X F A C T O R by reid
CHAPTER ONE
The recruiter wasn't a handsome man. Not by a long shot.
In fact, he reminded me of the white haired love child of Linda Tripp and a male walrus. He was just that grotesque. What with his bald head, drooping jowls, and tubby midsection, there wasn't much I could do to keep from jumping him right then and there.
Except not.
Even though this Mr. Howard Gilmore Jr. wasn't much of eye candy, his words were worth listening to. His words, layered with smarm as they may have been, were my ticket out of a future filled with crack houses and sardonic comments about low-class life. Yes, his words were going to be one half of my ultimate savior. My skills on the green were the other half.
From the first moment he'd met me, I could tell Howard Gilmore Jr., or "Gilly" as he'd been christened back in '71 by the Brown Crew team, wanted me. Not in the sexual sense. Rather in the "duffer" sense. If his constant phone calls and gifts of golf towels, tees, and golf balls (all emblazoned with the Brown University logo) weren't indicative of his desire, his notarized scholarship contract was.
Four years, room and board taken care of, transportation pass and food budget provided. All contingent on little old me bolstering the Brown golf squad and stabilizing the winning tradition for the next four years. All I had to do, according to Gilly, was make the All Ivy squad at least twice. Considering their desparation to get me on the first thing smoking to Providence, impressing the coaches wasn't going to be difficult.
Gilly would see that my needs would be taken care of. When he said that, I didn't really take a shine to figuring out what might lurk beneath the surface. Instead, I took it as the schmoozing it was likely intended as. Besides, being schmoozed didn't feel so bad.
"Mr. Young," Gilly said, his voice cooed with practiced charm, "I guarantee you that if you shake hands with the Bears, you won't regret it."
I scratched my chin in contemplation, "You say you're willing to accommodate 'certain requests.' Define what you mean by that."
"Well, anything within reason."
"Oh, nothing huge," I hid my smirk as I tried to see how much I could get before I agreed, "I mean, for me to reach my competitive zenith, I'll need certain things."
He smiled knowingly, "Name your price."
"My living situation is important," My smirk now emerged in full, "If I'm going to be comin' in sixty under par, I'll need rest and relaxation. That ain't something you can get with a roommate."
Gilly nodded, "I can get you roomed with a 'phantom student.'"
"Intriguing. Please continue."
"We tell the registrar that you have a roommate, your name goes down as sharing a dorm room, you just tell people he's 'out' and presto - you've got your own room."
I smiled fully, "I like the sound of that."
Inside, I almost fell over. I was shocked at how easily and how readily this guy had given me exactly what I wanted. Now, if my genes were more infused with evil, I likely would have pushed it a little further. Maybe I would have tried to bargain taxi service out of him. Taking advantage of the NCAA's "under the table handjobs" had always sounded like so much fun.
But I didn't. All I wanted was to get the holy hell out of my house and into a world where I wouldn't constantly have to fight for everything. This scholarship was just that opportunity. The last thing I wanted to do was push this guy and have him yank it back away from me.
I decided to stay my hand with the solo room.
Gilly arched his eyebrows, "Anything else?"
I scratched my chin again, "No. No, I think that will be more than enough."
He nodded happily. I could tell that he was pleased. For just a moment, the absurdity of the situation really caught me. Here was this "old money" former PGA mainstay nearly creaming his Sans-a-Belts over me. Only in America would you find a white trash kid like myself being adored by the rich because my ability at golf. Well, maybe in Japan too.
"There's only one more step." Gilly said, pulling a crisp white stack of paper from his briefcase.
I nodded, "Show me where to sign."
As I scribbled my name on the dotted line, Gilly seemed to notice how quickly I did so. Seeing someone so eager to leave home must have been odd to him. It must have been completely alien to his culture of kids living at home until thirty.
"You're awful eager to get out of here." He said.
I had moved on to signing the next section, "Well, if you'd lived here as long as I have, you'd understand."
From down the hall, I could hear a stirring in the bedroom. Internally, I grimaced and sped up my signing. First the financial section, then the academic, then the athletic, then the ultimate signature at the bottom. As soon as my hand completed the final "g", all done with Gilly's fancy Cross pen, a rush went through me.
It was really happening. I was really getting out.
Gilly looked at the papers and smiled.
"Excellent!"
I heard more rustling down the hall. Then some hacking and coughing. Time was running out.
"Yeah yeah," I said hurriedly, practically dragging Gilly out of the dining room towards the front door, "Excellent. Time to go."
He seemed taken aback, "Well - well, all right then. We'll wire your tickets on August 24th. Everything will be taken care of from then on."
I opened the front door and nearly shoveled him out, "Kickass. I'll be there with a smile."
"CODY!" Bellowed a voice from the room.
"Oh dear," Gilly said in a concerned tone, "What was that?"
"Nothing! That was nothing. That was just a poltergeist."
Gilly cleared his throat, "Well, keep yourself in shape on the links. We'll need you in top condition."
"Uh uh, yeah," I said, trying to close the door, "I'll be sure to do that."
"CODY!" The voice bellowed again, louder and angrier.
"Hold on," I said to Gilly, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
When I turned back, I saw that Gilly seemed to be quite taken a back by my sudden roar. I chuckled, coughing slightly against the burn in my throat, "You gotta be forceful with those poltergeists."
He nodded, "Yes - I suppose you do."
A beat. A long beat of silence.
"We'll see you this fall, Cody."
I smiled, "Maybe sooner!"
