Greek: Double Date (5 page)

“On Fire Island, I know.” Rusty wasn’t sure when the friendship between Dale and Cappie had developed, but it remained as shocking as it had been when he’d first noticed it. Mostly because it was so unlikely. “So you took Dale shopping.”

“As I would you, if required to aid in such a noble cause.”

“Okay.” He knew better than to judge Cappie. “So…why are you still here?”

“Seeing as you are a man of certain influence in the engineering department, or at least in their social planning division, I was thinking that perhaps you would be able to procure an invitation to the aforementioned event.”

“For you? Why would you…” This time, he was not so slow on the uptake. “First of all, it’s closed to nonengineers to give program members more social time with prospective employers. Second, even if I could get you an invitation, I am not getting you an invite so you can stalk Casey.”

Cappie patted him on the shoulder, but it was more of an insistent tug. “Spitter!
Stalk
is such a harsh word.”

“It’s the only conceivable reason you would want to go to the event. Look, I can bring one guest, and it’s Jordan.”

“What is this I hear? Do my ears deceive me? Is my little brother failing in his duties to aid a Kappa Tau in distress?”

“You’re asking me not to protect my sister from unwanted stress, and to choose between my fraternity and my real obligation to my girlfriend. Who, I might add, actually wants to go for nonstalker reasons.”

“That word again! Why do I keep hearing it?”

“Because you’re a stalker?” Seeing that Cappie was not ready to give up, and calculating the odds of a healthy Jordan collapsing in the next twenty-four hours, he said, “If Jordan can’t make it, you can be my plus one. And no plotting to make sure she can’t make it. On this kind of notice, that’s all I can offer you.”

“Fair enough.” Cappie stood up, and they shook on it. “If some predicament were to befall Jordan—completely without my knowledge or involvement, of course—what color tie are you wearing? Or are you wearing the dress and I’m wearing the tie? Color coordination is important.”

Rusty rolled his eyes.

Mandatory pledge study hours were over, as was movie night, and the ZBZ house was finally quiet. Fisher had gone home. Aside from the occasional barefoot girl sneaking to the fridge, downstairs was closed up, and most sisters were trying to get some sleep before their Friday classes, if they were foolish enough to take a class scheduled for Fridays.

Casey was not, though she might not be so lucky next semester, if she intended to go through with her poli-sci major. She would need four courses and would be at the mercy of the scheduling program of the university computer system. And she had to pass all of her courses—in some cases, do better than pass—this semester. Casey groaned and threw her textbook on the coffee table.

“Academic distress?” Rebecca Logan’s voice was like an uninvited guest at an exclusive party. “The pressures of graduation finally descending on big sis?”

“When did we agree to stop hating each other?”

“I don’t recall a formal agreement,” Rebecca said, revealing
with one hand her real quest—the bowl of popcorn in Casey’s lap. “Everything okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Casey said. And it was true—she had enough prerequisites to graduate with a few different majors, just not political science yet. Too much of her academic career was dedicated to her then-designated law school destiny. “Not only will my parents not pay for a fifth year, ever since the summer I’ve had this strange desire to…I don’t know…”

“Graduate? Get the hell out of ZBZ?” Rebecca sounded a little too eager at the proposition.

“ZBZ sisters share a lifelong commitment to their friendship and Zeta Beta Zeta,” Casey replied. “Something I must have said way too many times as pledge educator—I think I may have actually started to believe it. No, despite my lack of prospective careers or graduate school applications, there is something strangely compelling about not doing the whole college thing again next year.”

Rebecca decided to concentrate her efforts on stealing the popcorn by sitting down next to Casey on the couch. “And avoid the Five-Year Frannie stigma.”

“It was a stigma way before Frannie. It just sounds better that way because her name starts with an F. There was this Kappa Tau guy, freshman year—he was an active for, like, six or seven years. No…eight. Cappie’s big brother, Egyptian Joe.”

“A great example, no doubt. I assume Cappie is intending to follow in his illustrious footsteps.”

