2 Animal House

Rosanna peered at me. "You alright, mijita?"

"Huh?" I pried my gaze from a circling hawk, returning to the moment. "Sorry, I was out of it."

Spacing out? Typical. That, or it could be heat-stroke. Hopefully the former. I settled into the stands of the crowded football game.

"I asked if you were okay."

"Yeah," I said, "It's just the game. It's like watching paint dry."

My old friend from high school laughed. "This thing is about as entertaining as plucking my toes off to the beat of an ABBA song." She scanned the field. "At least the players are hot."

My eyes followed hers to Mo, who was going in for a touchdown. My brother nearly made it before he was tackled by an opposing player.

"Mo's brain is a slab of steak," I said. "He used to put monarch butterflies in my sandwiches so I'd migrate to Mexico. They tasted like dirt."

Rosanna laughed. "God, is it hot or what?" She pulled at the collar of her top.

I glanced at her lacy black ensemble. "It is, but you're probably boiling."

Rosanna pulled out her parasol. "The high price of being Robert Smith's lovechild."

"What'd I miss?" I looked up to see Divya carrying bottled waters from the concessions stand. Rosanna and I scooted over to make room for the final member of our high school trio.

"Mo falling flat on his ass," I said.

Divya smiled. "He has a tendency to do that." She doled out the waters. "Remember when he flipped the urinals upside down for his senior prank? Not only was that architecturally impossible, I'm surprised it didn't go on his record."

I flinched. "Don't remind me."

The football game passed, and the monotony of orientation dragged on. It was three days before classes started at Hortense, a sleepy liberal arts college tucked into the south of Virginia, and the town had barely woken up. Night life was dead, only freshmen and athletes were here, and all there was to do were banal orientation games between different freshmen halls. If I had to play another name game, I'd skewer my heart with one of the dining hall sporks.

Our trio grabbed dinner that night on campus. We sat a stone's throw away from the football team, attempting to eat rubbery chicken and rice that had been overcooked. Halfway through our meal, Mo swaggered over, still in his dirty uniform.

"Ladies," Mo said, sitting down across from us. He focused specifically on Rosanna.

"Meathead," I replied.

"See how Shannon treats me? Like an Outback Steakhouse entree," he said, trying to garner sympathy from the others.

There was silence.

He flexed surreptitiously as he reached for my soda. After taking a slurp, he handed it back. "Fine, side with her. I'll cry later. Before I write in my diary about bullying has taken its toll, I have news."

"You're actually going to pass your classes this semester?" Divya said.

Mo frowned. "Actually, I was going to invite you to a rager at the quarterback's house. But you don't want to hang out with me. Just like high school-"

"Wait," I interrupted. "An actual party? Not one of your excuses to seduce cheerleaders over cheap beer?"

Mo nodded.

"We're in," Rosanna said. "I need a drink to get through orientation."

Mo grinned. "Great. The house is behind the Golden Dragon - you know, that Chinese place. It starts at 9:00." He paused. "Oh, and Shannon. Stay away from the punch. You can't handle your alcohol."

Irritation flared in my gut. "It runs in the family, Mr. Barfs-at-Weddings."

Mo rubbed his stomach. "It's the champagne. It doesn't agree with my delicate constitution. Neither does your hatred."

"Excuses," I said.

"Whatever," Mo said. "Peace out."

"I give him until 10:00 until he pukes his guts out," Rosanna said.

It took until 11:00.

I rubbed my brother's back, consoling him as he dry heaved into the toilet.

"The other guys will think I'm a pussy," Mo moaned. "Everything's spinning. Make it stop."

"Maybe it wouldn't be spinning if you hadn't done a keg stand."

He gazed up at the ceiling. "You're the one that gets tipsy off juice."

"That's not true. Want me to get you a pillow or something?"

"Yeah," he groaned. "And turn off the lights. I need to sleep." He hauled himself into the tub.

