Eli caught up with them outside McClintock on Thursday, a football tucked under his arm like it had lived there all summer.
“You two busy Saturday morning?”
Mark smirked, already knowing the answer. “Depends who’s asking.”
Eli lofted the ball to him and looked at Ethan.
“Tailgate setup. We’ve got the prime spot. Come see how it’s done.”
Ethan nodded before he’d decided.
“Yeah. Sure.”
Eli’s dimples cut deep.
“Ten o’clock. And don’t dress like a pledge—yet.”
Saturday came warm and clear, the first hint of fall hiding under the late-September sun. At Westmore, football was always an excuse to celebrate, but the first home game of the season was different. The quad was already alive—music from open windows, a column of freshmen in blue blazers moving like a school of fish, laughter bouncing between brick.
Delta Chi’s tailgate looked like something from a college brochure. Two striped tents, an army of SUVs backed up in a neat row, tailgates open, coolers half-unloaded. Brothers in blazers and khakis moved like they’d practiced this a hundred times. Folding tables opened with a metallic snap, bags of ice tore open with a soft rush, water sloshing over hands already chilled.
The scene had polish, but beneath it, Ethan could feel the other thing—what would come later, when polish gave way to noise.
Eli spotted them almost instantly.
“Tables beside the bar. Ice in every cooler. Cups on the left—logos out.”
Mark moved without hesitation, dropping into the rhythm of the work. Ethan followed—ice shattering under the scoop, wet hands numbing fast, the hollow clack of stacked cups, the metallic ring of cooler lids slamming shut. The “bar” took shape by degrees: Bowman’s Best lined like soldiers, bourbon, gin, a couple of vodka handles for the girls from Waverly, rum for the “old head” alumni, and a silver punch bowl that looked older than most of the brothers.
“Don’t let him fool you. He loves bossing us around, but it’s just practice. By next fall he’ll be in a suit, kissing some managing director’s ass.”
Even here, Ethan could see the rules at play—who gave orders, who fetched ice, who was allowed to stand still. It was all invisible unless you looked for it. He was starting to look for it.
By kickoff, the field was a small city. Girls in sundresses and chunky heels drifted past like bright birds. Mark pointed discreetly.
“Waverly. Kinsington. St. Margaret’s,” he said, like reciting from a field guide.
Ethan nodded, smiled tried and tried to take it all in without seeming too eager, as Mark gave him the lay of the land.
“Careful with St. Margaret’s — the only vows they keep are to show up with a roadie and a friend who needs a place to stay.”
The NCAA had banned drinking outside of designated tailgate ares, but here no one seemed to notice—or care. Delta Chi’s tent was a stone’s throw from the home end zone. The game was nothing more than background noise, cheers rising and falling like weather. What mattered was the performance around it: men in blue blazers with bow ties, suddenly formal after a week of living like animals. Brothers stepped from the sideline to the bar and back without missing a word in conversation. Certain men were served without asking; others waited, listening to alumni tell the same stories over again.
“Hey, remember that time—”
Eli stood at the center of it, head tipped to listen, one hand in his pocket, his name passed from group to group. Every so often, his gaze cut through the crowd and found Ethan. A quick half-smile, lingering a bit too long, then gone again.
At halftime, Ethan learned what the punch bowl was for. Luke—the same Luke who seemed to command a certain deference—pulled a huge bottle of Jägermeister from a cooler, so cold it looked syrup-thick coming out of the bottle. He emptied it into the bowl, lifted it high, and announced HALFTIME! The brothers roared.
Luke drank first, the dark liquid dripping from his chin, then passed the bowl to Eli. Around it went—brother to brother—until Eli was holding it in front of Ethan.
A few upperclassmen watched, weighing him without expression. It wasn’t hostile, but it was deliberate. Ethan remembered Eli’s earlier line—don’t dress like a pledge yet. That yet hung in the air.