“No.” Casey raised her hands. “Or, I don’t know. I don’t really know what Cappie’s deal is right now. Or any guy’s deal. I used to have every guy I knew and cared about figured out—and maybe they felt the same way about me. And now there’s this…” She gestured to nothing in particular. “And despite being lava
liered by two guys—one who isn’t even in a fraternity—I had to scramble for a date to the formal. Totally last-minute.”

“At least you have one,” Rebecca said, showing a hint of weakness. “Surprisingly, going lesbian for a full week sends the wrong signals to guys.”

“Like, ‘don’t bother’?” Casey asked, and Rebecca nodded ever so slightly. “Yeah, coming out of the straight closet is a way less dramatic gesture. But you’re Rebecca Logan—just throw yourself out there. You’ve never had problems stealing guys from people. Like me.” They were at a point in their uneasy friendship where she could finally say it without fear of repercussion. Facts were facts.

“It’s not as easy as it looks,” Rebecca said, not rising to the bait. “Men are intimidated by female power. A whiff of senatorial fame—however infamous it may be these days—and they flee.”

“Trust me, you manage it all by yourself. Not the fleeing guys thing…well, yes, but I meant that as a compliment. Sort of. You can be terrifying. It’s a good thing—it makes you look smart. Not a dumb sorority girl.”

“Guys like dumb sorority girls,” Rebecca said. “
You
have a date.” She gave Casey a look that showed she was joking.

“Yeah, and you’re not stealing him!” Casey insisted, but without any malice. Yet. “But I did have to go outside the system. He’s Dean Bowman’s newest assistant.”

“Ew.”

“Good. Fine. Keep that attitude! Because he’s cute and sweet and not a geek or a Kappa Tau and I am
keeping
him. At least for the evening. Hands off Rob.”

“Rob who?”

“Robert Howell. Transfer student from Cornell, poli-sci
major. Totally hot and a little shy. And even with the association with Dean Bowman— Rebecca, swallow.”

It did look as if Rebecca was going to choke. That was what happened when you inhaled your food midchew, especially popcorn.

“Robert
Howell?
Are you sure?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Brown hair, square face, total hick accent that he covers up a lot?”

“Kinda. I don’t have a picture of him—I’ve met him, like, twice. Do you
know
him?”

Rebecca made an exaggerated noise of disgust. “From, like…when I was young. And stupid. And so was he. He probably still is.”

Now Casey was paying attention. “What is it? Is he a jerk? Oh, my God, did you go out with him? I can’t believe this!”

“
No.
It was this…thing that totally does not involve dating or college or anything else, if it is really him. And I will go so far as to say that if I implode in his presence, I’m taking people with me.”

“Rebecca—”

But Rebecca had lost interest in food or conversation. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Enjoy your date with Robert-freaking-Howell.” And she stomped out of the room with all of the indignation possible for someone wearing pink bunny slippers.

“Um, okay.” And having nothing else to say, to herself or the empty room, Casey let that stand and retreated to her own bedroom, where Ashleigh was still up. Only her lamp was on, but that was enough for Casey. “Something’s up between Rob and Rebecca.”

Ashleigh put down her book and turned over.
“What?”

“Rebecca, like, totally freaked out at his name.”

“Are we talking about the same Rebecca? The one who doesn’t freak out unless there’s a senatorial scandal and a copious amount of alcohol in the vicinity?”

“She did, and she wouldn’t tell me why. Apparently she
knows
him.”

“Okay. Don’t panic. We have, like, two days to find out what it is. Or one, really, if it’s anything. Maybe he dumped her in high school in front of the whole prom or something. Who knows?” She turned back over. “She would have told you if it was anything that would be devastating to you.”

“Ash! It’s
Rebecca.
What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Ashleigh mumbled into her pillow. “Worst-case scenario, we’ll ask her about her dad and put a beer in front of her, and see what happens. It worked when you guys wanted me to spill about Fisher.”

It was cruel, but if it came to it, it would work. And Casey was prepared to make things work.

“So then,” Ashleigh said as she sat down at the
breakfast table with Rebecca and Casey. “What’s up with Robert Howell?”

Rebecca gave her a look of disgust, grabbed her bowl of cereal and left the table before Ashleigh even had time to put down her own food.

