CHAPTER eighteen
Ethan didn’t hook up with Greg for the rest of the week and he felt grateful to have two eight-page papers due on Friday. Usually, Ethan was not a procrastinator, but his mind had been elsewhere lately. He tried sitting down to write paper number one on Tuesday night, but he didn’t see a blank screen. He kept seeing Greg’s eyes, looking at him, then looking away. No kiss. No nothing. Just super-secret public sex.
Forcing himself to get those papers finished was a blessing in disguise. It gave his head a break.
He woke up early on Saturday, rustled awake by the stomping of sneakers down the hall. Patches of lime green strolled past him. Kids were dressed in Browerton garb head to toe. “Go Whitetails!” was painted onto a girl’s cheek.
Game day.
His dormmates rumbled through the halls in high spirits. The only reason college students got up before eight in the morning was for class or drinking. Mostly for drinking. He could smell the sour stench of beer wafting from someone’s room.
“GO WHITETAILS!” a dormmate shouted at Ethan, almost as an indictment against him missing the game.
He watched them go by. They were pumped, filled to the brim with energy. Cliques mashing with cliques, being normal, all-American, fun-loving college students. They felt a world away from Ethan.
“Hey!” Lorna had on a green football jersey and green Mardi Gras beads and a green streak was clipped into her wavy hair. “I was just coming to get you,” she said. “For the game.”
Ethan’s face scrunched into a ball of confusion. “I don’t have a ticket.”
“Neither do I. They’re seriously overpriced. But my sorority is having a tailgate in the parking lot. Did you want to come?”
He had a vision of a drunken mosh pit. When you mixed rowdy football fans and copious amounts of alcohol, it equaled a place Ethan excelled at avoiding.
“Isn’t that just for your sorority? I mean, do they allow boys?”
“This isn’t the 1950s. We’re allowed to socialize with boys. Some girls are bringing their boyfriends, and a lot more are bringing their gay guy friends. Maybe we can find you a cutie.” Lorna strummed her fingers together like she was devising a devious plot. “A cutie to take your mind off your hottie.”
Ethan blushed. No one had ever taken interest in his dating life, not like there was much to take interest in. Still, it felt good to be asked. Even if he was hung up on one guy in particular.
She bounced in the doorway, and her excitement began to rub off on Ethan. His smile was elastic, and he got on his tiptoes for no discernible reason.
“You’re going now? I just got up.”
“You’re a guy. It’ll take you five minutes to get ready.” Lorna leaned against the doorway, taking a breather. “So are you in?”
Ethan thought about Jessica and his friends. They loved to sleep in and grab brunch off-campus, where they could avoid the football ruckus. Jessica probably had a new activity mapped out that would top the sculpture garden.
“I’m taking your hesitation and the fact that you haven’t slammed the door in my face as a yes,” she said.
But day drinking would also relieve tension. Possibly. Ethan nodded yes.
“Yes!” Lorna threw her arms up. “We’re going to have so much fun.”
He hoped so.
Φ
The tailgate was not a mosh pit. Lorna’s sorority set up a tent between two vans. The “bar” consisted of a folding table with bottles of off-brand hard alcohol and off-brand mixers, plus a keg in the corner. There was no furniture throwing, no fights, no madness. Just drinking and good times.
And peer pressure.
“You have to do one shot with me.” Lorna held a shot of vodka inches from Ethan’s mouth. The harsh fumes of the drink stung his nose.
“I don’t know. I think I’ll stick with beer.” Or what passes for beer.
“You’ve barely drunk your beer. Because it’s nasty.” Lorna eyed his red Solo cup, nearly filled to the brim. “Come on. Do one shot with me, and I won’t bug you for the rest of the day.”
Ethan never thought he would be the type to do shots at a party. He had never done a shot period. It seemed to be an important part of his college life and personal growth, too. He wondered what Jessica and his friends would think. What would Greg think?
Not like it matters.
He took the shot glass from Lorna.
“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Okay, what are we drinking to?”
“I don’t know. Go Whitetails?”
“How about to us? I’m glad you’re here,” Lorna said, sincerity peeking through her loud demeanor. That warmed Ethan’s heart.
And the vodka burned it. Holy shit. The alcohol sloshed down his throat, singeing anything in its path. He thought his insides were going to char, yet he was fine a few seconds later.
“Lorna! Are you doing shots without me?”
Ethan tensed up. He knew that voice. Sahil wrapped his arm around Lorna and grinded against her, singing to the music. Lorna scream-laughed. They easily drew all attention in the tent.
“Oh dear Lord. When did you start drinking?” she asked.
“Seven.”
“A.M.?”
“P.M., baby. I haven’t stopped since last night! Go Whitetails!”
