Greek: Double Date (2 page)

“You can’t order anyone on a date.”

“It would be in the spirit of sisterhood.”

“Face it, Casey—if escorting engineering students with
out social lives was a pledge tradition, this house would be deader than IKI during a fat-camp excursion week,” Ashleigh said, making Casey smile, at least at the mention of the now-former sorority Iota Kappa Iota. “If honors engineers wanted to date sorority girls, they would join fraternities, like normal guys. Isn’t that what Psi Phi Pi is for? The
Revenge of the Nerds
fraternity?”

“Not all guys are meant to be fraternity guys.” She paused. “Max wasn’t.”

Ashleigh sighed. “I wasn’t going to say his name, but now that you brought it up, yeah. And didn’t he totally have trouble asking you out? Didn’t you practically have to ask
him
out after using your brother as an undercover agent to find out if he liked you?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t worth denying anything about the intricacies of formerly dating Max, engineering grad student and nonfraternity guy, to Ashleigh, who knew every detail. It had been at its best, magical, and at its worst, exhausting. But there had been more good times than bad before they broke up and Max left for England. “The point is, I promised Rusty.”

“He can’t ask you for the impossible. You can’t betray your sisterhood.”

“I’m
his
sister. That’s why I said yes!”

“I mean your
other
sisterhood.
Duh
.”

Ashleigh had a point and denying it would only drag out the conversation. “I still need to find a date for Dale.”

“Um, obvious? You’re single, Dale’s…single, right?”

“He’s getting over being dumped by his cougar landlady. Sheila.”

“Ew, TMI.”

“You asked.”

A precisely folded blue tank top landed on Ashleigh’s dark
comforter. Ashleigh was an expert at folding laundry on her pristine white bedspread. “So, Dale is truly pathetic to the point where he doesn’t see his own pathetic-ness, and you don’t have the excuse of being attached. You promised Rusty a ZBZ sister. Go with Dale.”

“No! Ew!”

“That’s your reaction but you would ask a pledge to go with him?”

“It’s not that.” Casey struggled for an answer. “I think Dale has a crush on me. Every time we see each other he’s like…worse than he normally is. And once, I caught him trying to slip a demo CD for his band in my sorority mailbox.”

Her ZBZ sister and president was ever the pragmatist. “It’s not mix-tape bad.”

“It’s not mix-tape bad, but it’s bad.”

“Then you’re obligated to do your part as a ZBZ sister and not force him on a pledge. You promised, you deliver.” Ashleigh folded her pink ZBZ T-shirt
very
definitively. “And hello? The All-Greek Formal is next Saturday night and I see a roommate and former president who is, dare I say, dateless?”

That was the last thing she needed to be reminded of. “Maybe I can take Dale.”

“See! That’s the attitude of a ZBZ.”

“Ash! Kidding!”

“Well you broke up with Max and you won’t ask Cappie. So who does that leave?”

“At least I’m not taking the house hasher,” Casey said with a wink.

“Fisher is a university student with a diversified portfolio of extracurricular activities. And a hunk. And, yes, he cleans our kitchens. I can’t discriminate. We’re supposed to extol the
highest emanations of virtue, a beacon of light shining upon our fellow—”

“Okay, why is everyone quoting the ZBZ pledge book today?”

“Is that what it’s from? I heard it somewhere and thought it sounded good.” She eased herself onto Casey’s bed. Ashleigh, Casey’s trusted best friend since their pledge days, was the only one allowed to sit down on Casey’s bed, and she did so with the authority of a saintly wise man ascending from the heavens, albeit with curlers and perfect nail polish. “So you have two problems. One is finding someone to go with Dale, and we solved that. You’re going with Dale.”

Casey tested the sentence. “I’m going with Dale.”

“See? Not so bad. Second problem—we have to find a superhot guy who you have not previously dated and therefore have no emotional hang-ups over—”

“I am not hung up on Cappie—”

“—to be your date to the formal. We have practically a whole week! Six great days to find a great guy. How hard can it be?”

“…and that is why no Kappa Tau brother will be
patronizing the fine establishment known as the Gentleman’s Choice on Tuesdays or any other night where the lovely lady known as Dusty is performing. Pledges, you’re on your own.” Cappie banged his presidential gavel against the wooden chair’s armrest. “Any questions?”