I didn't wait for a response before shutting the door with a thud. Once it was closed, I sank back against it. I felt the cool, cheap steel through my t-shirt. Oh, it felt good. It felt like heaven. Heaven in the form of a posh East Coast University that would provide the opportunity for social betterment.
"You ever talk to me like that again, I'll melt down your little fag clubs and make a goddamned lamp!"
I looked up at the grizzly form of my stepfather. A defiant sneer crossed my face.
"You touch my golf clubs and I'll cut your hands off with a box cutter, old man."
He didn't make any more threats after that.
CHAPTER TWO
Brown University knew how to take care of its recruits. If nothing else impressed me about them, I would give them this much. They certainly had a very effective knowledge of what would make a young high school graduate feel wanted. Even more so, they understood what the survivor of a broken home would need to pick his world up.
First class air travel.
As my flight from Los Angeles to Providence prepared for its final descent, I sighed happily. What they said about extra legroom was certainly true. Legroom and all the free orange juice you could drink. It was like an airborne Valhalla.
My mind tried to drift back to my less-than-heartwarming goodbye to my family. It so desperately tried to conjure up images of my stepdad telling me to never come back. But I fought it. I fought it because I knew that thinking about it would lead to tears. And tears were the last thing that I wanted to deal with. Especially on the happiest day I could ever remember having.
When the plane landed, I could hardly control my excitement. Practically bounding off the plane was the only thing I could do. My feet felt like they were traversing some huge trampoline.
As I walked up the jetway to the terminal, I thought about all the new things that I would be seeing. I'd be experiencing a New England fall and winter, all sorts of new chowders, the inherent snobbery of rich college kids. Some new concepts were more alluring than others.
Once in the airport terminal, my eyes immediately caught the small white sign. Apparently, the university had dispatched one of their best town cars to pick me up. Complete with stoic driver.
At that point, I was ready to French kiss the dude.
As he lead me through security and through the baggage claim, to pick up my miniscule bag and golf clubs, I inhaled deeply. Sure, the airport smelled just like any other I'd ever been in. But Sweet Holy Christ, did she smell good. I even enjoyed the throng of funny talking Nor'Easters. They were like weird little aliens with their "kahs" and their "fah fuh me tuh criti-size."
But, just the same, they were okay with me.
When we stepped out into the late summer air, goosebumps stood up on my bare arms. The balmy heat was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It wasn't like the dry, arid warmth of L.A. or the searing burn of my weekends in Palm Springs. It was almost soft heat. Soft like a pillow.
"Sir?"
I opened my eyes, "Huh?"
The chauffeur indicated the open car door.
"Ah," I nodded with a smile, "Goodwork, Jeeves. We'll see that you get a little extra whore in your bonus this week."
He didn't laugh.
I exhaled and looked at the ground. It wasn't surprising, but I'd pretty much asumed it. I had a lot to learn about being a member of the East Coast collegiate elite. They required no joking at all and a deep sense of personal loathing. I knew more than my share about that, to say the least.
As I got into the back of the car, I saluted him from the brim of my new, official Brown baseball cap. You had to show these people respect. Even though they may act like a television show, they still deserve our respect and accomodation.
The inside of the towncar was frosty and air conditioned, complete with polished leather seats. Through my jeans, my ass slid against the varnished surface with ease. Living the high life was truly amazing. I could hardly believe that rich people ever got anything actually done with these kinds of resources at their disposal.
As the car pulled away from the airport and coasted down the highway like a cloud, I took note of my surroundings. My surroundings. The surroundings of my new home. My new 'hood. I would be hangin' with the homies in Providence, Rhode Island. I'd be golfing with the Brown Bears. The Brown Bears of Providence.
Outside of the car, I watched the sky turn golden as the sun set. It looked so beautiful. The sunset was different here. It wasn't like the smog choked sky death that was the L.A. setting of the sun. This was a real sunset. With horror, I was forced to ponder the possibility that I was already becoming a transplanted East Coaster.
By the time the car had reached the first indications of a university district, night had fallen. I rolled down my window and inhaled the sea breeze air. Salty and damp. The evening was warm but with the breeze, it felt perfect. It cooled my lungs.
All around me, I could see the tall buildings of the university. I could see the dorms and the assorted student facilities that I'd soon be using. At each intersection, I took notice of the road signs and assorted "back to school" banners. I saw the welcome signs and the posters imploring us to "register now!" They were so pretty.
I looked at the driver, "Wayland House."
His jaw tightened, "I know, sir."
Apparently, they don't like "no money" in these parts. I took solace knowing that he likely hadn't attended an Ivy League school if he was acting as such. Therefore, I guess "no money" was better than "drive a towncar for your living money." It made me feel much better. It even quelled the need for a cutting comment.
Before long, and before I could no longer control the smartass side of me, the car pulled up outside my new home. Since it was still fairly early on, there weren't many people there yet. As Gilly had informed me on the phone, they brought the new athletic recruits in early to get settled. To give us the "pick of the beds." Not that that mattered in my case, he'd joked.
He was a feeble old guy.
"Wayland House on Brown Street." The driver said, opening my door for me.
I stepped out into the cool night air. Once again, it washed over me and goosebumps raised on my skin. I inhaled deeply and took the sea scent back in, loving every bit of it. Somewhere far off, I heard seagulls squawking. The sound of healthy birds had become something of an oddity to me in my years of L.A. living.
The thud of my golf clubs being set on the sidewalk brought me back. The driver pulled out my bag and set it down next to the clubs. He could have kicked them around like a soccer ball for all I cared. Then I remembered.
Taking out my wallet, I pulled out a twenty dollar bill. A suitable tip for all his hard, bemused work. But he stopped me.
