Scott groaned inwardly. He had asked his mom to drive him because the risk was too high with his father. The sight of everyone in costume would have proven too much, shorting out whatever inhibitions his father possessed — and there wasn’t much there to begin with.
But now his mother was getting going with her own thing.
“All of the pledges are dressing up, Mom. It’s fine. It’s just for fun.”
Scott reflected on how that week was the first time Britt had acted anything more than indifferently toward him during the thirteen-week pledge period. He’d smiled, but hadn’t his eyes gleamed like ice when he handed over the suspenders and bow tie and ordered Scott to wear them?
“They’re going to humiliate you, but don’t let them, Scott. Stand up for yourself.” She slapped the steering wheel with both hands, startling Scott. “For God’s sake, stand up for yourself!”
Her shrill voice made his heart race.
“Mom, what are you—”
“That’s what grates me about your father.” Her eyes glared over the steering wheel, bearing the reflection of the taillights of the car she was tailgating. “He lets Larry walk all over him. ‘You’re supposed to be fifty-fifty partners,’ I tell him. ‘Oh, well Larry wants it like this,’ your father says, or ‘Larry wants it like that.’” She made her voice deep and stupid when she imitated his dad, and Scott didn’t like it. “Now look at him. Look what he’s become.”
Scott watched the street lights passing and felt his heart shrinking inside him like a flaccid balloon.
“And here it is a week after Thanksgiving, and he still hasn’t moved a goddamned thing out of that garage. What is it about the men in this family?” When she looked over at Scott, he saw… revulsion? And for the last three months, she had been gushing compliments over his room and his neat appearance.
“Just stand up for yourself,” she said with an eerie flatness.
“It’s… it’s just for fun, Mom.”
“Don’t be stupid. Their idea of fun is going to be a lot different than yours.” She braked hard enough in front of Grant’s house for his seatbelt to lock against him. “Mark my word.”
Scott barely had time to get out and push the door closed before she drove off. He stood a moment at the curb, listening to the cheery laughter from where the driveway wound down into trees, and lights twinkled from a two-story house. He wiped his eyes with his shoulders. Moisture stippled through his shirt. Sniffling, he donned his glasses and touched his hair, cold and slicked over with gel.
Just for fun, he reassured himself, and made his way down the driveway.
* * *
The first hour involved food and drinks in the backyard. The older members, wearing comfortable street clothes, smiled over their red plastic cups at the costumed pledges who mingled self-consciously in the flood of outdoor lighting. Scott was more than relieved to find the other pledges dressed as absurdly as he was. Jeffrey, who was supposed to be Peter Pan, kept tugging at his too-short frock, mumbling that his tights didn’t leave much to the imagination. Someone — Brad, was it? — waddled around in a full Gumby getup. And Sweat Pea was dressed as, well, Swee’Pea from Popeye: powder-blue pajamas with footies, a big bonnet, and a pacifier on a string around his neck. Scott giggled. It was too perfect.
“Hey, laugh all you want, Stretch,” Sweet Pea said. “But just watch the number of Alpha chicks who come over and pinch these baby cheeks. And believe me, I plan to pinch me some baby cheeks right back. Ain’t that right, Peter Pan?”
He goosed Jeffrey’s right butt cheek, sending him hollering and high-stepping away. The reaction looked especially hilarious in his green tights and little feathered hat. Scott roared with laughter along with the pledges, Gumby holding his belly.
“Goddamn.” Jeffrey returned with both hands pressed to his backside.
But even Jeffrey was smiling. And that was the reason Scott had stuck with Gamma. Despite the disastrous first social, despite the fact that Janis felt as inaccessible to him as ever, that was why: his fellow pledges. As clichéd as it sounded, all of the days in Standards, the forced exercises and cafeteria lunches, the signing of The Pact — it had bonded the thirteen of them. Scott even began to suspect that they were going to miss their lunches together. He knew he would. But while he had gotten along with all of the pledges, he hadn’t become particularly close with any of them. The person he was the closest to, strangely, was…
“Blake!” the pledges called in unison.
Scott turned to find him striding down the driveway in full football attire — helmet, pads, and a red-and-blue jersey. Janis walked alongside him, her face creased with displeasure. Scott could see why. Her hair had been braided into pigtails and tied off with blue ribbons while her cheeks featured a constellation of large, hand-drawn freckles. And Scott knew from their childhood that she hated dresses. Passionately. The one she wore now was high necked and frilly with blue stripes. Was she supposed to be Pippi Longstocking? The only things missing were the long, mismatched socks, but then Scott had it.