Looking around, one might have suspected it was too early in the morning for such a serious conversation at Kappa Tau’s fraternity house, but it was actually two in the afternoon. Members had woken from sleep long enough to eat cereal and congregate in the somewhat musty living room for their weekly meeting. Empty cups from last night’s party were strewn about and there was a new stain on the old sofa, adding to the massive collection of old stains from years past.

Beaver raised his hand. “What if she changes nights? Or there’s another stripper there we want to see?”

As usual, Cappie had an immediate answer. “Beaver, while we here at Kappa Tau do not discourage the profession of strip
ping, there are times when we must band together in a crusade against those who lower themselves to do something as terrible as debase a brother by severely overcharging for services and then not accepting Wade’s mom’s credit card, lest they encourage other strippers to think we here are made of cash.” Cappie was tall, broad and fit, but otherwise nothing like the jocks of other fraternities. His brown hair was wavy and perpetually tousled, his clothing looked a step away from qualifying for a laundry pile, and he was a notorious flirt, able to charm women after one look into his piercing blue eyes. Cappie’s oratory abilities—and occasional sense of responsibility, at least when it came to protecting and maintaining Kappa Tau—had earned him the position of president in his junior year, a position he’d reclaimed by “calling it” fast enough when they forgot to hold elections. Now a senior, he was facing his final year at Cyprus-Rhodes and wanted to go out with a bang. He did not want to repeat his fraternity big brother Egyptian Joe’s eight-year college experience. He wanted to have fun, then graduate. Possibly.

“In other words, stay away from Dusty,” Wade said. “And don’t ask if she accepts quarters.”

“We are not holding it against the club itself,” Cappie said. “We will continue to actively patronize them when said lap dancer is not present, and at no other times. Is that clear?” He looked up as light shone in the faces of some hungover members when Rusty opened the front door and entered the living room. “Spitter, is that clear?”

Rusty could tell right away that the correct answer was, “Yes, Cappie.”

“Good.” There was no need to bother Rusty with the particulars in front of everyone and further slow down the meeting.
Recounting the Dusty incident for information purposes was degrading enough. Cappie continued, “Next issue… Pickle? Arm?”

Pickle raised his arm, and Cappie made a quick inspection of the notes written in marker on it.

“Okay, the All-Greek Formal is…next Saturday? Pickle, what did I say about your handwriting?” Since Pickle was not in a condition to answer, he went on, “As with all Panhellenic-IFC formals, the attendance of at least one member of each house is required.”

Everyone started speaking at once.

“Not it.”

“Can I take my girlfriend?”

“She’s not your girlfriend. You just think that stripper likes you.”

“Make the pledges go,” Arrowhead mumbled, chewing on a stick of beef jerky.

“It has to be an active,” Wade said. “I have a girlfriend, but she’s out of town. And I’ll miss the party.”

“I’m going,” Rusty said.

“See? Spitter shows all the enthusiasm of a true Kappa Tau,” Cappie said, “to step in and sacrifice himself to the university gods so that his fair brothers can get drunk and party with women not constricted by formal attire, low-cut though it may be.”

“Dude, did you just call us ‘fair’?”

“Yes, Beaver, and you will not interrupt my dramatic flourishes,” Cappie said. “Spitter, you have our thanks.”

“I was going to say, I’m going as Jordan’s date, and Jordan said that presidential attendance is required.”

“Ah, yes, so good of you to be observant,” Cappie said sarcastically. “Actually the rules for the All-Greek Formal stipulate
that
a
president is required to attend, unless some medical or family emergency prevents him or her from doing so. Hence the title of the party we’ll be throwing that night, ‘Operation Operation.’”

“I thought that was just to get women to show up in nurses’ uniforms.”

“That’s what we tell pledges,” Cappie said. “Welcome to being an active. Now—anything else?” Several groans told him the meeting was not going to continue much longer without the actives finding sustenance and/or a miracle hangover cure. He banged his gavel again. “Meeting adjourned.”

