The Pledge

by Laura Ward

  “Okay.” Shit. I didn’t want to attend the lectures. They looked boring as fuck.

  “What about internships? Have you started researching one for the summer?”

  “The semester just started, Dad.” I twisted my hand with a vicious yank, tearing off a piece of tape and throwing it on the desk.

  “It’s never too early to prepare. If you want an internship, you need to start working toward it now. Connect with prominent members of the faculty and network with people who can help you get a decent internship in D.C.”

  I tore my attention away from where my fingers gripped the handle of my lacrosse stick, and I glared at the phone. If I wanted an internship?

  I tossed my lacrosse stick on the bed and then snatched the phone. Standing up, I took a few steps before turning on my heel and stalking across the small room like a caged animal. I gripped the front of my hair, yanking my head down until my chin touched my chest.

  “That’s just it, Dad.” I squeezed my phone so hard I expected it to shatter into pieces. “I don’t want an internship in D.C.”

  “Have you been listening to a word I’ve said, Alec?” His words snapped out like the crack of a whip. “You’ll never be a senator if you don’t start laying the groundwork now. An internship is the first step.”

  I took a deep breath. “An internship would be a waste of time since I’m planning to change my major next semester. I want to study Exercise Science.”

  “Like hell you will!” Even with the tiny speaker on my phone, my father’s rage echoed through the room. I glanced over to Caz again, but he didn’t even flinch. “Your major is Political Science.” My father’s voice was flat and hard as if my statement wasn’t even worth consideration.

  “I‘m not interested in politics, Dad.” My voice was strong and steady as I spoke. “I’m not going to waste my time on internships or networking. I’m planning to go into Physical Therapy. Politics isn’t my passion.”

  “Who cares what your passion is?” he scoffed. “Passion doesn’t put food on the table or a roof over your head. The law is in our blood. That’s where your future lies.”

  My “lawyerly” blood was boiling that I even had to have this conversation with him. Why was I continuing this argument? I was an adult, and I could make my own fucking choices. He’d just have to get over it. “That’s not a future I want.”

  “Really?” His voice dropped dangerously low. “You blew your chance at the full scholarship at Model Congress last year when you let that girl out-debate you. That means I have to pay for the expenses your lacrosse scholarship doesn’t cover. You need my help, and I’m not paying for my son to be a lousy therapist. If you wanted to be a doctor, we could discuss that, but a therapist? Not on my dime.”

  He allowed his words to hang in the silence between us, and I clenched my hand into a fist.

  “Have I made myself clear?” my father asked in a clipped voice.

  “Yes, sir.” I hated the way the words sounded coming out of my mouth, almost like I was sacrificing myself. If I had any chance of winning my father over to my side, I was going to have to ace all my classes this semester. I’d just have to spend the next few months preparing my argument and come back at him with good grades and a plan for my future that he couldn’t refuse.

  “Good. Call me next week and let me know when you’ve signed up for that lecture.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye, and I tossed my phone on the bed next to the lacrosse stick. I collapsed into my chair, leaning my elbows onto my knees.

  Caz pulled off his headphones and hung them around his neck. He turned in his chair to glare at me. “Why do you let your dad talk to you like that?”

  “You were eavesdropping?” I sighed and leaned back in my chair, stretching my legs in front of me.

  “That was a hell of a lot more interesting than my Biology homework.”

  “Dude, does Betty know you’re cheating on her?” I asked, nodding toward the plate of brownies. I didn’t want to rehash my conversation with my dad.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Hart. These are Betty’s brand.” Caz opened his mouth and shoved an entire brownie inside. He chewed and then swallowed.

  “How has your body not revolted on you?” I felt physically sick watching him eat sometimes.

  “I’m like a luxury car. I need special fuel. My diet is very important to me. I make sure it’s well balanced between the four food groups: Betty’s best, brownies, Mountain Dew, and steak.” He reached for another brownie.