I smiled at my twin. "Okay, whatever you need. I'll be right back."

I waded through throngs of dancers to the couch, retrieving a pillow and blanket for my disheveled brother. I tucked the pillow behind his head and sighed.

"What's wrong, Shannikins?" Mo slurred. "You've been a pill lately."

I leaned against the tub. "I keep having this feeling. Like deja vu. Do you ever feel like you're walking through life backwards, about to run straight into a wall?" I shook my head. "You know me, I usually have it together. I think it's all the stress."

"We're all stressed. It's college." He attempted to pat my shoulder but ended up sprawled against the side of the tub. A bit of vomit clung to his lip. "You're the smartest person I know. You'll get through this."

I smiled. "Thanks. Want to sleep?"

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed.

I made my way back to the dance floor, leaving Mo in relative peace - or pieces. Rosanna danced, completely in her own world, and Divya grinded with an exchange student from our hall.

"Shannon," Rosanna said, "is Mo okay?"

"Ask me when his hangover's over."

Someone tapped my shoulder. I recognized the linebacker - Baxter - that had held Mo upside down for his keg stand.

"Hey," Baxter said, "sorry about your brother. I was the same way freshmen year. In over my head, trying to impress the team. He okay?"

I laughed it off. "Yeah, he's fine. He's a clown."

Baxter smiled. "Want to dance?"

He was a tall, tan guy, maybe Filipino. Cute. "Sure."

Baxter slid his hands down my hips, and we danced, making small talk. Soon, we came to a lull in the music.

"Thirsty?" What a smile. He had teeth like white Chiclets.

"Sure," I said.

He came back with two drinks. "Punch?" He slipped a silver flask out of his pocket. "I've got some vodka if you want to spice it up."

"Why not?" I took the punch, and clacked my cup against his. "Cheers!"

"To what?" Baxter said.

"Not effing up college."

"That would be a miracle." He downed his drink.

We danced. Rosanna found a questionable punk guy of her own. Divya and her partner joined us. Baxter mixed vodka into our drinks, and soon, we were all buzzed off the footballers' concoction. It kind of tasted like the candy strawberries old people gave you.

"You look like a runner," Baxter called over the beat.

I laughed. "I ran cross-country in high school."

"Ah." He smiled again, with the dental manual teeth. "That explains it." He put his hands on my hips and whispered into my ear. "Hey, there are some sick trails out in the College Woods. Think you can outrun me?"

I was tipsy, though my brain didn't want to admit it. "Outrunning you is no problem. The question is, when do you want to go?"

"Now."

"Now?" I laughed, nervous, but buzzed.

"Yeah. It'd be easy to slip away."

The thrill of a challenge shot through me. That or the fear of getting date raped. "I guess…" I said.

Baxter set down his red Solo cup. "Great. Meet me on the back porch of your dorm in twenty minutes. Which one is it?"

"Trothman Hall."

"Right," Baxter said.

I went to my room and changed into a running tank and black shorts. What I was doing was stupid, and I was slightly drunk, but Baxter had tapped into one of my secrets: I adored night-running. Late in northern Virginia, when my parents were asleep, I would slip out of my room, climb down the gutter, and go for midnight jogs. I'd bring my nature journals and record what I saw, an aspiring naturalist, catching fireflies and moths, listening to foxes yip. It was my high. My treasure. Sweat, darkness, and danger, only to be paid with bruises under my eyes and root-twisted ankles come morning.

I met Baxter under the porch lantern. Bugs buzzed around the electric light. He took my hand and led me to a gravel path that looped behind the dorms. We chatted as we walked, glancing up at the summer stars. The moon hung over our heads, its milky light illuminating the path. We came to a lake dappled with clouds.

"The path goes around the water," Baxter said, squeezing my hand. "I'll go one way, you go the other. Whoever makes it back first wins."

"Loser has to buy the winner a beer," I said.

Baxter laughed. "Good by me."