I heaved another pile of loosely-folded shirts from my bed into the suitcase, plopping them into the corner with a muffled thud. It had been a hell of a spring semester, with six courses, a part-time job, and an obnoxious roommate, but now the whole thing was behind me. In just over twelve hours I would be on a plane flying home, where I could sleep past noon every day and play video games until four in the morning. Indeed, a nice, long summer to burn off some stress was just what the doctor ordered.
Before I could pick up another hastily gathered bundle of clothes my phone chimed. “You ready?” someone had typed to my group chat. Feeling snarky and always welcoming a break, I picked it up and began a reply.
“Ready to pack all my shit and head home? Yeah I’m ready.”
“No man the party, remember?” I did not remember agreeing to go to a party, and I sure as hell never planned one. Luckily he immediately sent an explanation. “Back in January you said if you survived this semester you’d tear it up on Greek Row. You’re alive, so you’re going.”
While it was true I said that, it was simply an excuse to get out of going to a birthday party for someone I had never met he wanted to drag me to. I never expected him to hold me to it. “What if I don’t?”
“I tell the RA you’re suicidal and we’re worried.” Shit, he was just enough of a lunatic to actually do it, too. “I have an in with one of the Gammas and she told me to bring friends. Your boring ass isn’t going to ruin this for me, be outside in 10.” I sighed and picked out my most presentable clothes. The least I could do was look like I had not spent the past four months hiding behind a wall of books.
Thirty minutes later I stood at the end of the street commonly known as Greek Row. It looked like something out of my nightmares. Over a thousand people were packed onto the street, and bass hits from half a dozen different songs clashed with each other in an awful cacophony. In front of each of the houses was a dense crowd of students hollering to be heard over the noise in between long gulps from red cups. There was not so much a single path down the middle of the street as a constantly shifting gap left by the mass of bodies bumping into each other.
My friend pointed at the third house on the left and grinned. “There it is, Gamma Tau Sigma,” he declared. “The best-kept secret and most exclusive party house on campus. Get ready for the best night of your lives.” One day I would get him to chill on the exaggerations, but not tonight. I wanted him to get disappointed on his own.
The three of us formed a tight line and began weaving through the crush of people between us and the house. Immediately the temperature spiked ten degrees from all the body heat, and the air was rank with the smell of sweat and spilled beer. Multiple people bumped into me hard enough to knock me over, and I only stayed on my feet because someone else’s back had caught me. I lost the group a couple times and had to duck under the arms of someone who had no idea I was there or force a path through with my arms, but somehow managed to keep up. If this was going to be the best night ever, it had a lot of making up to do.
The Gammas’ front lawn was an unexpected oasis of calm in the tumultuous sea. No kegs were in the front lawn, and there were no speakers beside the door blaring trap music. A couple partiers stood on the grass, but it looked more like they were taking a breather than anything. Unlike the other houses we had passed the door was closed, like its owners were going out of their way to be uninviting to the rest of the block party.
“You sure this is the right place?” I asked our leader. He did not even slow his stride while he approached the door. Nobody stopped him, and not wanting to be left in the cold I hurried after. Confidently he opened the door as if he owned the place and walked into the surprisingly quiet house.
Before even getting around the corner he was stopped cold in his tracks. At first I thought in his eagerness he had ran into a misplaced wall even though its bright white paint stood out in the darkened entryway. Closer inspection showed, however, that he had stuck his head face-first into the chest of a massive woman. He bounced off and she crossed her arms over her sizable chest before looking down at him, a lock of platinum blond hair sliding off her broad shoulders. “Your sponsor?” she demanded sternly. They must be serious about exclusivity if they hired security.
“Olga,” he replied, his confidence stumbling for the first time that night. If he had talked this up so much intending to bluff his way through the door I was going to strangle him before going back to finish packing.
The mountain of a woman checked a piece of scratch paper in her left hand, then reached into her shirt and pulled out a pen. The click resonated in the foyer and she looked us over, then made three tally marks. Another staccato click and she slipped the pen back into her cleavage before stepping to the side. “She should be in the kitchen waiting for you,” she said as her white high-top Converse came together. “Be sure to see her before you get a drink.” For hired muscle she knew more about what was going on inside than I would expect, but followed the group through the doorway rather than dwell on it. When I passed the Amazonian guard she winked down at me, throwing another level of doubt on my assumptions.