  Shaking my head, I reached behind me to grab the lacrosse stick. I leaned it against my knee, tearing at the shreds of tape still clinging to the handle. My chest was still filled with the indignation only my father could inspire. All I could hear were his words repeating on a loop. You blew your chance.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Caz said.

  “I don’t remember you asking one. You were too busy going all Buddy Elf on me and explaining the four food groups. Although yours was seriously lacking in candy corn.”

  “I asked why you let your dad talk to you like that.”

  I shrugged. “That’s how all dads talk.” Discussing how stubborn and uncompromising my father could be wasn’t going to change anything.

  “No. That’s how jackasses talk. My dad doesn’t talk like that.”

  I watched my fingers rip the grip tape away from the lacrosse stick. A sticky residue clung to the metal. “It’s just how he is.”

  “You want to change your major, and I know you don’t like lacrosse. Why are you doing what your dad wants you to do?”

  “I like lacrosse.”

  Caz huffed. “Yeah, that’s why you rush out of there every day so you can make it to Acroletes practice on time. I can’t believe you haven’t signed the pledge yet. You’re there every day. It’s obvious you want to join. You like the Acroletes more than you like your major and lacrosse. Admit it.”

  I looked up at him. “What about you? Do you like your major?”

  “If I didn’t, I’d change it.” Caz set the plate of brownies aside.

  “You’re taking a break from Betty?” I paused. “Shit’s about to get real.”

  “Don’t worry, baby,” Caz said to the plate. “I’ll be back once I set Hart straight.” He leaned forward onto his knees and stared at me. “Why did you choose a Political Science major if you weren’t interested in it?”

  “You’re talking to your food, and you expect me to take this conversation seriously?” I laughed and grabbed the utility knife off my desk, scraping the blade against the handle to remove the sticky residue left from the tape.

  Caz leaned back with his arms out wide. “I got all day, Hart. Just answer the damn question.”

  I shrugged. “My dad wants me to be a senator.”

  Silence. And then a pillow pegged me in the head, hard.

  “That’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever said. It’s your life, dipshit. It’s your future. Don’t study something you hate just because your dad wants you to.”

  I threw the pillow back at him, and he easily deflected it with his hand.

  “My dad pays the bills. If I change my major, he cuts me off.”

  “You actually believe that?”

  I pushed the utility blade so hard against the handle, the metal screamed in protest. “Yeah.”

  Caz stared at me for a beat and then took another brownie off his plate. “So you get financial aid. Apply for scholarships. Get a job. You don’t need him.”

  I thought for a moment. Maybe Caz was right. My lacrosse scholarship covered my tuition. I’d just have to find a way to cover my room and board. “What’s your major?” I asked Caz.

  “Biology. I’m Pre-med.”

  I laughed. “Funny.”

  Caz didn’t laugh. “How is becoming a brain surgeon humorous to you?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “As a tumor.”

  “That’s...that’s not...that’s disturbing, dude.” I frowned at him.
>
  “Look. You have some time to figure this all out. It doesn’t have to be today. It’s too late to change your classes for this semester anyway, but get your shit figured out before spring. This is your life, not your dad’s.”

  I nodded. “You’re right.” Wait. Did I just agree with Caz?

  He stood up, brushing his hands together. “You wanna go blow off some steam?”

  “What did you have in mind?” I sheathed the blade of the utility knife and tossed it on my desk.

  The look on Caz’s face was a risky promise. He picked up a brownie and tossed it at me. “Grab some fuel, buddy. I’m going to show you how to loosen up.”

  ***

  Caz shoved a key into the lock and then pushed open the door just enough that we could slip inside before locking it behind us.

  “How’d you get a key?” I followed him into the trampoline room where he turned on the light, leaving the rest of the Acroletes gym in darkness.

  “I can’t give away all my secrets.”

  “Which means you stole it.” I pulled myself up onto the nearest trampoline, launching my body into the middle of the bed.

  Caz jumped up on the trampoline farthest from me with a Nerf football in his hand. “Heads up!” He drilled the ball across the room.

