party.
“I’d like to shower first. Can you come back in an hour?” I ask.
“Sure. I’ll be back.”
Troy shuts the door and turns to me. I rifle through my bag looking for something decent to wear.
“Um. Don’t you think we should talk?”
“About what?” I inquire as I yank a black shirt out of my luggage.
“About why you’re here. About what’s happened. Do you need some time?”
“I’m fine.” I pile my clothes on my arm and go into the bathroom. “Don’t worry about me,” I add and shut the door.
I spend the entire hour in the bathroom taming my unruly brown hair and applying my makeup to try to conceal the bags under my eyes and the haunting despair in them. Troy and Jake are talking in hushed voices. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be so I come out of the bathroom. Troy tries to hide it but I can tell he’s impressed with the way I look. I walk over to the bed and slip my heels on.
“Wow!” Jake comments.
“It’s a shirt and jeans,” I deadpan.
“It must be the way you fill it out then. Watch out, the guys at the frat house have no filter and loose hands.”
“I think I can handle it.” I shrug my shoulders, not caring, because I am so numb that I really don’t feel like doing anything. A party, eating, or even sleeping right now would be an effort.
Troy pulls the car up to the curb and parks a few buildings away from the commotion. The front lawn is alive with cheering and teeming with people.
“What’s going on?” I ask, interested to know what these shirtless guys are running around for.
“The Gauntlet. It’s a drinking game,” Troy shares, shutting off the car.
“Looks like I’m late,” Jake mutters, popping out of the backseat. “See you inside.” He jogs up to the crowd. It’s rowdy, and different partiers slap Jake on the back or shake his hand. Jake must be pretty popular.
“Are you ready?” Troy asks.
I nod and open my door. He escorts me to the grassy area with a backdrop of the frat house. We melt into a group of guys and girls. It’s overwhelming and the music is blaring. There are so many people close together. People I don’t know. Everything is new to me.
Someone yells, “Go!” Through the bodies of bystanders, I see two guys racing and stopping short by a line of girls with beers.
“What are they doing?”
“They have to chug five beers.” Troy points. “Wrestle those guys over there, and if they win they have to fight the last man standing for the last run for the little Irish flag over there.”
I strain over the heads in front of me to see.
“Interesting,” I comment, really trying to get a good look.
“Whoa! Where have you been hiding this piece of ass, O’Connell?”
Behind us, a guy is stumbling and his eyes are glazed from intoxication.
I spin, shooting daggers at him, and spew, “Wherever you can’t find me, dick!”
“Oh, dude, she’s sassy and beautiful...”
“Kurt, why don’t you grab yourself a drink in the house?”
“Why don’t you go up there and hand out drinks when it’s my turn?” He takes a deliberate step toward me and drags his eyes up and down my figure. The little hairs on the back of my neck rise but I don’t let that deter me from letting this jerk have it.
“Do I look like a fuckin’ waitress to you, asshole?” I sneer. “The only way you’re getting a drink from me is when I throw it in your face.”
Troy gently slips his fingers under my forearm, nudging me to walk away.
“Chooch,” I mumble, sick of this guy’s shit already and I don’t even know him.
“Why don’t we go watch Jake?” Troy suggests, trying really hard to keep the peace.
But Kurt’s next sentence makes Troy’s fingers and body go rigid. I don’t know him too well so I’m not really sure how to read him.
“Wow! Troy, you have a serious bitch on your hands,” Kurt slurs.
Troy’s fist snaps out and clocks Kurt right in the jaw. No one notices the drunken guy thump to the ground, which is
“I’d like to shower first. Can you come back in an hour?” I ask.
“Sure. I’ll be back.”
Troy shuts the door and turns to me. I rifle through my bag looking for something decent to wear.
“Um. Don’t you think we should talk?”
“About what?” I inquire as I yank a black shirt out of my luggage.
“About why you’re here. About what’s happened. Do you need some time?”
“I’m fine.” I pile my clothes on my arm and go into the bathroom. “Don’t worry about me,” I add and shut the door.
I spend the entire hour in the bathroom taming my unruly brown hair and applying my makeup to try to conceal the bags under my eyes and the haunting despair in them. Troy and Jake are talking in hushed voices. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be so I come out of the bathroom. Troy tries to hide it but I can tell he’s impressed with the way I look. I walk over to the bed and slip my heels on.
“Wow!” Jake comments.
“It’s a shirt and jeans,” I deadpan.
“It must be the way you fill it out then. Watch out, the guys at the frat house have no filter and loose hands.”
“I think I can handle it.” I shrug my shoulders, not caring, because I am so numb that I really don’t feel like doing anything. A party, eating, or even sleeping right now would be an effort.
Troy pulls the car up to the curb and parks a few buildings away from the commotion. The front lawn is alive with cheering and teeming with people.
“What’s going on?” I ask, interested to know what these shirtless guys are running around for.
“The Gauntlet. It’s a drinking game,” Troy shares, shutting off the car.
“Looks like I’m late,” Jake mutters, popping out of the backseat. “See you inside.” He jogs up to the crowd. It’s rowdy, and different partiers slap Jake on the back or shake his hand. Jake must be pretty popular.
“Are you ready?” Troy asks.
I nod and open my door. He escorts me to the grassy area with a backdrop of the frat house. We melt into a group of guys and girls. It’s overwhelming and the music is blaring. There are so many people close together. People I don’t know. Everything is new to me.
Someone yells, “Go!” Through the bodies of bystanders, I see two guys racing and stopping short by a line of girls with beers.
“What are they doing?”
“They have to chug five beers.” Troy points. “Wrestle those guys over there, and if they win they have to fight the last man standing for the last run for the little Irish flag over there.”
I strain over the heads in front of me to see.
“Interesting,” I comment, really trying to get a good look.
“Whoa! Where have you been hiding this piece of ass, O’Connell?”
Behind us, a guy is stumbling and his eyes are glazed from intoxication.
I spin, shooting daggers at him, and spew, “Wherever you can’t find me, dick!”
“Oh, dude, she’s sassy and beautiful...”
“Kurt, why don’t you grab yourself a drink in the house?”
“Why don’t you go up there and hand out drinks when it’s my turn?” He takes a deliberate step toward me and drags his eyes up and down my figure. The little hairs on the back of my neck rise but I don’t let that deter me from letting this jerk have it.
“Do I look like a fuckin’ waitress to you, asshole?” I sneer. “The only way you’re getting a drink from me is when I throw it in your face.”
Troy gently slips his fingers under my forearm, nudging me to walk away.
“Chooch,” I mumble, sick of this guy’s shit already and I don’t even know him.
“Why don’t we go watch Jake?” Troy suggests, trying really hard to keep the peace.
But Kurt’s next sentence makes Troy’s fingers and body go rigid. I don’t know him too well so I’m not really sure how to read him.
“Wow! Troy, you have a serious bitch on your hands,” Kurt slurs.
Troy’s fist snaps out and clocks Kurt right in the jaw. No one notices the drunken guy thump to the ground, which is
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