We walked down a short hallway, the sounds of a party gradually growing more intense. Luckily the first room on the left was the kitchen, so we did not have to spend much time guessing and could get right to what was supposed to be so great about this place. As usual I stayed back, not wanting to be in the lead in case everything came crashing down.
There were a couple people in the kitchen grabbing food or something to drink, and a steady bass rhythm bled through the walls strongly enough that each hit was followed by the clinking of glass. One woman, however, seemed to be waiting for someone. She stood with her back to the sink, with her long, royal blue denim-clad legs stretched in front so the soles of her brown knee-high riding boots rested on the linoleum. The sleeves of her thin black shirt were pushed up, and she rested her palms on the white counter behind her. To my surprise, when she spotted us her gray eyes lit up, and she quickly slid some straw-colored hair behind an ear.
“Aaron, good to see you!” she called out with a melodic voice. No way my blowhard friend knew her, let alone got her to invite him to a party. She was miles out of his league. Mine too, for that matter. “Figures you’d be fashionably late. Who’re the two cuties?” I stood corrected again, on both accounts.
“That’s Blake and this is Connor,” he said gesturing to our silent third and me in turn. Olga pushed herself off the counter and picked up a trio of red cups from the counter. Carefully she walked over and offered us the drinks. We each took one from her hands, and I peered inside before taking a sip. It looked unusually dark for a party, more like a craft beer than the normal swill. I gave it a quick taste, and for once my expectations panned out. One of the benefits of a private party, I guess.
Olga looked at Blake and I as though she had forgotten we were standing two feet away. “Oh, you two should run along,” she suggested, turning back to Aaron. She rested a hand on his shoulder and pulled him toward her. “We’re going to be a… bit.” We turned around and left, not wanting to watch the two of them suck face. I couldn’t believe he dragged me out and then ditched me at the first chance, but in his position I probably would have done the same.
With no one to drag us by the noses we walked along the hall toward the music, occasionally taking sips. The music intensified, and I wondered just how large the rest of the house was. We had only seen a few people, but it sounded like everything was in full swing. I glanced back hoping to get a glance of the security guard, but she was nowhere to be seen. Were we the last to be allowed in?
As we approached the end of the hall a pale, sharp-featured woman with neon pink hair turned the corner, nearly running into us. She stepped to the side at the last minute but rested a hand on Blake’s chest, stopping us while she looked us over. We stared up at her while her teal eyes scanned my friend, and I realized this was the second woman well over six feet tall we had seen since coming inside, and Olga could probably pass.
Suddenly her hand clenched, gripping Blake’s shirt and pulling him into her hot pink dress. “Hey, I’m Jackie,” she said with an unexpectedly mousy voice, then placed her free hand around his cup, her hand engulfing his. She lifted the cup to his lips and tilted it up, pouring the beer into his mouth. Either out of fear or shock he let her, never taking his eyes off her the whole time he was forced to chug. Before he was done Jackie looked back to me. “I think he’ll be staying with me tonight, you go on,” she directed. “I’m sure an adorable little guy like you will have no problem getting picked up.”
I shrugged and walked through the doorway. Jackie did not seem like the type to argue with, and I doubted Blake wanted me to: unless he had been keeping it quiet, this was the first date-like encounter he’d had in months. Something about my friends getting peeled off gnawed at me, and it was more than me suddenly being alone. “Adorable” and “little guy” were not usually words women used for guys they liked, and they had both been rather forceful about it. Admittedly I had been out of the game a few months, but had things changed so much?
The main room was lit only by a couple lamps standing on furniture which had been pushed to the side to make a dance floor, with the occasional burst from a strobe light making it look like my eyes were skipping frames. I took a couple steps in and found a wall to lean sideways against, deciding to watch for a bit before jumping in.
For such a large party the dance floor looked empty, with fewer than twenty heads moving back and forth with the rhythm. That was when I noticed the easily visible ones were all women, and there was an indistinguishable mass of men around them, all about a head shorter. On the edge an auburn-haired woman, a head taller even than the rest, gyrated against a partner who barely reached her chest.
It seemed like today was opposite day, but I was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Without my friends it was up to me to make my own fun, I decided, and let loose some of the pent-up frustration that had been building while I was smothered by work. Grinning, I took a step toward the dance floor.