I spent the rest of the day in a horrible mood, ignoring Gemma's texts and Parker's invitation to grab a late lunch. I sat through my lectures without taking any notes and stormed out of class as soon as we were dismissed. I knew that I was acting like a child but I couldn't help it; I was annoyed. My relationship -- or whatever she wanted to call it -- with Gemma was annoying and the more I thought about it, the more annoyed I became with myself for not moving on. What really got me was the fact that she'd been the one to rekindle things this time, not me. I'd meant it when I told Fersan that I was looking forward to being single for once. Hell, there'd even been a month over the summer when I'd gone out with different girls each weekend. None of those dates had turned into anything serious but at least I was putting myself out there.

At least I was trying.

But, of course, I'd messed up my Gemma-free streak, first by answering her call the week before school started, and then by sleeping with her shortly after. She told me after the first time that she didn't want anything serious this time around but I'd ignored her. Maybe I'd convinced myself that I could change her mind, or maybe Gemma was right; maybe I was terrible at listening. It wasn't the first time that we'd argued over my tendency to only hear what I wanted to hear, and I knew that drove her crazy. It was a personality flaw and one that I tried to keep in check, but was it really my fault that no one ever taught me how to communicate properly?

I was still feeling sorry for myself when I arrived at the house in time for the week's first rush event, though my sullenness lessened when I bumped into Parker in the foyer. Bright red in the face and chewing frantically on his nails, he was trying to teach Yakob and two of the younger guys how to knot a bow tie. Although I knew he was trying not to lose his cool, there were so many worry lines on Parker's forehead that I doubted he'd ever be able to get rid of the creases.

"No, Motor, look, it's like this," Parker said, removing his thumb from his mouth long enough to demonstrate on the bow tie that he'd already fastened around his neck. Parker watched Yakob fumble to form a knot before stepping forward and fixing the tie for the sophomore. "It's not that hard, right?"

Yakob's acne-scarred cheeks turned scarlet. "Sorry, I've never worn one of these before. Can't I just wear a clip-on tomorrow?"

"No clip-ons!" Corey shouted from his position halfway up the stairs. Startled, Yak turned to look at our recruitment chair. Dressed and accessorized to the nines, Corey stared back at Yak as if the younger boy had suggested murdering a pledge and using his corpse as a lawn ornament. "Never, ever clip-ons. Okay?"

"But, why?" Yak asked, and the younger member next to him nodded in agreement.

Corey's expression hardened. "Hey, Motor, who's the rush chair? You or me?"

"Well, you are, but--"

"Exactly."

Corey spoke with such finality that the single word almost sounded threatening. I glanced at the trio of sophomores and, sure enough, just as quickly as he'd blushed, Yak paled until his skin resembled curdled milk. Sweat gathering on his brow, he mumbled something beneath his breath as he scurried off to join the rest of the spring pledge class. Beside me, I heard Parker let out a low groan and I glanced around until I realized the source of his discontent. Wearing a crisply pressed jacket, Phil Thorne, a senior and a constant source of ire for Parker, wandered over to us, clapping his hands while he walked.

"What's good?" Phil asked, and Parker grunted.

"Nothing, actually."

"What's up?"

I could hear the sound of Parker's teeth grinding together as he pieced together a response. From the look on his face, I had a hunch that Parker's irritation stemmed from more than Yakob's battle with his tie. "You screwed up the budget."

"What?"

"You gave me the wrong budget," Parker said, and I looked at him, surprised by the intensity of the anger in his voice.

Phil recoiled, though I could see a hint of panic "What are you talking about?"

"You set the rush budget at twelve grand, right?"

"Yeah, that's--"

"Three thousand dollars more than we actually have for recruitment this year." Parker shook his head with disgust. "You're the V.P. Finance. How the hell did you mess that up?"

"It was a mistake," Phil replied. He held his hands up in front of him like a shield.

"A mistake?" Parker echoed, his eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline.

