“Carrington, that’s a cool name.”

  “Thanks.” I pushed my hair behind my ear and looked down at my book.

  “You don’t like it.”

  My head snapped up.

  “No. I do, but everyone wants to shorten it, and there’s no good nickname. People end up calling me Carr.”

  “Well, what’s your middle name?”

  “Olivia.”

  He laughed out loud.

  “COB.” Jackson’s laugh echoed around the room.

  “Shh,” I said, not wanting to get kicked out, but he kept laughing. “Yeah, my parents were clueless.”

  I left out the part about my parents not putting much effort into anything when it came to me.

  “Can I call you corn?” he said trying to avoid another laughing fit. “As in on the cob.”

  “It’s not that funny, and no you can’t call me corn.”

  “I like Carrington. It sounds aristocratic-y,” he said. “Is that a word?”

  “Like a character on Downton Abbey or something.” I smiled.

  “I tried watching that show, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying.”

  “Hmm, yeah, English can be hard for some people.”

  His whole body smiled, and I could tell he liked me teasing him. A flash of something happened between us. It made me catch my breath, and my cheeks grew warm, but as quick as it appeared, it disappeared.

  “I’d better let you get back to studying.” He stood up and went back to his end of the table.

  I turned back to my book. Maybe he had a girlfriend or I misinterpreted his flirting. I bit my lip and tried to concentrate on the words on the page.

  I tried my best to ignore him, even though the hair on the back of my neck stood up when I thought about his smile. When I looked over at him, his focus remained on his book.

  After an hour, he received a phone call and packed up his books to leave.

  He walked over and stood in front of me until I looked up.

  “Carrington,” he started and leaned over the table with his phone in his hand. “We’re having a party at my frat house on Thursday. Our parties are pretty epic, you should come. Give me your number and I’ll text you the details.”

  I took his phone and put my name and number in it and handed it back to him. He turned and left the room without another word.

  No longer in the mood for studying, I grabbed my stuff and left. When I stepped out of the library, my phone beeped.

  I pulled it out of my bag.

  Jackson: Nice meeting you, (photo of a piece of corn)

  I programmed his number in my phone and grinned all the way back to the dorm.

  ***

  Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV

  I limited my exposure to the brothers as a group for a whole week, but I was required to attend the weekly fraternity meeting. I could hear Jackson’s voice in my head reminding me, “It’s mandatory.”

  I walked into the theater, and one hundred pairs of eyes landed on me. My eyes darted around, searching for Jackson; a familiar face in the sea of judgment. James Randolph, the current fraternity president, walked toward me with his hand extended.

  When I arrived, Randolph called me into the kitchen for a private meeting. His tone was respectful, but I got the impression he didn’t want me here. This public display was different. It gave the other brothers direction on how to treat me.

  “Brother Josh, welcome.” The formal way of addressing each other was reserved for official meetings.

  “Brother James.”

  “Welcome to PKP at FSU.”

  “FSU,” the rest of the brothers belted it out like a Marine platoon shouting ‘Oorah’, another PKP tradition.

  “Please have a seat.” He motioned to a chair at the front of the room, facing the rest of the brothers. If he meant for me to feel intimidated, it worked.

  “Brothers, I want to welcome our Brother Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV. As you know, the Griffins are founding members of PKP, and we owe this brother our support and our respect.”

  “Even if he did spend a year at FU,” Dan, one of the brothers, said with a smirked. The room snickered, and a few laughed out loud.

  “Now, Brothers, settle down.” James turned to face me. “Momentary lapse in judgment. It won’t happen again, right, Brother Josh?”

  “Won’t happen again, Brothers,” I said to the crowd and found Jackson near the back of the room, shaking his head.

  “That’s good enough for me.” He turned back towards the brothers, challenging them to contradict him.

  No one did.

  “Brother Josh, welcome to FSU,” Brother Dan said.

  “FSU,” the room shouted.

  “Welcome to FSU.” Another brother walked over and shook my hand.

  “FSU,” the room shouted, again.

  The welcome ritual continued for another ten rounds until the officers declared their commitment to my new beginning.

  The meeting continued with the officers sharing upcoming rush and other fraternity events.

  Everyone said the right things and behaved in an appropriate manner, and it made me more apprehensive.

  The meeting adjourned and everyone took off in different directions. As I headed up to my room, Jackson called my name.

  “Josh.”

  I stopped on the stairs. “A few of us are heading out to The Circle. You should come.”

  “I’m pretty tired. I need to get some sleep.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said. He furrowed his brow and turned to head out the door with two other brothers.

  God, I envy Jackson.

  Jackson fit in, always comfortable in any and every situation with no effort.

  I headed to my room. I took a shower and collapsed into bed. I tried to sleep, but I wanted a drink. I wanted a smoke. I wanted more than anything to pass out and start again, tomorrow.