After shutting the trunk of the car, he leaned in. Briefly, his face took on a sardonic smirk that made me feel close to him. Suddenly, he didn't seem quite so snobbish and disdainful of me. He smiled, rubbing his hands together.
"Hey - kick some ass here, okay?"
I smirked, realizing where he was coming from, "Will do, chief."
He smiled again. Then he got back in the car, shut the door, and drove off into the clement New England night. For a second, I wondered if maybe this wasn't going to be as easy and breezy as I'd originally thought. Maybe this school was actually going to be a challenge. Maybe I'd actually have to - work.
Then I smiled.
As long as I played decent golf, I didn't have to do shit!
CHAPTER THREE
When I saw my room for the first time, I wondered what the hell I would have done if I'd had to have a roommate. The damn thing didn't look big enough for a pygmy, let alone one college student. Let alone two adult male college students. I was gripped with an odd pity for everyone else who would have to share a dorm room. It just seemed so damn - unfair.
It only took me a few minutes to unpack what clothing I'd managed to salvage. All I had to my name, wardrobe wise, were a few t-shirts and pairs of jeans, my good golf outfit, my golf shoes and my regular shoes. Hopefully, I could maybe panhandle some money for more possessions. But it didn't matter. All that mattered were my babies. My clubs. My magic wands. As long as I had my steel swords to battle the braggards, brogues, and breezenmires on the golf course, I'd be okay. If worse came to worse, I could always hustle at the driving range. Hell, hustling didn't sound bad at all. I immediately made plans to do it the next day. I was halfway through checking my clubs for scuff marks when there was a knock at the door. I looked up to see a reasonably pleasant young guy standing there. He was about twenty one with short spiked brown hair. Didn't do anything sexually for me, but he wasn't a trashbag, either. "Hey, you Young?" I nodded, "My Christian name is Cody." "Hey Cody, I'm Eli. I'm the RA. Let me know if you need anything." I nodded again, "Cool." "You play golf?" "It's why I'm here."
"Ah. Scholarship?"
"Hell yeah."
He nodded, "The athletic director will probably be by tommorow to talk to you. He's a nice guy. Won't give you any trouble."
"Sweet."
"Where's your roommate?"
"He's - out." I said, pleased with myself.
When Eli left, I realized that I'd had my first encounter with the natives. The college natives. Something about that seemed weird to me. I'd always heard that the college population was pretty different from the general. I could only wait and see.
Once I'd finished cleaning my golf clubs, fatigue jumped up and bit me in the ass. I yawned as I stretched my shoulders, unwinding from the stress of the day. Another yawn hit me as my eyelids felt very heavy. I tossed my hat onto the dresser and ran my fingers through my hair wearily. So many new experiences.
I stood up and walked over to the door, not having the energy to try and navigate to the bathroom. With a sigh, I shut the door and locked it. My stomach felt an odd twinge of homesickness as I looked at the room that would be my new home for the next four years. Well, until I could bargain my way into someplace better, at least.
It was that weird feeling of excitement and nervousness that always hits. It always hit me when I was sleeping someplace other than home. This new room that smelled of lemon cleanser and had bare white walls, brown curtains, and polished wood floors. This was my new home. For the first time ever, I would be sleeping in a clean, nice bed in a clean, nice room.
If you'd asked me, I'd have said that the only time I'd ever sleep in a nice bed would have been a casket. When I was dead. Dead and buried. But, apparently, that wasn't going to happen. What ever would I do with my new lease on life?
When I'd stripped my clothes off and climbed underneath the covers, I stared at the ceiling. In the darkness, the painted white plaster was cloaked in shadows. From outside the window, the moon came gently through the dark brown drapes. Against the glass, I could hear branches rustling softly.
It felt like a hotel room. Like a clean hotel room used to house rich kids looking for a free ride at the Ivy League's best party school. Well, I wasn't rich but after my first eighteen years, a free ride sounded pretty damn sweet.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next week before classes began passed without much incident. More people arrived at the school. Most everyone in my hall was perplexed and slightly bitter about how a poor bastard on a scholarship like myself had gotten his own room. But then, even though they were dumb rich kids, they put two and two together. If only they'd been born holding golf clubs rather than silver spoons! Oh if only!
I'd golfed with the athletic director twice, impressing him both times. I'd also golfed with the coach of the team, apparently showing him that his money had been well spent. I hadn't expected that being a member of the Brown golf team, you automatically gained access to several local country clubs. Another perk, another day.
When I'd arrived back at my room after my third round that day, I found my schedule had been delivered. After opening the envelope and reading the welcome letter, I perused the small blue and white print out. A smile crossed my face.
Luck had been on my side for the first time. I'd managed to get into every class I'd signed up for. If this was yet another of the perks of an athletic free ride, I'd take it.
Ethical Theory at 9:15, Intro to Political Science at 10:15, Diplomatic Relations and Philosophy at 11:15, and English 103 at 12:15. From then on, it was smooth sailing. There was also a pesky part about maintaining a minimum 2.0 GPA but that was no problem. It was the advantage of being a PoliSci major: plenty of opportunities for me to use my charisma for bargaining purposes.
In between impressing the new hierarchy, I'd also made it out to a driving range. After three days of work, I'd managed to frisk $4500 from the assorted masses on the putting green. Back in L.A., I'd have been lucky to get a few hundred in the same time frame. This new life among the rich was going to work out fine.