“Way to go,” Casey said. “I was only working on her for, like, twenty minutes!”

“Sorry!” Ashleigh was legitimately apologetic. “Maybe I should put some pledges on it.”

Casey played with her spoon, thumping it against the tablecloth. “I think it may be a lost cause.”

“Did she say
anything?
”

“In my subtle yet obvious attempts to inquire about her possible history with Rob, I learned that she once attempted to go to summer camp but went home two weeks early because the mosquito bites were ruining her complexion. I now know that she was captain of her varsity field hockey team freshman
year after she got the previous captain suspended after finding a sex tape linked to her MySpace page. I’ve discovered the wonder that is a three-month obligatory playing of the clarinet for a band class requirement, and that her favorite vacation spot is Tahiti because Jamaica is full of guys with smelly hair. But alas, no Rob. And, knowing Rebecca, only the meanest parts of that were true.”

“Look on the bright side. If Rob was a serial stalker or weirdo, she would be obligated to tell her big sis about it.”

“Or the opposite.” Casey softened on Rebecca. Maybe the experience really had been bad—and not relationship related. “It’s fine. I’ve wandered into bad relationships without Rebecca’s help before. I can do it again.”

“I said
bright
side. Bright side! Don’t prejudge Rob because of some snippy comment by Rebecca. I’m sure if he’s as bad as she makes him out to be, you’ll figure it out soon enough. And then you can publicly ditch him. I bet you can even get her to help.”

Casey wasn’t so hopeful, or interested in being so hopeful, but she didn’t have to respond because her phone rang. More specifically, it chimed. “Rusty, it’s nine in the morning and a Friday. What is it?” Actually, the fact that he hadn’t run over and intruded throughout the house to tell her about his problem was alarming.

“The engineering awards are canceled for tonight.”

“Aw, Rusty! You must be so disappointed.”

“This is serious. The visiting alumni got food poisoning from the welcoming party…somehow.” The way he said
somehow
was suspicious. “So it’s off.”

“So I’m off the hook?”

“For tonight. The dean of the engineering department moved it to tomorrow night.”

“What?”
The sound of her spoon dropping into the empty bowl was apparently quite audible, because almost everyone turned to look at her, and she excused herself to the hallway. “He can’t do that! The formal is tomorrow.”

“Who do you think reminded him of that?” Rusty said, similarly panicked. “He doesn’t care. He said, ‘How many engineers are frat guys anyway?’”

“And what was your answer?”

“Something appropriately evasive,” he said, as he was probably the only one. “I spoke to my advisor. I spoke to Dean Bowman. I even woke up some people on IFC and Panhellenic and tried to get them on my side.”

“What did Panhellenic say?”

“‘How many Greeks are engineers, anyway?’ And IFC had a few derogatory remarks about the honors engineering program that I will not repeat. Look, we flew in a bunch of alum and some people from technology companies. I just spent an hour on the phone to the hotel, promising them the university would cover their stay for an extra night if they weren’t booked there anyway. It’s on, and it’s on Saturday night.”

“Then you have to tell Dale I can’t go.”

“That is one thing
I
do not have to do,” Rusty said defiantly. “It’s something
you
have to do. You’re the one ditching him.”

“You’re making Jordan miss the formal!”

“No, I’m not. She can go to the formal without me. I can’t make her miss the Greek event of the semester to see some engineers get award certificates. I’ll try to join her at the end, depending on how long the ceremony goes. But she’s off the hook for the engineering event.”

“And so am I.”

“Yeah, okay, but
you
have to tell Dale that.” He entreated, “Please. You don’t know how crazy this has already made me. Just give him a call.”

Casey couldn’t really refuse. If she did, he would babble for longer than necessary to make her change her mind. “Fine. I’ll handle Dale.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I have to get back to the meeting.” And not specifying what the meeting was, he hung up.

“Trouble in Rustyland?” Ashleigh said, appearing in the doorway, and Casey only sighed and closed her phone.