Lorna scream-laughed again and joined his grind-dance. Ethan just stood there, not really sure how to proceed. He doubted he would ever reach their energy level. Some people were born on full blast.
“Sahil, this is my friend Ethan. He’s fucking awesome. Ethan, this is my fucking awesome friend Sahil.”
“Hey, I know you. You’re Greg’s friend.”
Ethan’s face became engulfed in flames. He sneaked a peek at Lorna, and she bit her lip. “Well, we’re not friends. We just have a class together.”
“Cool.” Sahil shrugged, and that was that. “So is this your boyfriend, Lorna?”
“Why? Jealous?” Lorna hugged Ethan, and if it were possible, his face got redder.
“We’re in the same dorm,” Ethan said quietly. Compared to these two, anything he said came out as a whisper.
Sahil chugged his beer while swaying to the music. He gave a head nod to one of Lorna’s sisters. “Is Stacy still seeing that guy?”
“I don’t know. You should ask her.”
Sahil checked-out Lorna’s sorority sister as she strutted to the drinks table. Ethan had no right to call him a creep since he’d done the same thing to guys. Especially Greg. If Sahil were here, then perhaps Greg was, too. Sahil asked him a question, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“What?” Ethan asked.
“You got your eye on anyone here? Lorna has quite the hook-up.”
Ethan didn’t know how to answer. Greg had said that Sahil wasn’t the most open-minded, and a drunk Sahil could be even worse. Ethan was out at Browerton, but that didn’t mean he had to announce it to everyone. Sahil seemed to like this partygoing version of Ethan. If he picked up on context clues, then so be it.
“I’m keeping my options open,” Ethan said and breathed a sigh of relief. Sahil gave him a high-five that burned his palm.
“I like it!” Sahil said.
Kids began gathering at the drinks table. Lorna’s face lit up. “Are you guys up for playing some flip cup?”
Ethan frowned. “What’s that?”
Φ
Ethan’s heart pounded in his ears like a ticking clock. He looked to his right, then down at his cup of beer.
“It’s you and me, lover,” Lorna said, across the table, taunting him. “Are you ready?”
“Of course.” Of course not!
They were in the middle of Ethan’s first-ever game of flip cup. Two teams of six people lined up on opposite sides of the folding table, each person with a half-full cup of beer in front of them. You had to chug your beer, then flip your cup so that it landed perfectly upside-down and didn’t tip over. The next team member couldn’t go until the one before accomplished this seemingly simple, yet vitally important, task.
“Talk smack all you want. We got this,” Sahil said. He stood to Ethan’s left. He was the caboose, ready to bring home a victory. As long as Ethan didn’t mess everything up.
Ethan watched the people ahead of him with complete trepidation. He didn’t want to be the guy who couldn’t flip a cup. He didn’t want to let his team down and be excommunicated from the tailgate.
Uh-oh. His teammate on his right was a master at this. She downed her beer and flipped her cup before Ethan could curse to himself, and now it was his turn.
Crap crap crap.
He slammed the beer down his throat, willing it to go down, ignoring his gag reflex and the gross taste that coated his mouth. He may puke, but not before flipping this fucking cup. Lorna’s teammate flipped her cup, and now Lorna was chugging her beer like it was water in a desert. Ethan’s headstart vanished with each gulp.
He mimicked what the other kids did, positioning the cup on the edge of the table, placing his fingertips underneath, and flicking.
The cup bounced on its rim and fell over. Ethan went to flip it again. The cup somersaulted in the air and landed on its side. His hands shook. Panic spread throughout him. Focus. Concentrate.
“You got this, bro,” Sahil said.
Lorna swallowed the last bits of beer. Their teams cheered them on with fervor. The noise swirled around Ethan.
He held his cup in place. Edge. Fingertips.
Lorna positioned her cup with ease and relaxed precision, like she’d done this a million times. Maybe she had.
Ethan inhaled and steadied his fingertips. His body entered a state of calm as he flicked his fingers. The cup flew in the air and time stood still. Ethan held his breath, watching the cup spin.
And it stuck the landing! Ethan threw up his hands and cheered, screaming as loud as his teammates.
“You got this!” he said to Sahil. Who did, quite easily. He chugged and flipped in a matter of seconds.
“Yes! WOO!” Sahil high-fived Ethan so hard his fingers almost snapped off.
Ethan’s team fistbumped each other. One girl hugged him tight. Lorna was not a sore loser at all.
“Not bad for a first timer. I’m glad I could pop your cherry,” she said. “But now it’s time to kick your ass.”
“Wait. That was your first time?” Sahil asked.
Ethan nodded.
“Holy shit! You’re like a fucking savant or something. My first time it took me like five minutes to flip the fucker.”
