Chapter 3 Elias
ELIAS
Just as I suspected from that smiling picture on the college website, Benjamin ‘just Ben’ Harris is a total pushover. It was obvious he didn’t want to practice with me, but he did it anyway—albeit with a strained smile on his face.
It’s difficult to tell in one practice session how good he really is. His technique in every major area is solid, though you can’t really see a player’s limits until they are pushed in a competitive match.
I plan to go straight back to my dorm and try to find video footage of Ben playing so I really know what I’m up against. Perhaps spend the night making notes. A solid gameplan. I have a very short period of time here to get noticed. Can’t have my own teammates overshadowing me.
I hear my teammates talking about some party and try to tune them out.
I am definitely not here for parties. The only part of college life I intend to enthusiastically take part in is the athletic part.
The academic part is unavoidable, as is sharing a dorm with messy guys a few years younger than myself.
But the party thing—that I can avoid. Not that they would invite me anyway.
Ben certainly didn’t seem to like me very much.
So I’m completely caught off guard when Ben turns and asks me what I’m doing tonight. Strange. Unless this is a cruel joke, I think he’s going to invite me to the party.
Unable to find a good answer, I say, “Nothing.”
“Why don’t you come to the party at Zeta Tau?”
“What is a Zeta Tau?”
Someone snickers at my ignorance. Nate flashes them a look that could curdle milk. I don’t care. It sounds stupid anyway—whatever it is.
Ben’s still standing in front of me with a big, friendly smile on his face. “It’s a sorority. They’re having a mixer tonight. You should come. It’ll be a good way to get to know people.”
I open my mouth to say, ‘No thanks,’ but something about the way he worded it causes me to rethink.
Didn’t I want to get to know more about my competition? Maybe I could even discover some weaknesses. If I listen in on their drunken conversations, I may learn one or two Achilles’ heels.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ll come.”
Is that disappointment I see on Ben’s face? Was he only asking to be polite and hoping I’d say no? Perhaps getting in his head could be fun. A little healthy competition never hurt anyone.
I have just enough time before the party to discover that no video evidence of Ben Harris playing tennis exists on the internet.
No YouTube videos of him playing championships against Harvard or whoever.
No college prospect interviews with local news stations.
Ben Harris is an enigma. I did find some videos of a guy called Priestley Rosenthal wiping the floor with a Penn State player.
He played with the sort of calculated intensity you see in pro players.
I couldn’t find Rosenthal on any ATP or Challenger sites, so I’m guessing he went into the stock market or something.
Whatever. I’m just glad he isn’t my competition.
That guy had ruthlessness written all over him.
Nice Guy Ben, on the other hand, should be easy to overshadow.
When I come out of my room wearing the best shirt and the only pair of jeans I own, Chad and Jesse look up from a giant pepperoni pizza to ask me where I’m going.
“I was invited to some sorority party?” I shrug.
Their eyes get comically wide.
“Which one?”
I shrug.
“Zeta Tau?”
“Yeah, that one, I think.”
They share another glance.
“Um … do you think you could like, take pictures?” Chad asks.
Jesse elbows him in the ribs. “Dude!”
“Not in a creepy way or anything.”
Of course. What could be creepy about taking pictures of women in their own home while they’re trying to enjoy themselves?
“I just meant like, get selfies or whatever,” Chad reiterates.
“Yeah, especially with Annabeth.” Great, now they’re not even reigning each other in.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say, no intention whatsoever of taking pictures of anyone tonight.
Is salivating over sororities a straight guy thing?
I wonder if I’d act that way over a frat house? Does this sorority invite mean Ben and Nate are in a frat? Is everyone on the team in one? I only know frats exist because my little sister is obsessed with American movies and TV shows. I didn’t even know they were a thing anymore.
I decide frat houses and the idea of being in one wouldn’t make me act like Chad and Jesse and feel a little better about the whole situation.
After getting my number in the locker room, Nate texted me the address to the sorority house. A campus bus drops me at the end of the row and I have to walk past actual mansions until Google Maps shouts at me in German to let me know I’ve arrived.
