Chapter V: The Line-Up
Content note: This chapter includes depictions of fraternity hazing, and includes period authentic language that some readers may find offensive.
The leaves hadn’t turned yet, but campus life had settled into its fall rhythm — classes, tailgates, and the looming question of where each freshman would land. For Ethan, Bid Night promised answers he wasn’t sure he wanted.
By the end of September, the campus had settled into a groove. The Bell marked each passing hour from its post in the middle of the quad. Between classes, Ethan scribbled names into the margins of his lab manual, rehearsing between Biology and Chemistry, mouthing Delta Chi’s founders’ names as if they were formulas he had to memorize.
Bid Night loomed closer, deepening Ethan’s anxious determination. His family was well off; his father ran a successful business he had started when he was Ethan’s age. Though he had never attended college himself, Ethan’s dad made it clear that education was the ticket out of their hometown — with a college, or better, a professional degree, Ethan and his sister could be spared the struggles he had endured. Ethan’s mother, by contrast, had grown up in Charleston garden parties and cotillion halls — boarding school, then a women’s college where sororities reigned. Ethan didn’t know what to expect, so he prepared the only way he knew how. Mark, on the other hand, wore rush effortlessly — handshakes, names, nicknames — he lived for it.
Late that afternoon, the envelopes slipped silently under their dorm room door — heavy cream paper stamped with the crimson Delta Chi crest. Ethan’s heart quickened as he exchanged a nervous glance with Mark, who was already smiling knowingly. They stood quietly, holding their bids, the silence filled with anticipatory energy. Mark finally broke it:
“Eli says Bid Night’s laid back. Easy for him to say — he’s almost out the door. The real pledging won’t start until they take us out to the Annex. I hope it’s not as bad as everyone’s been saying.”
Ethan knew that by “everyone,” Mark meant his buddies from boarding school, who had practically been training for this their entire lives. It was never explicitly said, but he was expected to join a fraternity. His mother especially touted the benefits of the “good ol’ boy” network and how it would serve him later in life.
Ethan finally spoke up:
“I mean, I’ve seen the movies — Animal House, all that. My mom told me to expect something more formal, more… useful later in life, was how she put it. I’m just trying to figure out which version is real.”
Mark chuckled.
“Eli didn’t go off to school with me. He was the dutiful son and stayed at the public high school back home. Sure, we both grew up on this campus, but Eli preferred to stay close. Same with college — top five in his class. He could’ve had a full ride anywhere for lacrosse.”
As Mark talked, Ethan realized Eli had a side he hadn’t even considered. Choosing Westmore meant something to him, clearly. Mark went on to share what Eli and the others had told him about pledging, but Ethan sensed he wasn’t getting the full story. Hazing was inevitable. It always was.
Bid Night arrived quietly, deceptively calm as blazer-clad freshmen made their way to Fraternity Row. Ethan stood nervously in the dim, candlelit Chapter Room at Delta Chi, the air thick with anticipation. It was stifling in coats and ties, the September heat trapped in the unventilated room. Sweat gathered at Ethan’s collar, trickling down his back as the candles flickered. The room was surprisingly clean, a card table lit only by flickering candles. The brothers stood solemnly in their coats and ties, some holding paddles engraved with Greek letters.
Clay, introduced as their Pledge Trainer, stepped forward slowly, handing each pledge a small wooden box.
“These tokens represent your journey,” Clay intoned. “Keep them with you at all times. They bind you to us.”
A couple of brothers snickered as the pledges opened their boxes, but it was clear Clay was serious. Inside each was a quarter, a pack of cigarettes, and a condom.
“A good pledge should be able to produce these three items anytime he’s asked,” Clay continued. “If he can’t, there will be consequences. Consider it an honor to carry these and to offer them to a brother whenever asked.”