Ethan shrugged. “I have a gift.” Sahil slapped his back. This time, Ethan braced for impact.
“Yeah, you do!”
“We playing again?” Ethan asked the table.
And they played a few more rounds. By the fifth game, Ethan forgot how sour the beer tasted. He forgot about everything. His body felt lighter, filled up like a helium balloon. In a game break to change the keg, Ethan rested his arm on Lorna’s shoulder.
“Having a good time?” she asked.
He clinked his cup against hers and finished his beer.
Φ
“G,” Lorna said, flicking her eyes at a tall, blond guy pouring himself a screwdriver.
Ethan shifted his eyes up to get a look. He was cute, with freckles dotting his face, and he had this jovial way about him that Ethan could tell he was gay. Hence, the G. It wasn’t the most subtle code, but for two drunk sophomores at a tailgate, it worked.
Lorna waved and greeted him with a “hey, sexy.”
He was unfazed and hugged her.
“Dean, I want you to meet Ethan.” Lorna waved her cup at Ethan; beer splattered onto the pavement.
But Ethan had already spotted another G. Greg was a few cars over with his fraternity. A banner with their Greek letters hung across the side of a black SUV. Greg chilled in the corner by the keg with some of his brothers, but he spotted Ethan quickly. Ethan wondered if he’d caught him staring or if Greg had known he was here the whole time. Blame it on the alcohol. Whatever was going on, blame it on the alcohol.
Lorna snapped a finger in front of Ethan’s face. It startled him, but it still took a delayed moment for him to face her.
“Shouldn’t the game be starting by now?” Ethan asked, apropos of nothing.
“It’s only nine-thirty,” Dean said with a laugh. Not a hearty laugh like Greg. Ethan wasn’t going to play this game with himself. “Kickoff isn’t until eleven.”
“Wow. You guys start early,” he said.
“Some people started tailgating at seven-thirty.”
“Some started last night,” Lorna said. Her face changed as she figured out who was hogging Ethan’s eyeline.
And now Greg was coming over to their tailgate. Ethan shook out the nerves bunching in his hands.
He had on a lime-green hoodie and those same warm-up pants. A baseball cap with “Sucka Sucka What” scribbled in Magic Marker sat askew on his head. On anyone else, the outfit would’ve looked stupid and very “pretty fly for a white guy,” but on Greg everything looked good. Clothes knew how to hug certain parts of him and leave others a mystery.
“Gee whiz, Dean,” Lorna said. She pointed her empty beer cup at him. “I need a refill. And so do you.”
He escorted her to the keg, and Lorna shot Ethan a knowing smile over her shoulder. For her silence and anti-cockblocking support, Ethan was forever grateful. Here’s-my-kidney grateful.
Greg swaggered up to Ethan, and his cologne, mixed with his natural musky scent and the beer on his breath, combined into a potion that sent every part of Ethan swooning.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Greg asked. “Or is that Ethan Follett at a tailgate, drunk off his ass?”
He makes my whole name sound so hot! Ethan wanted him to say it five hundred more times.
“I’m slightly intoxicated. I probably can’t drive a tractor, but I could squeak by in a sobriety test.”
Greg arched back with a laugh. He had an empty cup in his hand, and Ethan didn’t know what came over him, but he poured in half his beer. He blamed it on the Folly part of him unleashing itself.
“I can’t believe you’re here. I saw you playing flip cup with Sahil. Did you come with your lame-ass friends?”
“They’re not lame,” Ethan said out of obligation. He swung his arm to point at Lorna. Well, Lorna’s vicinity. “I’m here with my friend, Lorna. She’s in this sorority.”
“Oh. I thought you were.”
“I’m laughing on the inside.” And then Ethan was laughing on the outside. Did I just snort? He decided he must be drunk.
Greg cheers-ed with him and sipped on the beer. “Tell your sorority to bring better beer next time. That shit is rank.”
“You should’ve joined us for flip cup. I won twice!”
“Did you now?” Greg was in full Cheshire-cat-smile mode. Dimple on full display.
Ethan leaned against a tent pole, which was not able to support his weight. The tent wobbled and almost collapsed, and that was a sober punch to the face for him. Was he really being the drunk idiot at the party? There was always one, and Ethan refused to play the part.
“I’m going to sit down.” He plopped into a folding chair with a cupholder. “This is fun.”
“I’m glad.” And Greg sounded like he meant it. He overturned an empty ice bucket and sat across from Ethan. “See? Isn’t this more fun than staying in the dorm with your ‘friends’?”
“What’s with the—” Ethan made his own air quotes, which looked more like bear claws. Yep, still drunk. “They’re my friends.”
“Why would they go to the movies without telling you?”
