me.”
“Hey, cuz, that’s true, isn’t it?” He hung up on Ryan.
There was the honk of the Suburban from outside. Furball started bleating, barely allowing herself to be dragged, trotters skittering on the smooth industrial floor. They came to the emergency door with its dire red warnings. Joey with one hand banged the emergency exit panel and held Furball’s collar tight with the other. Whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop … Now that’s a really loud alarm, Skip thought.
“All right,” Joey D cried out, wrestling with the back half of the animal, “you bag of sheepshit, you’re coming to a party in Chapel Hill, okay? That’s a good girl…”
Justin jumped down from the driver’s seat to help, his mom’s van idling in position with its tailgate down, ready for loading. “I scraped the exhaust pipe,” he whined, rubbing the scratch with a licked finger. “I backed it up over the curb onto the sidewalk here—oh shit, you can really see this scrape. What is my mom gonna say?”
Joey D screamed in profanities violent and volcanic that Justin and Skip should participate more helpfully in getting the sheep into the back of the van.
Ryan arrived in time to see the emergency door ajar to the outside; he staggered back to the pen … no Furball. He ran through the emergency door in time to observe the van, tires spinning in the grass, pull away, divotting up mud, and speeding directly into a metal pole atop which was a purple martin birdhouse. The pole swayed and the birdhouse came loose and landed with a smash onto the windshield, shattering both objects … The van then backed up quickly, straight into the fenced outdoor daytime enclosure, putting out a taillight, before speeding away … but not back toward the highway but rather deeper into the meadow, bouncing out of sight with a spiraling-free hubcap catching a gleam from the streetlight before the van disappeared.
Ryan squeezed his cell phone … then hesitated.
He had let them in the building, he had let them in the sheep pens. He would surely get in trouble with the rest of them if he called the campus police. He called his cousin’s cell, but Joey D didn’t pick up so Ryan left a message:
“Of course, I’m gonna beat your smug-Carolina-bastard face in. That goes without saying. My friends and I will be at your gayboy frat house in an hour and I want my sheep back.”
* * *
Jerilyn nervously tailed along behind Corinne, the president, hoping to speak to her alone. It was eight P.M. and they were due to arrive at the Zipperhaus around nine. Corinne was in high makeup, formfitting designer jeans and a floppy silken top with a plunging neckline that would have revealed all, had she bent forward. Corinne explained that this was the first full-on party of the year and it was a tradition the Sigma Kappa Nus would be in super-slut mode, flash a little bosom, laugh, flirt, and then get out “at maximum tease,” right as the boys were panting and desperate. “This is the time for you new girls to show your wares,” Corinne chirped. “If they want you, then we want you!”
Some of the older sisters were chiding the pledges on looking like Library Science majors. Jerilyn figured she didn’t have one dress in her entire closet that was right for this sort of gathering. She settled for her tightest jeans—not so much tight in a designer way as they were outgrown from high school—and a midriff-baring top … But anyway, she had to talk to Corinne. She thought she finally had her alone when there was a knock at the door.
“God, what now?” Corinne said.
One of the workmen who had been digging up the front yard throughout the day was standing on the Sigmahouse porch.
“Yes?” Corinne hissed, as the older man in the blue workman’s clothes towered before her. “If you’re trying to get a free peek at all the girls, fella, I’ll call your boss and have a few words.”
“I am my boss,” said the man, “and we can talk about the
“Hey, cuz, that’s true, isn’t it?” He hung up on Ryan.
There was the honk of the Suburban from outside. Furball started bleating, barely allowing herself to be dragged, trotters skittering on the smooth industrial floor. They came to the emergency door with its dire red warnings. Joey with one hand banged the emergency exit panel and held Furball’s collar tight with the other. Whoop-whoop-whoop-whoop … Now that’s a really loud alarm, Skip thought.
“All right,” Joey D cried out, wrestling with the back half of the animal, “you bag of sheepshit, you’re coming to a party in Chapel Hill, okay? That’s a good girl…”
Justin jumped down from the driver’s seat to help, his mom’s van idling in position with its tailgate down, ready for loading. “I scraped the exhaust pipe,” he whined, rubbing the scratch with a licked finger. “I backed it up over the curb onto the sidewalk here—oh shit, you can really see this scrape. What is my mom gonna say?”
Joey D screamed in profanities violent and volcanic that Justin and Skip should participate more helpfully in getting the sheep into the back of the van.
Ryan arrived in time to see the emergency door ajar to the outside; he staggered back to the pen … no Furball. He ran through the emergency door in time to observe the van, tires spinning in the grass, pull away, divotting up mud, and speeding directly into a metal pole atop which was a purple martin birdhouse. The pole swayed and the birdhouse came loose and landed with a smash onto the windshield, shattering both objects … The van then backed up quickly, straight into the fenced outdoor daytime enclosure, putting out a taillight, before speeding away … but not back toward the highway but rather deeper into the meadow, bouncing out of sight with a spiraling-free hubcap catching a gleam from the streetlight before the van disappeared.
Ryan squeezed his cell phone … then hesitated.
He had let them in the building, he had let them in the sheep pens. He would surely get in trouble with the rest of them if he called the campus police. He called his cousin’s cell, but Joey D didn’t pick up so Ryan left a message:
“Of course, I’m gonna beat your smug-Carolina-bastard face in. That goes without saying. My friends and I will be at your gayboy frat house in an hour and I want my sheep back.”
* * *
Jerilyn nervously tailed along behind Corinne, the president, hoping to speak to her alone. It was eight P.M. and they were due to arrive at the Zipperhaus around nine. Corinne was in high makeup, formfitting designer jeans and a floppy silken top with a plunging neckline that would have revealed all, had she bent forward. Corinne explained that this was the first full-on party of the year and it was a tradition the Sigma Kappa Nus would be in super-slut mode, flash a little bosom, laugh, flirt, and then get out “at maximum tease,” right as the boys were panting and desperate. “This is the time for you new girls to show your wares,” Corinne chirped. “If they want you, then we want you!”
Some of the older sisters were chiding the pledges on looking like Library Science majors. Jerilyn figured she didn’t have one dress in her entire closet that was right for this sort of gathering. She settled for her tightest jeans—not so much tight in a designer way as they were outgrown from high school—and a midriff-baring top … But anyway, she had to talk to Corinne. She thought she finally had her alone when there was a knock at the door.
“God, what now?” Corinne said.
One of the workmen who had been digging up the front yard throughout the day was standing on the Sigmahouse porch.
“Yes?” Corinne hissed, as the older man in the blue workman’s clothes towered before her. “If you’re trying to get a free peek at all the girls, fella, I’ll call your boss and have a few words.”
“I am my boss,” said the man, “and we can talk about the
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