I used the money to buy a TV and bargain my way into a halfway decent laptop computer. As well as some decent clothes. And a new collapsable putter. And a stereo. And assorted school supplies. And A Jamba Juice frequent visitor card. Plus a somewhat acceptible cell phone for emergencies only, of course.
It wasn't until the actual morning of class that I began to feel just a bit nervous about the actual academic end of things. I wouldn't have to worry about actually golfing in competition until the spring, so my only obligation was schoolwork. That gave me about seven months of squeaking by and dealing with jackhole professors! Maybe this whole thing wasn't as cherry as I'd thought.
Walking across campus to my first class, my palms began to sweat. Even though I'd managed to get the sorts of clothes that helped me blend in, I still felt exposed. I felt like a stranger in a strange land. By the time I'd reached the English building, I was convinced that they could smell my trashiness.
Almost on relfex, I checked my armpits for any stench. Any stench of my low-income upbringing. Then I began to scold myself. There was no way I would be able to fool these Ivy League suckers if I constantly acted all froggy. I just needed to relax and look like I belonged.
As I weaved through the student population, I became fairly confident in my abilities. Everything seemed to be working, everything seemed to be okay. Turning my attention to the task at hand, I looked for my classroom. Scanning the small panels, I finally found the right one.
Upon entering the room, I was immediately struck at how different it was. In my high school, a decent classroom was something that hadn't once been a broom closet. This, on the other hand, was more than decent. This was the penthouse suite of classrooms. Stadium-style seating, LCD display screen, walls straight out of the nicest conference rooms in corporate America.
For once, I was nearly speechless. But only for a few seconds before I realized that any prolonged silence would elicit stares from the students who had already arrived. The funny thing was, they didn't look all that snobbish or unapproachable.
I took a seat at the back of the class, not really sure what to do. I assumed that since the class was so big, I'd likely have to take notes. Or maybe this was a "raise your hand and contribute" kind of class. I cursed myself for not finding out more about the actual academic side of this experience.
Nervously, I wiped the sweat from my palms onto my pants. I was too young for this kind of stress. Eighteen is way too young to have to deal with the possibility of a high society flame out. Next would come baldness and skin picking. All because I never learned what the proper mode of college class behavior was.
"Hey."
I look in the direction of the voice. Then I nearly died when I saw him.
He looked about twenty-one, probably not older than that. He had somewhat shaggy dark brown hair and the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen in my life. He was thin, but not skinny or bony. The perfect definition of slender. I could only imagine what he must have looked like under his Abercrombie threads.
"You all right?"
His lips moved flawlessly, his tanned face looking kind and concerned. Something about him just hit me deep down inside. I didn't know if it was his husky voice or his amazingly precise stubble. He just seemed perfect.
I nodded my head, trying to get my mouth to form words. My mouth had gone completely dry, my tounge felt like a dry piece of cardboard. From deep inside my stomach, an intense fluttering almost turned my stomach inside out.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Once I'd managed to spit out the words, I inhaled a deep breath and got my bearings back. The only thing that could help me now would be to find my somewhat adept sense of charm. Of course, it decided to desert me right at that very moment.
He smiled. It was an odd smile. A smile with only half of his mouth. It was the perfect horndog kegger smile. My insides collapsed as I realized that he was probably just another privledged frat boy reaching out to the new kid.
But then again, the smile seemed genuine. It didn't seem like the smile of an asshole.
"You new?" He asked, reclining in his seat.
"New at what?" Ah, there it was.
He chuckled. Another oddly genuine thing.
"You've been here a while?" I asked, trying to play it cool.
"Senior year."
"So - you're probably ready to shoot yourself, huh?"
He chuckled again. It was like heaven to me. Normally, making others laugh was more of a bitter satisfaction. But making this guy laugh was weird. It made me feel good.
"Only every day." He sighed, sounding about eighty years old.
"Well, cheer up. You only have eight months before you go sit behind a desk for the next fifty years. Enjoy it while you can."
Then he laughed. A real laugh. My knees turned to jelly at the sound. Never before had someone's laughter had such a profound affect on me. Hell, never before had making someone happy made me feel so odd. It gave me a warm feeling inside. It shocked me to realize that making someone happy, if only for a fleeting moment, made me happy. It made me feel good.
"What's your name, chief?" He asked me, extending his hand.
"Cody." I said, praising yahweh that my voice hadn't picked that exact moment to crack like it often did.
"Trey." He responded, his name a perfect Ivy League handle. Our hands closed in on each other, seeming to me like slow motion. When my palm touched his, my world felt like it was exploding in some cliched burst of bright light. The sensation of his warm, soft skin against mine was pure heaven. Even better was the tight grip of his fingers; perfectly muscular but with zero of the overly masculine shit that I couldn't stand.
When our hands parted, I could still feel the pressure of his fingers on my palm. It was a sensation I never wanted to lose contact with. Desperately, my mind tried to find a way to bond with him somehow. To form some sort of connection.
Before I could try and tag him with some sort of dorky conversation starter, Trey frowned slightly. I could tell he was thinking. Maybe he was thinking of why in the hell someone like him, someone probably popular and socially gifted, would be talking to someone like me.
"Cody Young?"
I was taken aback, "Uh, yeah."
Trey smiled, "So you're our new golf star?"
"Well, that depends on your definition of 'star'," I paused, "Are you on the golf team?"
"Four years runnin'." He sighed, sounding old again.
"How's the scene around here? Do they appreciate the fine art of wasting time on a pointless club game?"
"They do okay," Trey said thoughtfully, "Just don't expect to get too much tail with it."