  It scared me. This felt all too familiar. A year ago, when I arrived on FU campus, I had this same feeling—out of control—and had no clue what to do with myself.

  As the house grew quiet, my anxiety increased. I got up, got dressed, and went for a walk. As I reached the end of the block, I hesitated. One thing with being so familiar with this campus and this town was that I knew where to go to get into trouble. I went to take a step in the wrong direction when he called my name for the second time tonight.

  “Josh, you decided to come out.” Jackson approached, with two other brothers trailing behind.

  I waited for him to catch up with me. My eyes avoided his inspection.

  He cleared his throat.

  “We’re heading back to the house to shoot some pool. Join us.” The other brothers headed to the house while Jackson stood next to me, waiting for me to make a decision.

  “You coming?” Jackson asked. The way he said it sounded more like a statement—a command, not a question.

  I sighed, shoved my hands in my pockets, and headed back to the house with the guys. We played pool, and I distracted myself enough and tried not to think how I dodged a bullet, this time.

  Chapter Four

  Joshua Elijah Griffin, IV

  I woke up the next day, relieved and looking forward to another day on campus to search for my girl. It had been two days, and I needed the distraction.

  “Dude, you should have spoken to her when you had the chance,” Jackson said as we headed to campus for class.

  “I told you; this isn’t the type of girl you walk up to and start a conversation.”

  “How are you supposed to meet her?” Jackson asked. “Sing her a song, recite poetry in the middle of the quad?”

  “No, that would embarrass her.” He didn’t understand.

  “How do you know? You don’t even know this girl.”

  I stopped and thought.

  “I don’t know, I just know.” I jogged to catch up. “All I need is one killer line.”

  “If she is as special as you say, maybe a cheesy pick-up line isn’t going to work, either.”

  “Not cheesy, cool and confident.”

  “Yeah, because you are all about cool confidence.”

  “You’re cool and confident.” I grabbed Jackson’s arm. “Teach me,” I said, only half kidding.

  “Shut up, man.” Jackson pushed me away. “Be yourself.”

  “Dude, that’s a terrible idea.”

  “No, not your ‘I’m Joshua Elijah Griffin, the fourth’ self, but the real you.” Jackson stopped. “The guy you were before you realized you could get away with more being the other.”

  I stopped again and dropped my head.

  “She’s going to hate me.” The hopeful feeling went away.

  “No, she’s not.” He draped his arm around my shoulder.

  “I have been such a prick to everyone,” I said. “How could you possibly still be friends with me?”

  “Because I am a loyal bastard,” Jackson answered and walked on. “And, I knew you before things got bad. I have a good memory.”

  Back when I was my mother’s joy, as she called me, and not my father’s disappointment. Before the drugs and the arrest, Jackson was my friend. It happened in high school, when all of us trust fund babies started to compare trust funds. Not in dollar amounts, but in other ways. I understood my parents’ money gave me a certain status. Most of the kids at my school came from wealthy families, but when we turned sixteen, it started to matter.

  I got caught up in it. My dad’s wealth put us at the top of the food chain. Except for the year when one of President Bush’s grandkids attended Brentmore.

  Jackson avoided all of it. His goal left no time for stupid shit. I admired his drive—he was determined. He had a great role model. His father was the kind of man you wanted to be like. My father, not so much.

  All of us tried outdoing our fathers, and if we fell short, the game changed and we competed to see who pissed them off the most. I usually won that battle, too.

  I entered the auditorium classroom and stopped in my tracks. Maybe the world wasn’t against me because there she was, on the top row, next to the aisle. A spot remained opened next to her. I thought about avoiding her and sitting in the first available seat.

  Dude, why am I such a pussy around this girl?

  I headed up the aisle. I needed to take advantage of this opportunity, or I would never forgive myself.

  I reached the end of her row. She peered up at me and bit her top lip. I wanted to grab her by the arm, pull her to me, and bite the same lip. She realized what she was doing and released her lip, dropping her head and staring down at the desk.

  I sat down, deciding not to ask. No reason to give her an opportunity to turn me down.

  I stared straight ahead but studied her in my peripheral. Her eyes were glued to the blank notebook page that sat in front of her.

  She picked up a pen and started writing. She wrote the class and the date. She let out an audible sigh of relief when the professor spoke.

  I grinned and took out my notebook.

  “A few housekeeping items before we get started today,” the professor announced. “We have a few of you joining the class officially off the wait list. Raise your hand so I can check your name against the official roll.”

  We both raised our hands along with five others.

  “Josh Griffin,” I said.

  “Carrington Butler.”

  Carrington, a beautiful name to match her beautiful face. I wouldn’t tell her that; it fell right into the cheesy line pile. I angled my body in her direction, hoping my attention would cause her to acknowledge me. It resulted in her leaning as far away from me as possible.

  She paid attention to the professor, taking detailed notes. I read them as she wrote, and it hit me.

  I could ask her to study.

