The Rules of Attraction

SEAN Terror in the Dining Halls. Part IVXVV. The girl who f**ked Mitchell last night and who I want to f**k again is standing over at the Beverage Center. I can see her very clearly from where I sit. She’s talking to her overweight lesbian (probably) potter friend. Wearing a dress that I really can’t describe. I guess you’d call it a kimono maybe but shorter and with a sweatshirt over it. It’s bulky but you can still tell that she has a good body and it doesn’t look like she’s wearing a bra so her tits look nice. I sort of know this girl; after we’d spent the night together, I talked to her at a Friday night party in Franklin. She might be in one of my classes but I’m not sure since I don’t go often enough to tell. But, whatever the story is, she is next.



Dinner again and I’m sitting with the usual crew: Tony, Norris, Tim, Getch. The goddamn House Pigs, our house band, woke me up at four this afternoon, rehearsing above my room. I took a shower, aware when I was blow-drying my hair that I missed two classes today and that I have to find a major before the end of the month. I paced the room, smoking, listening to old Velvet Underground hoping it would drown the House Pigs out, until it was time for dinner. They were still playing when I left for Commons.



Jason was serving and I told him I talked to Rupert and that I could get him the four grams by tomorrow night, but that he should take his sunglasses off because they make him look too suspicious. He only smiled and gave me an extra slab of meat, or turkey, or pork or whatever the hell it was he was serving, which was cool considering, I guess. So, I’m looking at that girl, wondering if she’s the one who’s been putting those notes in my box and I get excited—even if it’s not her. But then her fat friend says something to her and they both look at our table and I look down and pretend to eat. I think she’s a Sophomore and I’m pretty sure she lives in Swan but I’m not going to ask anyone at this table. I don’t want to take the fun out of the pursuit. Tim’s a bonehead for getting Sara pregnant and he doesn’t care. I screwed Sara a couple of times my second year. In fact most of the guys at the table had. It seemed almost like a joke that Tim just got stuck with the short end of the stick, the deal. But no one’s too upset or morose about the whole thing. Even Tim makes jokes about it.



“So many girls are having them there might as well be a CWS job for it,” he laughs.



“I’d seriously do it for fifty bucks,” says Tony.



Getch is playing with an Etch-a-Sketch and says, “Gross man. That is just gross.”



“Are you talking about the food or the abortion jokes?” I ask.



Tony explains: “Drano in a Water Pik.”



Getch says, “Great, we’re making jokes about it.”



“Come on,” I tell Getch. “Cheer up.”



“Why aren’t you upset, man?” Getch asks Tim, staring at him in a way only a Social Science major could.



“Look,” says Tim. “I’ve been through this shit so many times before, it doesn’t even faze me.”



Getch nods, but looks like he doesn’t really understand, but he shuts up, and looks back at the Etch-a-Sketch.



“How do you know it’s even yours?” asks Tony, who just came back from a student council meeting, stoned.



“I know,” Tim says, like he’s proud of being so confident.



“But how do you know? The bitch could be f**king you over,” says Tony, a big help.



“You can tell,” says Tim. “You can look at her and just know she’s not lying.”



No one says anything.



“You can feel it,” he reiterates.



“That’s, uh, really mystical,” Tony says.



“So when is she getting the fetus ripped out of her?” Norris asks.



The whole table moans collectively and Tim’s laugh is guilty but helpless and it makes me queasy. The girl finally gets a Coke and walks out of the main dining room, looking confidently hot.



“Wednesday, guy,” Tim borrows a cigarette and cups his hands even though there is no possibility of the match going out. Precautions, I guess. “It would’ve been Tuesday, but she has this primal dance piece on Tuesday so it has to be Wednesday.”



“Show must go on,” I smile, grim but loose.



“Yeah,” says Tim, a little anxious. “Right. And then she’s going to Europe, which is a total relief.”



The table, including Tim, has already lost interest in this already old (known since last night, for latecomers, lunch) piece of gossip, so other conversations ensue, about other important subjects. I ask Norris if he can get me some coffee when he gets up.