"I used the numbers from last year--"

"And you didn't check them against our current accounts?" Parker's eyes flashed like steel bullets and I thanked God that I wasn't on the receiving end of his icy glare.

"I'm sorry," Phil said, his shoulders sagging. "I was in a rush, but... I can ask my dad to make up the difference. I'm sure he would say yes."

"Forget it," Parker said. "Take a thousand from the winter formal budget and two from the spring's alumni event."

"Are you sure?"

"The money's got to come from somewhere." Parker checked his watch. "Christ, I don't have time for this."

Before Phil could respond, Parker stalked off, brushing past Corey as he jogged up the stairs two at a time. "Ah, dammit," Phil muttered under his breath once our president was gone. "I ran the numbers three times. I can't believe I was that far off."

"It's no big deal," I said, but Phil shot me a wary look.

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one on Parker's blacklist."

"He's stressed about recruitment."

"Nah, man," Phil said, shaking his head. "The guy just hates me. It's cool, I get it."

That made one of us. Parker refused to tell me what had originally prompted his dislike for Phil Thorne, though it was widely rumored that the animosity stemmed from Phil's decision to hook up with one of Parker's freshman year exes not long after they'd broken up. I wasn't sure if I believed that, though; Parker wasn't really the jealous type. In fact, Parker rarely seemed bothered by anything. Calm and collected to a fault, I could count the number of times that I'd seen my best friend lose his cool in public, which was why his outburst over the budget seemed so out of character.

"I'll be right back," I said to Phil, who nodded. "Go see if Corey needs help with anything."

It took me a while, but I eventually found Parker splashing water on his face in the communal bathroom upstairs. He sighed when he saw my reflection in the mirror and turned off the faucet, though droplets continued to leak from the tap.

"You alright, man?" I asked, patting Parker on the shoulder while he grabbed a paper towel and dried off his forehead.

"Yeah, sure," he replied. In the distance, I heard something shatter and Parker closed his eyes as he recited a Hail Mary. When he looked at me again, I could feel misery rolling off him in waves. "Do you know if everyone planned to let me down today as some sort of prank?"

"Uh," I said. "I don't think so."

Parker lobbed the used paper towel towards the overflowing trash can in the corner and sighed again when he missed. "Great."

"What's the deal with the budget?" I asked, but Parker shook his head, clearly too frustrated to explain.

"Nothing, it's fine."

"You sure?"

"Not really."

"Can I help?"

Parker offered me a wry smile, the slightest trace of condescension in his expression. "Do you have three thousand dollars to lend the house?"

"Sure, let me grab my checkbook," I replied, and Parker laughed.

"Sorry, man," he said, the tension in his face slowly starting to fade. "Today's been awful."

"I know that feeling."

Parker raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I talked to Gemma earlier," I said, trying my best to ignore the sympathy that flooded Parker's gaze.

"How'd that go?"

"About how you'd expect."

Instead of responding, Parker folded his arms across his chest and frowned. "Are you going to keep seeing her?"

"I guess so. Probably."

Parker made a sound that sounded both thoughtful and disapproving, though he didn't offer any additional insight into what he was thinking. I didn't bother asking either. After a short beat, he checked his watch again and then straightened his bow tie. "You should get dressed soon. Make sure you're downstairs in the next ten minutes."

"Sure thing," I said, following Parker into the corridor. "Do you know how many guys we're expecting tonight?"

"Around one-fifty, I think." Parker paused on the staircase's landing and I could feel his stare trained on the back of my head while I continued towards my room. After a moment, he called my name and I turned to look at him. Standing with his hands in his pockets, Parker looked uncomfortable as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "If you're not feeling up to participating tonight, I'll tell Corey to excuse you. I mean, you know, if you're bummed about... Whatever."

I smiled, though the pity in his voice made me want to curl up and die. "It's okay," I said, shrugging. "I'm good."

"Alright." Parker seemed relieved by my response, though I detected a flicker of lingering doubt in his eye. It was the second time that someone had looked at me like that today: first Pete and now Parker. Evidently no one believed me when I said that I had everything under control, and I wasn't sure that I blamed them.

