Fourteen Beers at Chili's

Page 20

Exiting the bathroom, you return to the table, content with your choice. It's inconsequential if you washed your hands. You have Schrodinger's hands. They are both washed and unwashed because Derek wasn't in the bathroom observing you. Maybe if he cared so much about clean hands, he should have come with you.

At least you think that's how that Schrodinger thing goes. You barely passed physics last semester.

There's a beer waiting at your seat when you return. Still annoyed, you down the entire glass before sitting down. When you look across the table at Derek, you wish you had another beer ready. His plate of nachos is completely empty except for some chip crumbs and a few black beans. He looks at you with a shit-eating grin, daring you to say something.

"Thanks for saving me some," you grumble.

"I bet you didn't even wash your hands. You just went in there and stood at the sink."

You shrug. "Maybe, maybe not. You would know for sure if you bothered to wash your own hands."

The bros collectively "ooooh" at your sick burn. You expected they would blindly take Derek's side. He must have expected the same thing, because his face goes red. Derek purses his lips and glares across the table at a heavyset bro with an unfortunate resemblance to a pug. Pug Bro flinches like he's about to have something thrown at him.

"Pledge, give the rest of your food to him," Derek says, his voice uncharacteristically stern.

"But I-" Pug Bro stammers. The silver Rolex on his wrist catches the light as he grabs his plate protectively. At first you felt bad for him, but now you don't care. He can afford to buy another plate.

"Don't talk back unless you want to sort ten thousand Skittles by color. Oh, and it'll be by candlelight, and there will be snakes." Derek's threat was oddly specific, yet terrifying. 

You couldn't tell if he was bluffing about the snakes. The crazy look in his eyes says he probably isn't.

Pug Bro snorts and passes the plate down the line of bros until it reaches you. There are a few mozzarella sticks left. The cheese has coagulated now, and the breading is a little soggy. You don't really enjoy the food, but you eat it anyway. To be honest, you're a little scared of what Derek might do if you don't. This is more than just being a little douchey. Anyone who has candles, snakes, and ten thousand Skittles at the ready is unhinged.

Maddie brings around another round of beers, and you're thankful for the alcohol. The vibe has definitely changed. Some of the bros, probably pledges, look especially nervous. You don't understand why they tolerate being tortured to join a silly club. Hell, they even have to pay dues to stay in the frat. None of it makes any sense to you. The payoff, regular parties in a musty basement with cheap beer, doesn't seem worth it.

"Pledge, drink this." Derek holds a bottle of tabasco out to Pub Bro, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"This is ridiculous! My father was the President of Delta Phi in '89. That should count for something. I'm not drinking it," Pug Bro huffs indignantly.

"Yeah, you are. No special treatment, remember? Your dad said so himself at visit weekend," Derek reminds. He shakes the hot sauce bottle, taunting Pug Bro. Pug Bro's round cheeks puff out further as he pouts.

Is this hazing? That's something you thought only happened in movies, and definitely something Derek wouldn't do. Then again, he did apparently have those snakes at the ready. Maybe you don't know him as well as you thought you did. The hazing would bother you more if Pub Bro didn't have such a punchable face. The guy absolutely reeked of privilege. Besides, tabasco is just red vinegar. It's not even hot.

"I'll pay you a hundred dollars if you do all my pledge activities tonight. There's nothing in the handbook that says the pledge can't outsource his tasks."

To your surprise, Pug Bro is looking directly at you. You're not sure why he directed the offer to you instead of another pledge. He must have picked up on your tight budget, considering you followed Derek's stupid demand instead of getting your own appetizer. With a hundred dollars in your pocket, you can more than meet your fourteen beer goal. That number felt perfect for some reason, and you'd be devastated not to reach it.

At the same time, you aren't exactly sure you're desperate enough for cheap alcohol that you'd get hazed for it. Derek might take it easy on you, considering you aren't even in the frat, but you're afraid he might get revenge for your quip about hand washing. He doesn't object to Pug Bro's offer and waits for your answer.

Do you...

GET HAZED (GO TO PAGE 25)

KEEP YOUR DIGNITY (GO TO PAGE 26)

BEER COUNTER: 5