  I jumped up, catching the ball with one arm and crashing down onto the webbing and bouncing wildly around. I was laughing when I finally managed to get to my feet. “Jesus. You throw worse than my grandma. No wonder you’re a gymnast. Your spiral sucks.”

  “Fuck you. You don’t need a good spiral for trampball. It’s more fun when the toss sucks. Throw it back.” Caz jumped high, and I threw the ball to him when he was at his highest point. “Yes!” he hollered when he caught it.

  A knock came from the outside door we’d just locked, and I stopped bouncing. “Shit. Do you think it’s campus police?”

  “Nah, I invited some friends.” Caz tossed the ball to me underhanded and hopped down to the floor. “What good is a trampoline without girls in spandex?” He jogged out of the room and returned less than a minute later with Amanda and Maureen.

  “Hey, Alec.” Amanda flashed me a brilliant smile and climbed up on the mat next to the first trampoline. “Thanks for inviting us.”

  “Are you finally going to give the tramp a chance?” Maureen asked, hopping up onto the second trampoline. She took a few small bounces to warm up.

  I’d regularly been coming to Acroletes practice, but tonight was the first time I’d ever been in the trampoline room.

  “Don’t talk about Amanda that way, Maureen.” Caz shook his head. “Just because she gives everyone a turn it doesn’t mean she’s a tramp.”

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “I didn’t give you a turn, asshole.” She pushed Caz off the trampoline that was next to me and claimed it for her own. She started jumping, and I wanted to kiss the man who invented trampolines. They paired so well with beautiful girls in tight clothes.

  “What’s Caz teaching you?” Maureen asked, mid-jump.

  “Nothing. We’re just here to play.” I tossed the football in the air and then jumped up to catch it.

  “Like hell you are.” Caz threw a thick piece of canvas at me, hitting me in the chest. It had a buckle and metal rings on it. “That’s a spotting belt. Put it on, candy ass. You’re not leaving here until I teach you to flip.”

  “I thought we were playing trampball.”

  “Come on, Alec,” Amanda begged. “Give it a try. It’s fun.”

  My eyes followed her as she peeled off her T-shirt and threw it to the side before making her way back to her own trampoline. Well, if that was her way of convincing me, it wasn’t a good argument. Given the choice, I’d rather sit and watch her and her tits bounce all night long.

  “You gotta try it at least once,” Maureen added.

  Caz was a genius, inviting the girls. He knew male pride didn’t know the meaning of the word “no” and it had no respect for the concept of “bad idea.” I was either going to leave this room with a neck brace or a new addiction.

  After putting on the belt, Caz hooked me into the spotting rig. He held onto a rope to keep me from falling on my head. In theory anyway.

  “What now?” I asked.

  Caz laughed. “Dude. Now you’re going to fly.”

  Chapter Nine

  TAREN

  “Climb up.” Doug’s pointer finger poked through the opening in his tent bed and hooked in a come-hither motion. I chewed on my lip, unsure of what I should do. He stuck his head out, a cheesy grin plastered across his face. “C’mon, Denton. I won’t bite. Much.”

  I was nervous, but also excited. Pickles seemed to be attracted to me, and I was totally up for a little romance. I climbed the ladder, pulling the sheet to the side before I crawled onto his bed. The inside was dark, and my eyes took a minute to adjust. Doug was sprawled on his back, fully dressed, thank you Jesus, with his hands folded behind his head.

  “I thought you said you guys were having a party tonight?” I narrowed my eyes in mock suspicion. He smelled like alcohol, but he didn’t appear to be drunk. Yet.

  “Plans changed. The guys decided on poker night, but they wanted some cute girls to make the rushees happy. That’s why I wanted you to bring your friends. You and I, on the other hand, are having a private fiesta right here.”

  “Are we?” I grinned and hoped he couldn’t see my dopey smile in the dark tent.

  “A party for two.” He pulled me down next to him. “How was rush?”