I dressed quickly once I was in my room, switching my faded t-shirt to a carefully ironed button-down. Although everyone always complained about rush, I was one of the few people in the house who truly enjoyed it. Sure, it could be a pain in the ass to get dressed up everyday, but I liked talking to people, especially people who didn't know anything about me. The potential new members coming to our door had no clue that my grades were a mess or that my love life was in shambles. They didn't know and they didn't care; their only interest was impressing me enough to be asked back to the next round of recruitment. Frankly, rush provided me with a welcome distraction and, as an added bonus, all of our recruitment events were catered. What could possibly be better than free food after a horrible day? I could see a food truck parked on the street outside my window and the wind carried the aroma of frying carne asada into my room. Eager to beat the line, I stepped into my shoes, leaving them untied as I dashed down the stairs and placed my order with the food truck's chef.

My mouth drooled while I waited for my meal and it struck me that I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Suddenly acutely aware of my empty stomach, I tried to distract myself from the uncomfortable hollowness by watching groups of rushees making their way up and down the Row. Most were freshmen, I realized, but the eighteen-year-olds somehow looked even younger than they had the year before. I wondered if that was because I was two months shy of turning twenty-three, a thought that depressed me more than I'd expected it to. Dad had been chiding me for years that I wasn't a kid anymore but the realization that I was well and truly an adult felt gut-wrenching. My age had crept up on me, that was for sure, and I really didn't know what I was supposed to do with the two decades that I already had under my belt. Most days, I felt just as clueless as I had when I was fifteen. The only difference eight years had made was that now I could use my real I.D. to buy beer.

When I looked at my friends, I often wondered when they'd become so much more mature than me. Most of the guys in my year had job offers, or at the very least an idea of what they wanted to do next. Some were going to law school, others were off to join the Peace Corps. The problem was that nothing interested me, at least not enough to commit myself to working in a particular field for the rest of my life. All I knew was that everything that I'd been told as a child -- all that stuff about being able to become whatever I wanted as an adult -- was a lie. Assuming I ever graduated, I'd spend the next ten years of my life in a cubicle before hopefully being moved into a tiny office. I'd have my own desk, some chintzy wall decorations like Mr. Kovich, and maybe a succulent in the corner. Someday I might even get an assistant.

Mulling over that sobering thought, I gathered my dinner from the food truck's window and chewed thoughtfully on piece of tortilla while I tried to keep the taco in my hand from falling apart. Pale red juice from the salsa dribbled down my wrist and I licked it off before the sauce could stain my sleeve. Rather than setting down the cardboard tray that contained my food, I stuffed the remainder of the taco into my mouth with a single bite. Tears sprang to my eyes while I tried not to choke on the lettuce and onions that made up part of its filling, though I still ended up spraying the ground with bits of chewed food as I coughed and sputtered for air.

I looked around, half-expecting my friends to be staring at me, but everyone seemed too engrossed in their rush conversations to offer me a second look. On the one hand, I was glad to have been spared the embarrassment, but on the other, the reality that I could've suffocated without anyone noticing made me slow down as I ate the rest of my dinner.

Slightly off to the side of the food truck, I noticed a guy standing alone with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. He seemed nervous as he watched the active members circulating the front yard to talk to the rushees, and his face fell each time that someone passed him by. Feeling guilty for some reason, I made my way over to the kid, crossing my fingers that he wasn't alone because of some major personality defect. He looked at me hopefully when I drew nearer and broke into a smile when I said hello.

Although I normally would've found his eagerness off-putting, there was something about his excitement that seemed endearing rather than weird -- sort of like a puppy. About my height, though easily carrying an additional twenty pounds of muscle, the other boy continued to smile while I extended a hand for him to shake. "Hey man," I said. "What's going on? I'm Scott."

"Lucas," he replied, gripping my hand firmly while he pumped it up and down. "Nice to meet you."