With a flicker of fear—maybe worry—he tipped the bowl. The taste was worse than cough syrup, thick and herbal, heat racing down his throat. He swallowed again just to clear it.
By the start of the third quarter, the formality had dissolved. Jackets were tossed over chairs, ties hung loose, shirts untucked. Sundress straps hanging precariously. By the fourth, most had forgotten the game altogether.
Westmore won by a field goal that felt bigger than it was. The cheer caught like fire along the row of tents. Music swelled, bourbon loosened language and posture. As the sun dipped, people began drifting toward Fraternity Row, where the real night would start. Ethan figured he wasn’t eating dinner.
That night, Delta Chi had a Grateful Dead cover band on the back patio, the deck packed shoulder to shoulder on every level. Jerry Garcia’s death a few years back had turned these songs into tradition. Doors were propped with bricks, the front room full enough that the floorboards had a voice. Beer, cologne, Marlboro Lights, and the sweet-burnt edge of weed hung in the air.
After another warm beer, Ethan wondered how they kept going—drinking in the sun all day, then starting over. The brothers seemed immune, belting out “Casey Jones” like they meant it. Around midnight, the band packed up, and the GDIs and hangers-on filtered toward the dorms.
Ethan was about to suggest leaving when Eli appeared out of the noise.
“You aren’t leaving are you? Come hangout upstairs.
“You both should come.”
Mark glanced toward the kitchen. A girl in a green dress, one strap falling off her shoulder, was waving him over like they had plans.
“I’ll catch up,” he said, already moving.
Eli smiled, angled his head at Ethan.
“Come on.”
The music dulled with each stair. Second-floor hall—hardwood floors worn smooth, framed composites on the wall, a door at the end just slightly open.
Inside: the warm lamplight of a closed world. The air had that sweet-sour Annex smell without the Annex—beer dried into old wood, smoke clinging to curtains. Luke was there from the tailgate, shirtless, lean skater’s build, bare feet on the couch cushion, a glass ashtray balanced on a stack of men’s magazines.
“This is Luke,” Eli said. “Older, wiser, better-looking.”
Luke grinned, slow and easy. He passed the bong like it was a handshake. Ethan coughed, then settled into the rhythm. Eli switched on a clock radio, finding a Top 40 station from Richmond that only came in at night.
They talked about nothing—the game, the weather, a professor still using transparencies. Luke told a story that trailed into silence. Eli laughed in a way that made the room lean toward him. Below, voices rose and fell like surf.
Luke continued to slide lower on the couch until the bong stem clinked against the ashtray. His eyes closed.
Eli took it from him and set it aside.
The quiet that followed wasn’t empty. It felt deliberate, like it was holding something in place.
“Not what you pictured when you got here,” Eli said.
Ethan watched smoke twist toward the ceiling. “Not exactly.”
Eli’s eyes stayed on him, mouth tilting like there was a second answer he wouldn’t say.
“Good,” he said finally. “Means you’re paying attention.”
From the hall came voices, a door opening, laughter spilling and cutting off again. The house exhaled.
Eli pushed the window open an inch. Cool night air slipped in—cut grass, distant charcoal, music from other houses. He sat beside Ethan, his hand resting on Ethan’s knee, then moving slowly upward. Ethan leaned closer without meaning to.
“Things are going to change soon,” Eli said quietly. “Just… be ready.”
The moment hung. Then Eli offered him “a couple rips for the road,” the glass cool against Ethan’s palm. When they stood, Eli’s hand brushed the door. The hall air slid in, thinner and louder.
“Come on,” he said, softer. “We’ll go down.”
On the landing, Mark’s laugh floated up, tangled with the voice of the girl in green. Ethan looked back once—the lamplight still burning, Luke adrift—then followed Eli into the noise.
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Still enjoying this trip into an alien world. I spent 6 weeks in a frat because I needed a place to live. My 'brothers' were mostly occupied with money, status and bc while I wanted a simple homesteading life. The experience was awful, but re-enforced the values I still live by.