I click off the journey and stand at the end of the driveway, looking up at one of the biggest houses I’ve ever seen in my life.
As I imagined, it has grand white pillars in the classical Greek style.
Huge windows with billowing white curtains draped behind the glass.
Through the gaps, I can see people standing around in large, well-lit rooms, drinking from red plastic cups and laughing.
Bass from a song I don’t recognize spills out onto the lawn.
Taking a deep breath for courage, I remind myself that I do not care what women in sororities, or Ben Harris and Nate-something, think of me.
I’m about to walk up to the door when someone shouts my name.
I turn to find Nate and co walking up the drive. Probably coming from one of the more ‘masculine’ looking houses on the other side of the row. How does this whole frat/sorority thing work? You know what? Never mind, I don’t care.
“Hey, Elias, you made it,” Nate says, running a hand through his hair.
There’s a guy I haven’t seen before walking beside him. Something tells me he isn’t a frat boy or a tennis player. His blond hair isn’t half as floppy or silly as Nate’s and his bulky jacket reminds me of the sensible coat my father used to wear back when he worked in a factory.
I look for Ben. It takes me a while to find him, hanging back behind some of the other guys. Why isn’t he walking beside Nate like he usually is?
The guy beside Nate puts his arm around him and gives me a look. What is that look? Get away from my man? Challenge me for being gay, I dare you?
Despite his date’s glare, Nate’s still smiling, relaxed. “Elias, this is my boyfriend, Evan. Evan, this is the new guy, Elias.”
Evan drops his arm to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you,” I tell him. I hope I’m conveying how monumentally uninterested in his boyfriend I am. The last thing I need is some overprotective neanderthal giving me the stink eye all night.
I want to hang back with Ben, find out as much information about him as I can, but Nate has other ideas. He guides me up the driveway with an authoritative hand on my back and won’t let me go. His boyfriend seems to have calmed down, so that’s one good thing at least.
It’s only once we’re all ushered inside the house by the famous Annabeth—a woman with the most pristine hair and makeup I have ever seen—that I see Ben again.
He’s still lingering at the back of the group, talking to a lanky blond guy with a strong southern accent, and someone he keeps calling ‘Creg’—which I’m sure the British guy (Craig) absolutely loves.
We’re gathered into a grand reception area with a chandelier and sweeping staircase reminiscent of the Beast’s castle in Beauty and the Beast. When everyone funnels into the hallway to get a drink as Annabeth suggests, Nate keeps me and the freshmen back.
“I know you guys are new to sorority parties,” Nate says.
He’s looking at the new guys, but his gaze keeps flickering nervously back to me.
“So, I just want to lay down a few ground rules.” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.
I try not to roll my eyes. Does he really think I don’t know how to act around women?
“No hassling the girls. You can talk to them, but if they don’t seem interested, leave them alone.
No unsolicited touching—obviously. No going into rooms you haven’t been invited into.
And I’d rather you didn’t hook up with someone tonight.
If you like a girl and she likes you—like she makes it very clear with verbal consent—then get her phone number and take her out on a date. Okay?”
The freshmen nod vigorously, except this one guy with dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. He doesn’t look interested in hooking up with sorority girls anyway. I’d bet one hundred euros on him having a Morrissey poster on his wall.
After a stern glance, Nate lets them go. I’m about to follow when he puts a hand on my chest. I instinctively square my shoulders. Despite the height difference, Nate doesn’t back down. Interesting.
“That speech wasn’t really meant for you, Elias,” he says.
“And I know I don’t have any authority over you.
You’re not in the fraternity. But I’m asking, man to man, that you don’t hook up with any freshmen girls.
If you have to hook up with someone, can she at least be a senior?
And I’m not going to insult you with the whole consent thing, I’m sure you’re well aware.
” He’s glaring now like if I’m not aware, then I’d better get aware, fast.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I have no intention of hooking up with a sorority girl.”
He nods, his shoulders dropping with his hand.
“And I think they prefer to be referred to as women.”
Nate’s head shoots up, but I’m already walking away, a smile ghosting my lips. Too easy.