When I come out of my room wearing the best shirt and the only pair of jeans I own, Chad and Jesse look up from a giant pepperoni pizza to ask me where I’m going.
“I was invited to some sorority party?” I shrug.
Their eyes get comically wide.
“Which one?”
I shrug.
“Zeta Tau?”
“Yeah, that one, I think.”
They share another glance.
“Um … do you think you could like, take pictures?” Chad asks.
Jesse elbows him in the ribs. “Dude!”
“Not in a creepy way or anything.”
Of course. What could be creepy about taking pictures of women in their own home while they’re trying to enjoy themselves?
“I just meant like, get selfies or whatever,” Chad reiterates.
“Yeah, especially with Annabeth.”Great, now they’re not even reigning each other in.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, no intention whatsoever of taking pictures of anyone tonight.
Is salivating over sororities a straight guy thing?
I wonder if I’d act that way over a frat house? Does this sorority invite mean Ben and Nate are in a frat? Is everyone on the team in one? I only know frats exist because my little sister is obsessed with American movies and TV shows. I didn’t even know they were a thing anymore.
I decide frat houses and the idea of being in one wouldn’t make me act like Chad and Jesse and feel a little better about the whole situation.
After gettingmy number in the locker room, Nate texted me the address to the sorority house. A campus bus drops me at the end of the row and I have to walk past actual mansions until Google Maps shouts at me in German to let me know I’ve arrived.
I click off the journey and stand at the end of the driveway, looking up at one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen in my life.
As I imagined, it has grand white pillars in the classical Greek style. Huge windows with billowing white curtains draped behind the glass. Through the gaps, I can see people standing around in large, well-lit rooms, drinking from red plastic cups and laughing. Bass from a song I don’t recognize spills out onto the lawn.
Taking a deep breath for courage, I remind myself that I do not care what women in sororities, or Ben Harris and Nate-something, think of me.
I’m about to walk up to the door when someone shouts my name.
I turn to find Nate and co walking up the drive. Probablycoming from one of the more ‘masculine’ looking houses on the other side of the row. How does this whole frat/sorority thing work? You know what? Never mind, I don’t care.
“Hey, Elias, you made it,” Nate says, running a hand through his hair.
There’s a guy I haven’t seen before walking beside him. Something tells me he isn’t a frat boy or a tennis player. His blond hair isn’t half as floppy or silly as Nate’s and his bulky jacket reminds me of the sensible coat my father used to wear back when he worked in a factory.
I look for Ben. It takes me a while to find him, hanging back behind some of the other guys. Why isn’t he walking beside Nate like he usually is?
The guy beside Nate puts his arm around him and gives me a look. What is that look?Get away from my man? Challenge me for being gay, I dare you?
Despite his date’s glare, Nate’s still smiling, relaxed. “Elias, this is my boyfriend, Evan. Evan, this is the new guy, Elias.”
Evan drops his arm to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you,” I tell him. I hope I’m conveying how monumentally uninterested in his boyfriend I am. The last thing I need is some overprotective neanderthal giving me the stink eye all night.