That shouldn't be a problem, I thought to myself. Just as easily as my social adeptness had arrived, it left me again and I felt helpless. A tight, congested feeling seized my chest. I felt cold drops of sweat roll down between my shoulder blades. Why was this happening? I struggled to maintain my sanity, but it was a challenge.
Just as my mimi panic attack was cranking up, I realized that Trey had said something. Or asked me something. Or something entirely different. For the first time since I could remember, I squelched the frenzy inside and pulled everything together.
"I'm sorry," I blinked, "What did you say?"
Trey looked slightly derailed. It was adorable beyond words.
"I asked if you played any other sports."
"Oh," I took a deep, relieved breath, "No. Unless you count playin' the hoes."
Ouch, that was a clunker. But Trey laughed. He actually laughed. I felt like doing a softshoe tap dance. This guy had actually laughed at the lamest of my lame "sink like a stone" jokes. I almost felt like crying. The scariest part was how ungodly close I was to actually crying.
"Do you?" I asked, composing myself in time to notice his wry look, "Play any other sports, I mean. Not playing the hoes."
He laughed again, "Yeah, one or two."
Oh, so he was a jock. My impression of him would have been tarnished if not for everything that had come before. Specifically, me noticing how hot he was and him laughing at my dumb jokes. Maybe he was one of the decent jocks.
"What sports?"
"Golf, of course, and basketball."
Not too bad, I thought. If he was going to be a jock, it helped that he wasn't a four sport, four star asshole. If he played football and baseball along with the golf, I would have wished him good day. But golf and basketball, it was a combination that only excited me more.
Right as I opened my mouth to keep the river flowing, I saw the ring. The big, gaudy ring on the third finger of his left hand. Once my eye caught sight of it, my stomach felt like it decomposed all at once. The ring wasn't ugly, it was quite attractive. Very expensive looking and regal.
It was a frat ring. A big, homophobic sphere of brotherhood.
Strike three, you're out. Head back to the pink dugout, Cody.
I didn't say anything else. I sat back and accepted a future bereft of cute guys and any chance at true love. My stepdad was right, and it killed me to realize it. Gay guys would never find real love in the real world. I suddenly felt the urge to weep and sing Barry Manilow songs.
Trey noticed my sudden coolness, however.
"Something wrong?" He asked, the concern in his voice shaking me slightly.
"No. I'm okay."
He didn't seem convinced.
I inhaled, "So you're in a frat?"
He looked down at the ring. A sense of understanding seemed to come across his face. For a brief moment, it felt like he could see right down to my damn core. I felt like I should autmatically say something about "fags" or "queers" to defer the sudden rush of homophobia that had to be coming.
Instead of the stream of hate, different words came out.
"We prefer to be called 'Greek Society.' Not frat."
I tried to find him as endearing as I had before. But it wasn't happening. All the compassion in the world couldn't change his status as one of America's fine young assholes. Born and bred to replenish the asshole supply in the corporate structure.
Trey smiled apologetically, "We're not all date rapists, Cody."
"I'd hope not."
"Seriously, you should come visit sometime. After you get over the naked cheerleaders and pissed-on toilet seats, its actually not too bad."
I tried to smile with condolence, "I don't think so."
Mercifully, before I could say anything else, the professor arrived. I was quietly thankful that no more awkward conversation could taint the air between Trey and I. Although my head knew that being a frat guy pretty much killed my chances of becoming friends with him, my heart still ached. I knew that seeing him on the golf team would be painful. Seeing him in class every day would be worse. But I guessed that was part of college life: thousands upon thousands of crushed romances.
But as much as my head tried to work logically, my heart felt broken. Shattered, really. In just a few short minutes, I felt like I'd met and lost the love of my life. The immediacy of the situation was jarring to me. Never before had I ever had these feelings so quickly. Normally, my sense of love and devotion needed an agonizing amount of time to analyze itself. It was the main reason why I never actually found someone.
With Trey, it felt so different. I felt like I could immediately imagine waking up to him, spending time with him, doing every sappy thing couples did. All in only about five minutes of interaction. Never before had I been so scared and elated all at once.
But the frat thing. There was no way I could see him every day and deal with the probability that he was - making jokes. Making gay jokes about me. Even if he didn't know I was gay, he probably still made all sorts of fag jokes.
As much as my heart tried to convince me otherwise, my head disregarded his compassion and sweet disposition. It was the most painful internal dogfight known to man: the head versus the heart, no holds barred, fight to the death.
For the next fifty minutes, the professor lectured. As far as I could tell, it was about the basic structure of the course and the basic tenets of ethics and how we might apply them to whatever. After about the third sentence, I stopped listening. All I could do was sit there and swallow constantly against the lump I felt growing in my throat.
When the class ended, thankfully before the lump became to hard to handle, I got up and rushed out of the room. I wanted to look back, to see if Trey even noticed, but I didn't. If he did look back, it would have been painful beyond words. If he didn't look back, it would have been worse.
As I hurried down the hall, I cursed whoever had given humans the ability to love. It was such a damn painful emotion. Painful like a nice, swift kick right in the balls. Quick and brutal with a lingering nausea.
My hands hit the doors and I barrled out into the warm air. The sun had come out and it was shaping up to be a beautiful late summer day. Once again, the scent of the sea breeze caught my nose. Like it had the first night, it calmed me down and brought me back to earth all at once. I bent over, my hands on my knees, inhaling the air. Sweat began to trickle down my forehead. The congestion finally seemed to go away in my chest, letting my breathe fully.
"Are you okay?" A concerned voice asked.