By now the brothers couldn’t keep straight faces, and the solemnity broke into laughter. Clay pressed on, unbothered:
“Now, as I hand each of you your pledge pins, raise your right hand and repeat after me…”
It wasn’t quite Hoover’s “I pledge allegiance to the frat…,” but it wasn’t far off. As the pledges stumbled through the words, laughter broke out again. Then the music kicked on, lights snapped up, and the room shifted instantly into party mode. Ethan felt his shoulders loosen. These guys didn’t take themselves too seriously after all, and for the first time that night he let himself breathe — and start to get to know his fellow pledges. Soon the house felt no different than any other party — girls appeared from nowhere, the yellow beer started flowing, and music shook the walls. Ethan found himself actually enjoying it, talking with brothers he hadn’t met yet and trading stories with other pledges.
Hours later, he felt Eli’s gentle touch at his elbow.
“Come upstairs?” Eli asked softly.
Ethan followed, pulse thudding with every step. The hallway reeked of beer and smoke, doors half-open to reveal smaller private parties. Eli’s hand brushed his shoulder casually, but it didn’t feel casual at all.
Inside the room, the door clicked shut. The noise dulled to a muffled roar, replaced by the low hum of a box fan in the window. A desk lamp cast amber light across unmade sheets and a pile of laundry that smelled faintly of detergent. The room was hotter than the hallway, the air close and damp. Eli peeled his shirt off with the ease of someone used to the heat, leaving Ethan even more aware of the sweat sticking his own shirt to his skin. Ethan, pulled off his shirt and stood awkwardly by the bed, trying to slow his breathing.
“You’re jumpy,” he said, his voice roughened by cigarettes and exhaustion.
“I’m fine,” Ethan lied, though his hands were trembling.
Eli stepped closer, eyes searching his face.
“You don’t have to be.”
The words landed heavy. Eli’s hand lifted, tracing along Ethan’s jaw, and Ethan leaned into the touch before he could think better of it. The kiss began tentative, almost cautious — then broke open. Eli’s weight pressed him back against the bedframe, the heat of his skin, the taste of smoke and beer mixing on their tongues.
Ethan tried to memorize every detail, knowing it could vanish the moment the door opened. He already knew one thing for certain: no kiss could ever undo this one.
When Eli finally pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against Ethan’s. His voice was low.
“Get back downstairs before someone notices you’re missing.”
Ethan lingered a moment before stepping out. The noise of brothers and pledges swallowed him again, everything unreal after what had just happened. The next morning, a folded slip appeared under their door — no vellum crest, just a stark photocopy:
FRIDAY. 10:00 P.M. HOUSE. BLACK SHIRT. JEANS. BLINDFOLDS PROVIDED. BRING YOUR TOKENS (NO EXCUSES).
Mark whooped, deepening Ethan’s dread.
Clay was running it. The second-year senior wore his camo cap low, clipboard clutched like armor. Clay wasn’t quite frat material — too earnest, too eager — but hazing was his domain, his payback for years on the outside looking in.
The Bid Night ceremony had passed with little more than laughter and a few shotgun beers, telling Ethan everything he needed to know. Tonight wasn’t ritual. Tonight was the first real line-up.
They met behind the Delta Chi house under a thinning moon. Trucks idled, exhaust sweet and nauseating in the humidity. Clay handed out strips of cloth, his clipboard pressed tight against his chest.
“Blindfolds on. Hands behind your backs. Open your mouth, and you’re done.”
The cloth smelled of detergent and someone else’s sweat. A firm, almost regretful hand gripped Ethan’s elbow, guiding him into a pickup bed. Shoulders pressed against shoulders, silent as the truck jolted forward, the tailgate rattling like loose cutlery.
His heart counted beats, the quarter digging into his thigh. A thought rose quietly: You could call from any payphone. You could say, I’m here.
The truck lurched to a stop. Blindfolds yanked away. The Annex yard blazed under harsh headlights, the brothers’ cars fanned into a semicircle. Ozzy Osbourne’s Crazy Train crackled from old porch speakers. Dented trash cans stood waiting.