Rusty Cartwright could name, off the top of his head, five days—all within his one year and one semester of college—that were the worst of his life. Certain days of Hell Week made up a few of them, but there was also the day his little brother Andy had depledged, the day Jen K. revealed she was a spy in the Greek system and the day he was duct taped to a wall. Perhaps he was lacking some perspective at the moment, but that Friday morning possibly rivaled all of them. Dale said he was being dramatic, but Dale had gotten more sleep than he had.

The trouble had started at 6:00 a.m., with a call from an alum who now worked in Silicon Valley named Chris McFadyen. Chris had his cell phone number, as Rusty had chatted him up the previous night out of interest in his work in biopolymers, polymers that were produced by living organisms. It was a hot field because of the green movement and the move toward environmentalism in the hard sciences, even ones involving plastics like polymers, but that wasn’t why McFadyen was calling. He’d had less sleep than Rusty, having been up all night bowing to the porcelain goddess, and said he might not
be able to make the event if he didn’t start holding down liquids and maybe solids in the next twelve hours. Rather politely he sent his regards.

The next call came twenty minutes later, from a second recipient of Rusty’s cell phone number, Eric von Riegers, asking if he knew where in town he could find some Pepto-Bismol. He was considerate enough not to ask Rusty to get it himself. Rusty checked his Google maps and directed him to a nearby CVS. Eric also apologized profusely for his possible inability to attend the event that night.

Then a call came in on the main house line. Dale took it, and immediately handed it off to Rusty as though the phone was covered in biohazardous waste. It was Devora Kessin, associate dean of the engineering department, and she was calling from the emergency room, though she said she was about to be transferred to a regular floor. She sounded astoundingly composed for someone with mercury poisoning.

At which point, Rusty began to suspect something.

The caterer didn’t answer the phone. Rusty wrung his hands for another few minutes before the next call came, this one from the dean of engineering. Rusty’s presence was requested—
demanded
—at his office, pronto. He barely had time to get his clothing all buttoned and tucked in before appearing in the dean’s office, where a pink bottle of Pepto-Bismol, half-emptied, was rather prominently displayed on the desk. Rusty’s advisor, Dr. Hastings, actually showed up, as well, his face rather ashen, as the dean began going down the list and calculated that sixty-three percent of the invited guests of Cyprus-Rhodes currently staying at the Parkside Hotel had called in with what was definitely some form of food poisoning. Fortunately for Rusty, inquiries were not made as to why he had
selected that caterer and that menu. There were too many logistics to be handled, some of them by Rusty himself. The dean was either too distracted by illness or uninterested in Rusty’s incompetence, as he selected
him
to locate a new caterer immediately, and money was no object when it came to safety ratings.

“We’ll recover the money in the lawsuit, I’m sure,” the dean said, planning revenge on the caterer before making use of his garbage can for something other than paper waste. As to Rusty’s question of how he was supposed to find a caterer in less than twelve hours, the dean’s answer—when he recovered—was simple. “The event has been moved to tomorrow night. Attendance will suffer, but we’ll extend the rooms at the hotel for an additional night. It’s the only thing we can do without canceling altogether.”

“But, sir, the All-Greek Formal—”

“Is what?” The dean betrayed not a hint of patience.

“Is tomorrow night.”

The dean exchanged looks with Dr. Hastings, to which their response was a joint shrug.

“Locating a facility to host won’t be a problem. Dean Bowman understands the importance of alumni contributions. Besides, how many engineers are frat guys, anyway?”

Released from the meeting, Rusty called what would almost assuredly be a friendly voice. “Hey, Jordan.” He knew it was not too early for her, as she had a 9:00 a.m. class.

She answered in a rather perky voice, even for her. “Hey, Rus! What’s up?”

“A lot of alumni’s stomachs,” he answered before he stopped himself. “I suspect undercooked fish.”

“What, did they have you running to CVS?”

“Practically. I mean no, they didn’t actually make me do that, but I just got back from a meeting with the dean.” He swallowed. “The event is moved to tomorrow night.”

“Oh, no!”

“I know. Look, you’re off the hook for the awards, obviously. I can’t ask you to miss the formal. Just try not to pick up any cute guys from a more distinguished fraternity while I’m not there to try to punch them and then get my butt kicked.”