I looked up and saw a worried face. She was about nineteen, with long brown hair and hazel eyes. She was tall. Almost taller than me. She was like a fawn. Almost immediately, I felt comfortable. She just had a very calming way about her.
"Yeah," I said, standing up straight, "I just got a little claustrophobic."
Yeah, claustrophobic inside my own body. But I left that part out.
She smiled. She had a beautiful smile. She reminded me of the chick from Just Shoot Me. The one who played Maya. Except a younger version.
"First day?"
I nodded as I mopped the sweat off my face.
"What class do you have next?"
I cleared my throat, "Into to Politics. Political Sciene, or something like that."
"That's my next class, too. Its at Cooper Hall."
I didn't know what to say. I imagine that if I were straight, I would have been drooling over this girl. But that wasn't a problem. She raised her eyebrows, "Want me to walk you there?"
I nodded, and followed her down the path. For the first time, I noticed that I was in the center of the university. A large, open space with cement pathways and benches all over the place. In the sunlight, it was actually quite beautiful. There were lots of surprisingly un-snobbish looking students there, as well.
"My name is Gina, by the way. Gina Lopez."
"Oh," I snapped back to reality, "Cody Young."
We shook hands. She had a rock solid handshake with no trace of traditional female submission. That was another of my bodily contact peeves. Feeling her grasp my hand with confidence was a welcome sensation.
"Where you from, Cody Young?"
"San Diego, if you want me to pin it down to once place," I said, feeling much better, "You?"
"Orlando," She paused as we turned a corner and headed down a tree lined path, "You're here on scholarship, aren't you?"
I wondered how the hell she knew, "Yeah ..."
"Relax. I'm not going to call the campus police."
"How could you tell?" I asked, wondering what I'd done wrong.
Gina smiled gently, "You don't have the swagger that most young, babyfaced freshman have when they come in here."
"Oh really?"
"Most newbies come in acting like everyone should bow down to their 'old money' bloodline," She paused and looked at me, "You don't act like that. At least not at first."
We approached Cooper Hall, a large gotham-esque building.
"I wouldn't know how," I said softly, "To act that way, I mean."
She smiled, "Oh, I'm not complaining at all."
I smiled back, blushing a bit as we came to the door. Like any decent gentleman, I held it open for her. For a second, Gina looked like she was going to complain. I was worried that she might take my gesture the wrong way and lay into me for acting like a chauvinist.
She didn't. She entered the building and I followed, getting goosebumps from the cool air provided by the air conditioner. I felt it in my armpits where I'd been sweating pretty heavily. Thankfully, I'd gone with a dark t-shirt as my upper body wardrobe.
"That's another way to tell you're not like the usual freshmen." Gina said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Huh?"
"Most freshmen hold the door open and then expect a blowjob in return. I could tell that you were doing it because you've been raised that way."
I laughed, "Christ, is there any way I'm not screaming 'fresh faced young trash' at the world?"
Gina put her hand on my arm, "Its not a bad thing. Trust me on that."
"All right," I conceded, "I'm an oddity. Being weird is good in this case. Point taken."
Gina laughed again. She had a great laugh. It was the kind of laugh that makes the whole room laugh. Infectious would be the ideal word for it if the word weren't so unpleasant. Transmittable was a better word for it.
We reached the door of the classroom. I could see inside that it was a freaky, old English-style concert hall. The building that surrounded it smelled like wet books and I could only imagine what the room would be like. Probably some lovely bouquet of leather and wet dog's ass.
I stopped at the door, "Want me to get this one?"
Gina laughed again. I was beginning to realize how good it felt to make people laugh. Maybe it was actually possible to make others laugh, rather than using cutting remarks to bring them down. All it took was a slight adjustment and toning down of the vitriol.
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time my first day had finished, I was about ready to turn tail and run back home. Even if I had to deal with my stepfather again, it seemed almost worth it. Nothing that he could do after rolling out of bed like Humpty Dumpty could compare to the horrors of Ivy League social interaction.
Combined, my four classes had assigned over 250 pages of reading, nearly thirty short essay problems, at least four hours of extra curricular research, and two newspapers to read cover to cover. All topped off with the edict that nothing would be collected, but it would all come up on the test.
Just thinking about it made me tired as I trudged back to my room. I had no intention of doing any of it. But thinking about it and hearing the words in my head made me plenty exhausted.
By the time I'd gotten back to my room, it was nearly two in the afternoon. Being blessed with a nearly thirty minute walk from my dorm to the academic buildings was something I hadn't counted on. Didn't they know that I was here to be their savior on the golf course? How could they expect me to actually - exert myself? It wasn't fair.
Entering the building, I felt the heavy sweat on my back. Like varnish on a table. Wet varnish. My hair clung to the back of my neck in a sticky clump. It felt like papier-mache. Eighty nine degree heat will do that to hair, apparently. Humid head, no less.
"Hey Cody?" Eli said from behind.
I turned to face him, "Yeah?"
"Somebody left a message for you." Eli handed me a folded piece of notebook paper.
"Who was it?" I frowned.
"One of the basketball guys. I think he's a Phi Psi."
"A Phi Psi?"
"Phi Kappa Psi. Its one of the bigger frats on Greek Row."
My stomach dropped and filled with butterflies all at once. He hadn't actually been here, had he? The idea was too shattering to even contemplate. But of course, I contemplated it. I wondered why he would go to so much trouble. Why would he do something like that after only five minutes? I didn't know if my heart could stand contemplating it.
"Did he say anything?" I asked, my voice shaky.
Eli shook his head, "No. Just to see that you get it."
"Did - did he tell you his name or anything?"