“Line up. Eyes front. Don’t say a word until I tell you.”
Ethan wedged himself between Nate, lanky and anxious, and Tyler, a stoic swimmer whose shoulders seemed immune to fear. Someone moved behind them with deliberate slowness, cruelty in every step.
“Founders. In order,” Clay barked.
The first pledge stumbled. Clay’s whistle cut the air.
“Drink.”
A bottle appeared. The pledge gagged after two swallows. Ethan’s stomach tightened.
“Greek alphabet. Backwards.”
Tyler faltered at epsilon, then doubled over a trash can. The brothers roared with laughter.
At Mark’s turn, paper plates emerged with pickled horrors. He hadn’t studied a thing, assuming charm alone would carry him. After fumbling an answer, a bottle of warm wine was shoved into his hand, then something unidentifiable Clay barked:
“Eat, faggot.”
Mark barely made it to the can.
Ethan’s turn came last. He rattled off three brothers’ names perfectly, then missed a middle initial by one letter. Clay scribbled with satisfaction.
“Drink.”
The warm, syrupy wine burned his throat. Ethan stared at a knot in the fence until the nausea passed. He would not look weak.
“Alright, ladies. Time to slither. Mark, show your pledge brothers how it’s done.”
Mark dropped to his hands and knees as Metallica thundered. Within seconds Clay’s steel-toed boot dug into his back.
“Lower, snakes! On your bellies! Off your knees!”
Ethan’s elbows and chest hit the wet ground. They slithered forward as food and beer rained down on them. Kicks landed. Dirt clung to skin, filled mouths and noses. Shame clung thicker.
Across the yard, Eli stood silent by the speakers, his eyes locked on Ethan. The look wasn’t pity or pride, but something sharp and unreadable that pinned Ethan in place.
When the last song ended, Clay clapped once, sharp.
“On your feet.”
A garden hose hissed, drenching them in icy water.
“You stink too bad to ride back with us. Find your own way home. Keep your mouths shut.”
They trudged back in silence, muddy and shaken. Mark finally bumped Ethan’s shoulder, breaking the silence.
“We’re in.”
Ethan couldn’t answer. He knew this wasn’t for him. At the dorm, the their phone rang insistently. Ethan picked it up with a shaky hand.
“Hello?”
“You good?” Eli’s calm voice asked.
“Yeah,” Ethan managed.
“You kept it down. Drink water. Shower.” A pause, softer now. “You’ll be fine.”
The line clicked dead.
Under the scalding shower, Ethan scrubbed mud and shame from his skin, the quarter’s impression still pressed into his palm like a wound.
Lying awake later, he replayed the week: the warmth of Bid Night, the impossible closeness of Eli, and the brutality of the Annex. The contradictions tangled and pulled at him until dawn. He clutched the quarter like proof he hadn’t dreamed any of it.
By morning, bruises bloomed across arms and ribs, skinned knees and knuckles all marking the night before. Mark, still grinning, steered them toward the long Delta Chi breakfast table, proud as if nothing had touched him.
Clay avoided their eyes.
Eli was there too — not at their table, but nearby, leaning in with brothers from another house, laughing easily. Close enough to see, but not once meeting Ethan’s gaze.
Ethan picked at his plate, dread tightening in his chest. The silence between them carried more weight than anything said the night before.
His fingers pressed against the quarter in his pocket, the only thing anchoring him in a reality he no longer fully understood.
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Dude, I appreciate you telling your story - it's clearly meaningful to you. But frats, with exceptions, are hives of privilege, exclusivity, right-wing politics and homophobia. I'm 5 chapters in, and you seem oblivious. I don't need you to reject frats, but I do need some balance. We're cool - but this story just doesn't resonate for me - I'm out.
Midway through 'Pledge Week' I resigned. It wasn't worth it.