“Rus, I would never do that to you. Plus, who would I go for, an Omega Chi? Ew!”

“You’re a ZBZ. That’s the opposite of what you should say.”

“Yeah, and how well do I fit in at ZBZ?” It was true. Without Casey’s constant support, tinged with a hint of desperation—Casey didn’t handle failure well—Jordan probably would have depledged the first week, or not pledged at all. She was the very opposite of the ZBZ image of a perfect girlie girl. Her destruction last week of her pink bunny slippers, a gift to all pledges, via a washing machine accident that might well have been intentional, was a testament to that. Now the slippers looked like little demon cats, all red and eyeless and with torn-off ears, thanks to her not using the gentle cycle. Rusty had won significant points by saying it was an improvement on her evening footwear. Jordan continued, “Do you want me to ditch?”

“No! Totally go to the formal. You probably already have a dress.”

“I can return it. I haven’t worn it outside the dressing room, and it still has the tags. Although, it actually isn’t as uncomfortable as I assumed it would be. Mostly because I refused to get anything with itchy lace and matching heels.”

Rusty actually shivered at the idea of Jordan in lace. “I might make it. It depends if I can leave the engineering event early. But I have to be there, at least for the opener, to make sure things go well.”

“Like you did last night?” She chuckled.

“Yeah, exactly. It’s weird—like they totally forgot who chose the caterer. I think it’s that the dean is as sick as everyone else. Must have been the breaded salmon. I saw
everyone
eating that.”

“Gross.”

“I know. Hence, my good health.” He sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry to miss the formal. You want to get together tonight? Apparently I’m free.”

“Sure. Anything going on at Kappa Tau?”

“By virtue of it being Friday, I’m sure there’s something going on. Not that the concept of a weekend is a lot different from a weekday to most actives. Besides, Cappie— Oh, crap! Cappie!”

“What about him?”

He put a hand over his eyes. “You have
no idea
.”

“I have to say, Spitter, you do not disappoint,” Cappie said, somehow towering over a nervous and exhausted Rusty, even though he was slumped on the couch and Rusty was sitting up. “Poisoning an entire guest list is a little extreme, but considering the nobility of your quest, the means to your end can certainly be excused.”

“I didn’t know the fish was bad. Or maybe it wasn’t even the fish,” Rusty said. “Maybe it was the fruit provided by the hotel. I don’t know.”

“I, for one, make it a habit not to include a lot of dangerous fresh fruit in my diet,” Cappie said. “But really. Going all of this way just to fulfill a promise to your big brother
and conveniently not have to shun your girlfriend? Exemplary for a pledge, extraordinary for an active. I’m almost tempted to hug you.”

“Please don’t,” Rusty said, knowing Cappie actually wouldn’t, because it would require him getting off the couch. “I only said you could go if Jordan couldn’t because I thought that was impossible.”

“The odds were for you, but fate was against you. A fate designed to get me an invitation to the exciting engineering awards ceremony. Is it even a ceremony? Or just hobnobbing with people who edit Wikipedia for a living?”

“Hey! You have to go to the formal. You can’t play sick if you’re at another event.”

“Unlike certain other people in this room, I may have made contingency plans,” Cappie answered. “In the event that I am unable to fulfill my presidential duties on Saturday night by appearing at the formal, a certain someone will take on the responsibilities—and title—of Kappa Tau president for the hours in question. And that person is…” He looked around, then under the cushions. “And that person is whoever’s name comes out of the fishbowl. Spitter, some help here?”

A quick search of the main room revealed a dry fishbowl, still with the colored rocks and plastic treasure chest at the bottom, filled with people’s names on slips of paper. “And the president of Kappa Tau for the duration of the All-Greek Formal is—” Cappie did nothing if not dramatically “—Heath. I’m sure he’ll do us proud.”

“Is my name in there?”

“Yes, but your prior obligations—mainly, being my date to the engineering event—would disqualify you.” He put the fishbowl back in its spot behind the broken lamp.

“You’re only going to stalk my sister.”