  “Okay, I guess. Weird. The synchronized dancing and chant singing freaked me out. It was like being trapped in High School Musical, but with a lot more floral furniture, and without any basketball players.”

  He laughed. “Wait until the serenading begins for Homecoming. That’s some funny shit.” He turned onto his side and inched closer to me. My heart thudded against the inside of my chest. “You went to every house today, right?” I nodded, and he played with a piece of my hair. “What did you think of Tri-Gam?”

  I shrugged. “They were really nice. Pretty girls. Beautiful house.” Way out of my league.

  Doug laughed quietly and rumpled my hair. I frowned at him and smoothed it back down. I was not a freaking puppy. Besides, I had spent twenty minutes with the flat iron, getting it nice and silky smooth.

  “Tri-Gam is the top house on campus, and you belong there, Denton.”

  Pickles thought I belonged in the best sorority on campus. A warmth spread through me, and I smiled up at him. Doug wasn’t an expert in charm or romance, but he was interested in me, and that counted for a lot.

  “Are you going to kiss me again?” I challenged him. “I seem to remember you promising me a private fiesta.”

  Doug smiled and then brought his mouth over mine, crushing his lips down forcefully. I felt like he was trying to suck the life right out of me. No, not forcefully, passionately. This was passionate, right? Right?

  Doug rolled onto his back and pulled me on top of him. I struggled to keep up with the pace of his kissing. His lips and tongue were everywhere, licking me like an ice cream cone. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to be grossed out or turned on. Was he going to lick my face right off? So much for all that makeup I put on earlier.

  I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, and Doug groaned as I accidentally ground my hips against his. I stopped moving and ended up nestled between his legs and felt...a third leg? No, little chickadee, that is no leg. Doug was definitely happy to see me, and his tongue was battling mine like they were a couple of gladiators fighting to the death.

  Jesus, Denton. You’re getting kissed. Why are you thinking about gladiators? Focus.

  I turned my head to get a breath. Doug took the opportunity to suck on my neck as he slid his hands over my ass before slipping them up under the hem of my shirt. I stiffened. Oh no. What if he went for the bra strap? How many dates did I need to have before I gave guys access to the tatas? They should have given out handbooks at orientation for t
his sort of thing.

  The sound of something ripping surprised me, and I yanked my head away from Doug’s hoover lips.

  “What was that?” I whispered.

  “What?” He lifted his head to kiss me again, and I pushed him back down.

  “That ripping sound. I heard something rip.” I cocked my head to the side, listening again.

  Then someone moaned.

  Doug chuckled. “Oh. That was a condom wrapper. Watson must have a visitor.”

  “He’s having sex?” I whispered those three letters like it was a curse word I wasn’t allowed to say. “Right now? While we’re in the same room?”

  “Harder. Oh yes, harder!” The shout from behind bed tent number two could not be misunderstood. Watson and his visitor were indeed bumping uglies.

  I buried my face in Doug’s shirt. “Ohmygod.”

  He lifted my chin. “What’s the big deal?”

  “I...Fahrvergnugen.” Fahrvergnugen? I word-vomited a German automobile advertising slogan? My mind was a strange, strange place.

  Doug’s mouth fell open, and he rubbed his eyebrow. “Hold up. Are you a virgin?” He said it like I was some sort of horrifying, mythical creature.

  “It’s not a disease, Doug. So what?” I challenged him, feeling angry with him for the first time. A wave of shame hit me next. I dipped my chin and looked away. So much for him thinking I belonged in Tri-Gam.

  He rubbed the side of his neck, full of agitation. “Are you one of those girls who’s waiting to get, like, a promise ring before you give up your V-card?”

  I frowned. “No. But I’m certainly not having sex in a tent bed while someone else is in the room.” My voice rose in indignation before I could stop myself.

  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it!” Watson moaned from tent bed number two.

  ***

  At eight o’clock the next morning, Julie walked into our room like she owned the place. Alexis covered her head with her pillow, and I groaned and hid under my covers.