"I think his name is Troy or Travis or something."
"Trey." I almost whispered.
"Yeah! Trey. Did he talk to you about the golf team?"
"No," I said, my hands feeling shaky and sweaty, "I mean, yeah. He mentioned it. We have Ethical Theory together."
Eli shrugged as he went back in his room, "He's gay so be careful."
When the words hit my ear, my knees buckled and I collapsed against the wall. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like the agonizing impact of a bullet to the spine. But to me, it was like some jarring quake inside my heart. The joy of knowing that Trey might be "into me" but then the reality of our situation: he was a two-sport college senior in a frat, I was a freshman from a dirt poor home on a free ride.
Slowly, my fingers unfolded the paper. The crisp noise sounded like thunder in my ears, the blood rushing to my ear drums heavily. Part of me was scared to see what he had written, another part of me was excited beyond belief.
Cody,
Sorry if I came on too strong. I hope you do visit sometime. We could use more fresh meat at the house. Just kidding - sort of.
See you in class, Trey
Regaining my composure, I shifted my weight up off the wall and took the stairs slowly. My feet thudded against each step, the paper feeling far away in my hand. A dreamlike state washed over me as I absent mindedly wiped the sweat from my brow. No dream would ever play out this perversely, I thought to myself.
Entering my room, I set the paper down gingerly on the top of my dresser. Something about his note just pained me more. I tried to get past him being in a frat and being a jock, but I just couldn't. I tried to tell myself that he was a nice guy and could be a nicer - fill in the blank. But I couldn't. I couldn't get past it. I couldn't let go of the in-crowd high school mentality. Jocks were like leopards, they never changed their spots. The age old truism was the one damn thing my stepfather taught me that I could actually use in everyday life.
I laid down on my bed, suddenly feeling the heat as well as the exictement of my first day. Dizzyness blurred my vision. Outside the dorm, I could hear people on the lawn and on the stoop. They sounded happy and content. On the floor above mine, I could hear music playing. It was the sounds of good company.
Silently, and for a very brief second, I wished that I'd gotten a roommate. Even a bad one would have at least been someone else. Someone else to see when I got back to my room. Some other entity to have dealings with. But then again, having my own room was pretty damn sweet, too.
Right as I was about to regain my footing enough to forage for food, my phone rang. The sudden, shrill noise scared the hell out of me as it bounced off the walls. After calming my heart down out of my throat, I picked up the phone and answered it. It was either the golf coach or the athletic director, I could presume that much.
"Hey, its Gina!"
Or it was Gina. I'd given her my number, too.
"Hey." I said, my throat sore from dryness.
"Christ, you sound bad. Are you getting sick?"
"No," I mumbled, rectifying the situation with a sip from a water bottle, "I'm okay. What's up?"
"You know the girl in our class?"
Oh, I knew her. A just-out-of-high-school debutante with a Prada wardrobe and Dow Chemical breast implants. She wasn't exceptional save for her first-day declaration that the middle eastern nations who believed in the death penalty for homosexuals had "the right idea." It had stemmed from an introductory discussion of the differing political beliefs of the world. It took me about half a second to write her off.
"What about her?" I smiled, never one to pass up a shit-talking session.
I could hear Gina smiling on the other end as she said, "Apparently, she's quite the coke fiend. Before school started, she took a Greyhound to Boston for some blow."
"How the hell do you know this?" I tried to sound shocked, but deep down inside, I was impressed as all hell.
"It pays to have friends who have big ears and eyes."
"Okay, but why are you letting me in on this potentially valuable information? I mean, not that I don't enjoy it."
"I knew you'd enjoy it," Gina paused, "And I don't want you to think that her opinions are bred of decency. She hardly has any right to want you dead."
I just about hit the floor. How did she know? She wasn't that perceptive. She couldn't have been able to tell so easily. Unless, to my horror, I'd been giving off a fey vibe. Almost immediately, I went into damage control.
"Uh, I don't think her comments would apply." Swish! That's the sweet sound of success, kids.
"Cody, are you going to play Kevin Spacey with me?"
I sighed, "Am I that obvious?"
She laughed, "Only in that you weren't looking at my rack constantly."
Gina paused for a moment. Her next statement didn't need to be voiced. Rubbing my forehead, I exhaled noisily.
"Yes," I groaned, "Yes, I am."
"You don't sound too proud of it."
I glanced at the paper on my bureau, "You're the second person today."
Suddenly, her voice sounded serious, "Why? What do you mean?"
"Someone else could tell. At least, I think they could. But it was in a different way than you."
"Did somebody hit on you?" She nearly shouted, sounding like we'd known each other for years. It was beginning to feel that way.
"Somebody expressed interest. It seemed that way, mostly."
"What did he do?"
"He was being all chatty and outgoing. I guess it was the way he was acting."
"Do you know anything about him?"
"He's gay. Or so I hear."
"What's his name?"
"Trey." I said, still getting a jolt in my stomach even when I said his name.
There was silence on the other end. Not suspecting anything out of the ordinary, I assumed that Gina had her attention pulled from the phone. That wasn't the case.
"Trey?" She asked, finally.
"Yeah. He's on the basketball team as well as the golf team, I hear."
"Trey Morgan?"
"Is that his last name?"
She paused again, "Yeah. He's pretty sought after."
"Fantastic," I lamented, "He's frat boy jock with a line of prospective tail a mile long."
Did I just use the word "tail"?
Gina sounded impressed as she seemed to ignore my complaint, "You got through to Trey Morgan."
I began to gaze out the window, "I'm guessing that's an achievement?"