As KTs dispersed to other places on the couch or to the kitchen, Rusty approached Cappie. He didn’t have to explain why he was late—he had a science lab that ran into meetings this semester, and even Cappie’s attempted seduction of the scheduling assistant hadn’t changed that. “Why don’t you just go to the formal? I know you have the clothing, and the drinks are free. And it’ll make Kappa Tau look good.”

“Spitter, when do I ever take a chance to make the house look good?”

After a calculated moment, Rusty said, “Never.”

“With one minor exception. Of course I’m going. But I would prefer to leave early and return to the house to be greeted by concerned girls in nurse costumes. And if anything were to happen on campus that was in any way suspicious, for once, I would have a perfect alibi.”

In the ZBZ house living room, a similar conversation was occurring, though far less confidently.

“Maybe Rusty could find you a date,” Jordan said to her big
sister and official sponsor within the pledge system, Casey. “He does owe you one.”

“Please, my little brother find
me
a date to a formal?” Casey said. “I think the stars would have to collide in some universe-destroying fashion for that to happen. I’m a ZBZ. I am perfectly capable of finding a date who is cute and nice and not creepy and not someone I’ve already dated and not a pity date.” She waved it off as Jordan left the room, and Ashleigh took a closer seat so that they were less likely to be overheard.

“There’s Cappie,” Ashleigh said, with a loud whisper. Casey had dated Cappie for most of freshman year, before breaking up with him for neglecting her, not to mention his lack of ambition. She spent the next two years of her life deeply involved with his former roommate, the current Omega Chi president, Evan Chambers. That relationship had also ended in disaster, the breakup perhaps made more painful by age and the seriousness of their involvement, and she had then moved on to an engineering grad student named Max before realizing, ultimately, that she still had feelings for Cappie, and possibly always would, despite never having been able to rely on him. But Ashleigh, her ever-bubbly self, continued, “He has to go anyway. He’s KT president.”

“The KT house is throwing an operating-room theme party. He’ll get out of the formal by faking illness.” Or that was what she was hoping. If Cappie did put in an appearance, her own presence would not go unnoticed by him, and she would spend the evening avoiding that look in his eyes that made her stomach flutter. While having an embarrassing run-in with Cappie was par for the social course in Casey-land, she would prefer it not to occur in front of Panhellenic and the Inter-Fraternity Council.

“How about Calvin?”

“Um, yeah, just announce to the world that I couldn’t find a date? Besides, isn’t Calvin seeing someone?” Bringing an outed gay guy was definitely a pity date, even if he was an Omega Chi and very cool.

“If he is, he totally won’t bring him to the formal,” Ashleigh said. “But I see your point there. What about Facebook?”

“Again, ew. Anyone at college who needs to go online to get a date couldn’t find one face-to-face on campus. Cyprus-Rhodes is not that big.”

“Twitter? Or is that even worse? I don’t really know what Twitter is. I just like the word.”

“It is a fun word. But it’s worse. I think.” Her contact with computer social networks was limited anyway. She still relied on the tried-and-true cell phone texting to her sisters as communication. “Okay, I’m sure it’s worse.”

“Well, you just have to face facts. A hot guy is not just going to walk in here and offer to take you.” Ashleigh’s eyes darted to the door. “Ooh! Man in the house!” It was the instinctive call to announce when a guy entered, even a known one. Fortunately neither of them were in their pajamas, but some robed sisters scattered as Ashleigh went to greet him. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, hi.” He smiled shyly with his adorable baby-blue eyes. “I’m the new assistant to Dean Bowman.”

“Oh!” Ashleigh said with semijoyous surprise, not modulating her voice at all. Casey was always amazed at how she did that. “How can I help you?”

“Hi,” he repeated when Casey approached, not to her but to Ashleigh, as if he was checking her mental condition for too much enthusiasm. “There are some rules for the All-Greek Formal—standard stuff—but I need the Zeta Beta Zeta president
to sign this sheet…” As he produced the folded piece of paper, Ashleigh winked at Casey and snatched it out of his hands.

“Let me get a pen!” she practically squealed, and ran into the kitchen for some reason, leaving the two of them alone in the front hallway.

“Was that President Howard?”

At a loss to explain Ashleigh’s behavior, Casey said, “Yes. Oh—and I’m Casey Cartwright, ZBZ sister and pledge educator.”