  She seemed smart. Maybe she would appreciate me wanting to keep it academic. I wanted to study something with her, but calculus would have to do for now.

  As class ended, I gathered my books, but as I opened my mouth, I heard my name.

  “Mr. Griffin, would you please see me before you leave.”

  What the fuck?

  I headed down the aisle. I hoped the professor’s welcome lecture ended before she exited the room.

  “Mr. Griffin, I wanted to welcome you to FSU. I met your father once; he is a great man.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  “Listen, if you need any help catching up, please let me know. I’ll make sure you have every opportunity to do well in my class.”

  She headed out the door, and this tool rattled on about a class I could pass in my sleep.

  “My office is always open,” he continued.

  “Great. I appreciate it, but I have to go.” I headed out the door, running into the people coming in for the next class.

  I ran out the building and scanned the area. I panicked for a minute until I spotted her halfway to the Student union. I took off in a jog, which turned into a sprint when I realized she was heading to the dorms. If she cleared the building, I would lose her.

  She turned the corner, but must have stopped because as soon as I rounded the corner, I ran smack dab into her and knocked her on her perfect ass. I tried to catch her before she fell.

  “Jeez, what the heck,” she said.

  Her use of the word heck rather than some choice cuss word made me smile.

  I leaned over grabbing her arm to help her up, but she pulled her arm away.

  “What the fuck?”

  I guess she can spit a cuss word depending on her motivation. I liked that, too.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I held out my hand for her to take it, but she stood up on her own, ignoring my hand.

  “I’m fine,” she said. She bent over and picked up her backpack.

  I stood watching, my eyes fixated on her amazing ass.

  “What do you want?” Carrington stood back up and stomped her foot like a child.

  Not in the sweet tone I imagined. She narrowed her eyes and she appeared flush. I needed to say something to ease the tension.

  “This is going to sound weird, especially since I nearly ran you over, but,” here goes, “eventually, I would really like to be your boyfriend.”

  A tiny hint of a smile escaped the side of her mouth, and I stopped holding my breath.

  Yes, the line worked.

  “But, for now, can I buy you a coffee?”

  She hesitated before speaking. Her eyes searched my face. I tried my best to seem like a regular guy.

  “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”

  Oh, shit.

  “Well, do you?”

  “No,” she said as she looked down and pushed her hair behind her ear.

  Oh, by the way, I was right. Her ears were perfect.

  “Cool, how about that coffee?” I headed to the student union praying she would follow me.

  When I reached the door, I opened it and stepped to the side and my heart stopped in anticipation. It didn’t start again until she walked through. I shuffled to catch up as she headed over to the coffee shop.

  She ordered a medium latte, and I order a large coffee, black.

  She picked one of the small square tables near the windows. I sat down across from her.

  “Carrington Butler, that’s a beautiful name.” I groaned inside. So much for no cheesy lines. My mind went blank.

  “Thank you.”

  “I saw you the other day, outside Bellamy.”

  “Yeah,” she said and took a sip of her coffee.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” I asked.

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know.” A muscle in my neck started to twitch.

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me why you’re following me?” she said.

  “I-”

  “Or maybe you want to talk about why you keep dropping weak lines on me?”

  “That wasn’t a weak line. It was a perfect line.”

  “No it wasn’t.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was messing with me or not.

  “I’ve used it before,” I said. I went from nervous to annoyed, picking a fight with her on such a stupid ass topic.

  “Oh, yeah? And I thought I was special. How did the line work out for you last time?”

  “Are you always this bitchy or do I bring it out of you?”

  “Maybe I’m always this bitchy. Would that make a difference?”

  “No, I still want you,” I said. I detected a slight grin; she tried to stop it. I wanted to lean over and kiss that spot on her face, coaxing the smile out of her.

  “You don’t know me,” she said, but her tone warmed my heart. I’d won her over.

  “Well, I’m trying to get to know you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “What do you want to know?” she asked. Shy tone disappeared again. If she was trying to annoy me, her defiance only made me think of all the bad things I wanted to do to her.

  It was my turn to smile and steer this conversation in a new direction.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Dallas, Texas.”

  I paused to see if she would ask me where I was from, but she drank her coffee and waited for me to continue.

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “What’s your major?”

  “English.”

  Okay, now I was annoyed. Apparently, I insulted her and pissed her off all in a matter of minutes, but I wasn’t sure how. I shook my head. The tiny progress of softening her up had faded away. I tried a new tactic.

  “My fraternity is having a party tonight. Come with me?” She hesitated before answering. “What’s wrong, you don’t like parties?”

  “No, I like parties.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Well, where I come from, a party isn’t exactly the best environment for a first date.”

  “Well—”

  “See, taking a girl on a first date to a party means you’re not comfortable being alone with her. You’re afraid we won’t have anything to talk about. You figure, at a party, you can avoid those awkward moments of silence and if the date goes south, well, there are other girls right there for you to hook up with so the evening won’t be a total waste.”