His speech was slightly stilted, the words uniquely monotone. I continued to listen to him talk, at first wondering if he had an accent that I hadn't heard before. Before I could ask him where he was from, I noticed a small piece of plastic protruding from his ear. It was slightly different from a traditional hearing aid and I recognized it as the same device that a childhood friend of mine had worn--a cochlear implant. Although I tried to be discreet, Lucas must have realized what I was looking at because he turned to shield his ear from my line of sight, the anxious expression returning to his face.

I frowned, afraid that I'd offended him. I wasn't sure if I should apologize for staring, though I ultimately decided to keep my mouth shut. The more I looked at him, however, the more it dawned on me that-- although I couldn't place where I knew him from--Lucas looked strangely familiar. "What year are you in?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation going and also hoping that I might be able to figure out where we'd previously met.

"I'm a sophomore," he said. "You?"

"I'm a junior, I guess." Lucas raised an eyebrow at my cryptic response and I sighed. "I'm going for my five-year degree."

"Oh, gotcha." Lucas grinned again and any awkwardness between us disappeared. "Nothing wrong with that."

"You think?"

"Sure. Who'd want to graduate when we have all of this--" He gestured towards the growing crowd standing on our lawn, "--right now?"

He had a point. From a distance, I watched Parker drift from group to group and marveled over the fact that all traces of irritation had vanished from his demeanor. I hated to say it, but it looked like Michael had definitely taught him a few tricks over the year that they'd worked together. Looking back at Lucas, I asked, "What else do you do on campus?"

The stocky boy scratched the back of his neck. "I play football."

"Club or intramural?"

A proud glint flashed in Lucas' eye. "No, I mean, I play football for the school."

"You're on the team?" I asked, mentally going through every starter on the roster.

Still drawing a blank, Lucas chuckled at my confusion. "Don't worry about it. No one ever recognizes the kicker."

I stared at him for a moment while my brain processed what he'd said. "Holy shit," I exclaimed, realization dawning on me. "You're Lucas Gauthier."

Nicknamed "The Guillotine" by our football team's fans, Lucas Gauthier had closed several games the previous season with his powerful, yet carefully controlled kicks. Some people said that he'd only been scouted because his parents were good friends with the assistant coach, but even if that were true, it didn't matter. The guy was talented, plain and simple. Unlike the rest of the team, Lucas maintained a low profile, which explained why I hadn't recognized him at first. He rarely went to parties and never seemed to spend much time with his teammates off the field. Rather than eating in the fancy athletes' dining hall, Lucas had even gained a reputation for regularly visiting the on-campus cafeterias to devour platefuls of chicken nuggets by himself. For whatever reason, learning that he was deaf made me respect all of his accomplishments even more.

"Yes, I am," Lucas said, his face brightening.

"Dude, you had a hell of a season last year." I paused, studying him. "I thought people on the team weren't allowed to rush frats."

Lucas shrugged. "As long as it doesn't interfere with practice, I don't see why it should matter to anyone. Right?"

"Right, sure." I caught Parker's eye from across the yard and waved him over. "You've gotta meet our president, he's a cool guy. I think you'll get along. Hey, Jennings!"

Sure enough, Parker and Lucas hit it off the moment they shook hands. Caught up in their discussion, it wasn't long before others made their way towards us in an attempt to join our conversation. Most of the rushees who surrounded us were vying for Parker's attention, though he seemed content trading his presidential duties for a casual back-and-forth with the football player. Lucas looked happy to be receiving so much attention, though I noticed a flicker of worry crossed his face whenever someone asked him to repeat himself.

By the end of the event, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that if Lucas decided that he wanted to join our house, Parker would go to bat for him to get a bid. Hell, half of the house seemed like they wanted him to initiate him on the spot. As I watched Lucas shake everyone's hand to say goodbye, I realized that what I really needed was to stop feeling sorry for myself and to start making goals.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments and votes are always appreciated. Again, I was in a rush to update so if you see any typos, please point them out and I'll fix them ASAP!