“Robert Howell,” he said, and accepted her handshake. “Rob, really. Only my parents call me Robert. And Dean Bowman. And…everyone who doesn’t like me, I guess.” He frowned, as if trying to think of something. He had a rather attractive square jaw. His official university-style clothing—meaning preppy—suited him, even if he didn’t look comfortable in it. And he avoided the bed-head look that was so dated by having his sandy-blond hair cleanly cropped and trimmed. “Weren’t you ZBZ president once?”

“Interim president, technically,” she said. “Between Frannie and Ashleigh.”

“And Frannie Morgan was president of IKI.”

“Yes.” She resisted the urge to add
unfortunately,
even though it was tempting.

“Sorry, I just have to keep all this stuff straight. Dean Bowman seems very…particular about keeping track of the Greeks. I’m new, and he wrote the recommendation for my transfer, so…”

“Oh, you’re a transfer student?”

“From Cornell. I needed a new atmosphere. Anyway, yeah, I just started as a junior here. Still getting used to the warm weather.” He squirmed in his wool suit jacket with the university lapels. “I’m work-study, so the job with Dean Bowman is good. No heavy lifting.” He laughed, and she laughed with him.

“At least you’re not a sorority hasher—though it does pay well.”

“A hasher—that’s someone who does the kitchen work and cleaning?” At her nod he shrugged again. “I’m not that familiar with sororities. This is the first house I’ve actually been inside.”

“Well, I’m glad ZBZ was your first,” she said as Ashleigh returned.

“Okay. Form-ege,” Ashleigh said, returning the signed form.

“You get to keep the yellow copy,” Rob said, and tore it off for her. “Thanks.”

“Thank
you,
” Ashleigh said, a little overenthusiastically, and he left. She immediately turned to Casey and said,
“So?”

“So what?”

“So cute guy enters right when you need him, and I give you time for small talk. What’s he like?”

“Ashleigh, I had all of two minutes with him. His name is Rob and he’s a transfer. That’s all I know. I wasn’t grilling him for information.” She added, “But he was cute.”

“Oh, my God, cute and
hot.
That chiseled jaw… I’m tempted to take him for myself if we need a new hasher.”

“Ash! Fisher!”

“I know, I know.”

“Besides, this is not some succubi house where we consume all men who enter. Even if he kind of looked like he thought it was. Nervous guys can be so adorable.”

“Suck-you-what?”

“A succubus is a demon from medieval folklore who would take the form of a beautiful woman in order to seduce a man and drain his life essence,” Casey said before she knew what was coming out of her mouth. “Sorry. Freshman year, Myths and Folklore. I took it as my history requirement.”

“Wow, that sounds much more interesting than Greek philosophy.”

“You took Greek philosophy?”

She shrugged. “I was a pledge. I thought it would look good. Turns out Plato and Aristotle have nothing to do with ZBZ. Who knew?”

Casey rolled her eyes, but withheld comment.

“So? Did you ask him out?”

“Ash,
two minutes.
I don’t know anything about him.”

“And you have five days to find out enough to ask him out. Or make him like you so much that he asks you out. How hard can it be?”

“Please. He works for Dean Bowman. Who needs more exposure to Dean Bowman?”

The Amphora Secret Society’s meeting hall was at once foreboding and disgusting. Being buried in a room in the foundations of the university between two sewage systems and not marked on any map did that. Though the smell didn’t permeate the thick walls, the gloom that brought severity to the proceedings of the ancient society was mainly a result of candlelight on dank surroundings. Still, Evan Chambers would admit, it was atmospheric.

Evan was a typical fraternity guy in many ways, with old-fashioned clothing—sweaters and ties tucked neatly into khakis—and a family legacy of blue bloods. He had light brown hair, almost a dirty blond, and matching blue eyes to accentuate his long face.

He looked up blearily as his old enemy/friend Cappie sat down next to him. They were both berobed and ready for the next round of confessions. The initial purge was done, but
members were required to make updates as new events occurred, so they could “continue on the journey to wisdom and knowledge together,” as Dean Bowman had put it before he stepped down from his position as leader of the supersecret society.