Right.” Owen nods. “We have dick measurements for that.”
“So I’m going to let it slide,” I say, as if the whole thing is up to me. “Keaton made an honest mistake.”
Reed blinks. “Okay, man. That’s the easiest solution.”
I put my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Now let’s watch some hockey.”
Most of the brothers turn toward the TV room again, where it’s going to be standing-room only until the grill is hot and the dogs are ready. I’m ready to follow them, when Keaton stops me.
“Bailey…” He clears his throat, like it might actually kill him to speak to me. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, giving him nothing. “What’s a few thousand dollars to you, right? Oops. Great party, though.”
He flinches. “Yours was, uh, pretty great, too.”
“Thanks, man. But I already knew that.”
“You don’t have to be a dick, Bailey, I’m trying to apologize.”
“I’m not a dick if I let your sorry ass stay in the race,” I hiss. “Let’s not forget what really happened here. You fucked up and I let you off the hook. The end.” At that, I push past him and go.