Ethan slumped back in his chair. He didn’t have an answer yet because he hadn’t broached the subject with Jessica. He kept telling himself to let it blow over, that it wasn’t a big deal. He didn’t want to be on the defensive. Criticizing his friends was like criticizing him.
“I’m sorry,” Greg said. “I just… Why are you friends with them?”
“I just am. We’re in the same dorm. Yes, sometimes they forget to include me. And sometimes, I don’t enjoy their idea of fun. They’re not perfect, but they’re my friends.”
“Then maybe you should find new friends.” Greg’s jaw tensed, and his eyes brimmed with concern, a new feature for him. Ethan didn’t understand why Greg cared so much.
“Like it’s so easy?” Ethan said. The alcohol opened doors within him that he usually kept locked. He knew he should stop talking, but he couldn’t. “I’m not like you. I can’t just walk out my door and instantly make a new crew of friends. It’s not easy for everyone. I didn’t have any real friends in high school. I was friendly with people in class, but once the bell rang, they just forgot about me. One time, I was on a Model UN trip, and the whole team met in someone’s room to have a party. Every single person on the team was in this kid’s hotel room, drinking, smoking, living it up.” The memory barreled into Ethan’s mind, and his throat went dry. Tears beaded at his eyes. Not here. Anyplace but here. But the memory had already been unlocked. “Except me. I was in the next room over, and nobody thought to invite me. That was me in high school. So Jessica and them may not be perfect, but they’re a hell of a lot better than what I had.”
Ethan dabbed at his eyes to get rid of any trace of crying. Any trace of smirk or irony was gone from Greg’s face, and he looked down at his cup.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Why did you?” Ethan shot back.
“I didn’t like how they treated you. I hated seeing you upset at the movies,” Greg said softly.
The memory receded, and Ethan took a deep breath. “So, still want to hook up across campus with me?” he said with a laugh.
“Yes.” Greg still wasn’t smiling.
Things had never been this serious between them, and Ethan didn’t know how to proceed. It wasn’t them.
“Tell me a story,” Ethan said.
“About?”
“Tell me a story about football.” He gestured to the stadium. “Have you ever gone to a game here?”
“Hell yeah. I painted my stomach sophomore year. I was the H in ‘GO WHITETAILS.’”
“I tried watching a football game once. I had no idea what was going on.”
“Were you in the stadium?”
“No. At home. There was nothing else on TV.”
“See. That was your big mistake,” Greg said. He inched the bucket closer to Ethan. Probably because it’d gotten much louder in the tent. “Games are best watched in person, not cooped up by yourself. You feed off the energy of the stands, of being surrounded by all these people. I used to go to games with my dad, and they were insane. I couldn’t see a damn thing, but I knew what was going on depending on my section’s reaction. I could tell how the team was doing based on the amount of swearing my dad did. It wasn’t just a game. It was an experience. You could go into that stadium and have no idea who any of the players are, but you’re part of a team and your hopes and dreams are in their grubby, massive hands.”
Ethan imagined Greg back at the game, looking up at his dad. This was the first time Greg had ever mentioned his dad to Ethan. He felt like he was glimpsing behind the curtain for just a second, seeing a part of Greg closed to the public. It was so rare when people let you see the private places within them, that you couldn’t take them for granted.
“You should try to experience a game in the stands,” Greg said.
And that’s when Ethan leaned forward slightly and placed his hand on Greg’s knee. He gave it a squeeze and kept it there. “Sounds like a good time,” he choked out over his own blinding fear.
“It was.” Greg didn’t move his knee. He didn’t move any part of him. He and Ethan exchanged a look that cut through all the small-talk and pleasantries and banter and other surface bullshit that made up the bulk of their lives.
“It’s time for a shot!” Lorna yelled.
Greg jumped up from his bucket just in time to receive a Jell-O shot from Lorna. Ethan retracted his hand and grabbed one for himself.
“On the count of three, go Whitetails!” she said. “One…two…”
Ethan tried to read Greg’s face, but he was already back to Fun Greg.
“Trés, motherfuckers!” Greg yelled.
They sucked down the shots. Greg returned to his frat’s tailgate shortly thereafter to play beer pong. He didn’t invite Ethan back with him.
“I can’t believe it,” Lorna said to Ethan once Greg left. She sounded more sober than her shots request led on. “That’s your Frat Guy.”
“I know. I’m pathetic.”
“What? Why?”
“I am totally into Greg. I made a move, and he jumped back.” The rejection weighed down Ethan. He never knew he could want someone, his whole heart yearning for someone, like he wanted Greg.
“Oh, trust me, Ethan. I may be drunk, but I’m not stupid.” She slapped an arm around his shoulder. “The feeling is mutual.”