"You might say that. He's got a reputation as being kind of - unachievable."
"How so?"
"He comes from a pretty textbook 'silver spoon and dogshit' family."
"What the hell is that?"
"It's a rich family built on misery and alienation," Gina explained, "Screwed up parents, screwed up siblings, heavy expectations on the youngest of the brood."
I groaned and fell back on the bed, "And he's the youngest."
"So, needless to say, he's something of an enigma."
"Just what I need. A fucked up rich boy to fix."
"Not necessarily," Gina said, "I haven't spent a whole lot of time around him or anything, but the word is that he's doing okay."
"'Okay' in that he's not date raping and smoking crack?"
"More like 'okay' in that he's still capable of human emotion."
I felt somewhat lost, "So what the hell do I do?"
Gina's shrug was almost audible, "Don't write him off. Think of it as being blessed."
"Okay, now that's a little creepy." I laughed.
She laughed too, "Look, just don't call dismiss him. For a frat boy jock, his reputation would suggest that you could do worse."
"Point taken."
I heard rustling on the other end, "Are you going to be okay? I have to find a Xerox machine before it gets too crowded."
"Yeah, I'll be fine," I almost stuttered, "Hey Gina?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you." I said, finding it odd to say those words genuinely.
"Any time," Again, I could see her smiling on the other end, "Talk to you later, heartbreaker."
When the line clicked, I pressed the talk button on the phone and set it on the night stand. It landed with a wooden clunk that bounced off the walls of the room. For a few seconds, I just stared at the phone. I stared in a half-state of consciousness.
In just under six hours, my whole life felt like it had been changed. Just like they always said: spend all your time looking out for the right hook, it's the left one that knocks you out. All this time I'd been looking for a fellow disadvantaged soul but the one person turned out to be a rich social climber.
Save for the vague noise of the dorm outside my four walls, I sank back into a fatigued silence. Just unreal, I thought. There was no amount of rational thought that could explain what had happened. I didn't believe in luck, so it wasn't that. It wasn't karma, either, because karma wouldn't have turned me into such a cynic in the first place.
Then again, another part of my brain began to flare up in a very unwelcome fashion. I began to consider the possibility that Trey was just - pursuing me. That he was looking to make me another "notch on his bed post" so to speak.
But he seemed so sincere! He seemed to honestly be interested. I'd seen people doing the whole "sensitive as a means to get laid" shtick and I probably could have been able to tell. Either Trey had done a hell of an acting job or he really was trying to be - friendly. Still, I couldn't completely ignore that worry.
CHAPTER SIX
It was quieter when I woke up. I could discern that much from my surroundings. Despite the ruckus in the dorm surrounding me, I'd managed to fall asleep. Whether it was the heat or the taxing nature of the day, I wasn't exactly sure. Whatever it was that had sent me into such a slumber, it had made me dead to the world.
My mind felt foggy from sleeping in the middle of the day, a sensation that I didn't really like. My stomach grumbled and I was hit with the pangs of hunger. When I looked at the clock, I felt relieved. It was only 4:30. I hadn't slept THAT long. Not long enough to throw my sleep schedule off. Just long enough to work up something of an appetite.
Shaking the last of the sleep from my brain, I stood up and stretched. Outside, the sun was setting. It cast a yellow glow across my room. I smiled, appreciative of the fact that no matter where you went, a good sunset was always a nice thing to look at.
I rubbed my eyes as I left the room, being sure to pull the door closed and letting it lock behind me. The hallway was quiet, save for one of the doors down the hall being open. Inside the room, I could see someone listening to Dave Matthews Band. The staple of the college generation.
Absent mindedly, I headed towards the back door to the dorm, intent on finding the cafeteria. My stomach growled again. I prayed to myself that ivy league meant better food than most educational institutions.
"So you're there, after all."
The voice made me jump. It was Trey.
I turned around to face him. He was sitting against the wall on the other side of the door. Immediately upon seeing him, my knees shook. How the hell was he making my knees week? This wasn't supposed to happen! Trying to look at least somewhat suave, I leaned against the wall.
"Where else would I be?" Aw yeah, that was the stuff.
Trey smiled. It was THE smile.
"Your RA said he thought you'd gone out. I've been here for an hour, give or take."
Why would he wait five minutes? Moreover an hour?
I frowned, "You could have knocked on the door."
He rubbed his forehead, "Guess I should have taken logic instead of 'Beers of the World' last semester."
I laughed. A genuine laugh.
"I guess so." I was feeling awkward, but oddly at ease.
Trey stood up. For the first time since I'd seen him, I noticed how tall he was. At least six foot four, maybe even a little taller. Tall and lean, he was. Just the sight of him almost made my teeth hurt. I tried to keep my eyes of the bulge in his jeans. His oh so tight jeans.
My mind snapped out of its haze. He had to want something. Whatever the hell it was, I had no idea. Maybe he wanted sex. Or maybe he wanted some sort of social interaction. I began to panic as I tried to get a read on why Trey was here.
"Did you eat?" He asked.
I stuttered, "No - why?"
He smirked, "Well, are you hungry?"
I nodded slowly, probably looking like a lobotomy victim.
"Well - the food here isn't spectacular but it's pretty decent."
"Maybe I'll check it out sometime."
Trey looked disappointed and initially, I wondered why. It took me several seconds to make the connection between the two sides. The size of the realization took me off guard. Realizing that just maybe he wanted to spend time with me. Time in which we could possibly - bond.
"Or," I said, swallowing hard, "We could check it out now."
He smiled, "I'd be up for that."
"Okay."