“Wendy!” Sweet Pea shouted.
The others laughed as it dawned on them, too. Yes, Wendy of hamburger-chain fame.
“Oh, c’mon, man.” Jeffrey looked Blake over. “How is that supposed to be embarrassing? This is like a day at the office for you.”
Blake arrived beside them and smiled sheepishly. “Grant knows about me and the Miami Dolphins. What better way to humiliate a Dolphins fan than to dress him up as a Buffalo Bill?”
“Yeah, well, I’ll trade you.”
“I already offered.” Janis flipped up one of her pigtails. “He wouldn’t go for it.”
The others laughed, but Janis’s face held its grimace. When Blake took her hand, Scott suffered a stab of longing so intense he had to turn away.
The thing was, Scott enjoyed sitting opposite Blake at lunch. The sentiment seemed mutual. They had spent much of the last month talking personal computers when Blake’s family had been in the market for one. Scott appreciated that, appreciated him. Even when it became clear that Blake and Janis were an item, Scott found he couldn’t distort his opinion of him for the worse. (And hadn’t the X-Men’s Jean Grey dated Angel before pledging her love to Scott?) If anything, he looked at Blake ever more as someone to model himself after — someone who didn’t have to hide or reinvent himself. He was who he was, which was solid, someone Janis deserved. And on that point, Blake was a gentleman. No matter how much the other pledges prodded, he never went into detail about their dates, other than to say that Janis was a “great girl.” And maybe that’s what pained Scott the most — that Blake was getting to discover what he himself had known about Janis since childhood.
Scott slipped his hands into his jacked-up pants pockets and pretended to become interested in Grant, who was plugging a microphone into the stereo system up on the deck. Van Halen’s “Jump” ended abruptly. Grant descended the steps, unspooling the microphone’s cord as he went. In the yard, members were setting up lawn chairs around what looked like a makeshift stage.
“You look about as miserable as I feel.”
Scott turned to find Janis standing at his shoulder, also peering toward the stage. She was close enough that he could see the shine of outdoor lighting along each strand of her braided hair. The space around Scott began to revolve, just like it had that first day of school.
“On the bright side, this is the end of it,” Janis said. “That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway.”
It was our world in there, wasn’t it? Back then?
“Yeah,” was all Scott could think to mutter.
Janis blinked and turned toward him. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why this?” She reached for the front of his suspenders. “Why Gamma? I mean, what made you decide to pledge?”
“I, ah…” He watched the fingers of her hand trace the length of his suspender. “I just thought I needed to, um… branch out… you know, meet new people. Not too many from our middle school came to Thi
rteenth Street High.”
Janis snorted as her hand fell away. “That depends on how you look at it.”
Scott followed her narrowed gaze to where the three girls from their English class were chatting excitedly with some older Gamma members. The one dressed as a Playboy bunny, Amy, turned around for the guys to feel her puffy tail. “It’s real rabbit’s fur, I swear!” she exclaimed. The guys grinned at one another. Janis made a noise of disgust and turned back to Scott. He watched the soft green rings around her pupils grow as she inched nearer.
“Um, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
Scott’s collar constricted around his throat. Her voice had a special quality: quiet and guarded, almost intimate. He felt the sudden need to swallow but feared it would sound like an off-putting gulp.
“This might sound weird…” Janis started to say.
A trio of shrill voices burst inside their space, older Alpha members.
“Oh my gawd!” the one with feathered hair exclaimed, lifting Janis’s pigtails. “Like, you look just like her!”
“How adorable!”
“For sure!” This one emitted a lengthy giggle.
“Yeah, well, you can thank Margaret,” Janis muttered.
The one with huge, dark hair looked around. “Where is she?”
“Covering the evening shift at Penney’s,” Janis said. “She’s coming by later.”
“What a total, like, bummer.”
Bummed or not, Scott hoped they would blow off just as quickly as they had blown in. He needed to know what Janis was about to ask him — especially while Blake was still occupied with the pledges behind them. Because for a moment, it had felt like just the two of them again, back in the woods.
“TESTING. TESTING.”
Scott turned with Janis to where Grant was holding the microphone to his chin. The older members were settling into the rows of lawn chairs that now semi-circled the stage. Margaret’s three friends squealed and fled from Janis’s side, but Blake was there to fill the void, stepping up and taking her hand. Scott hardly noticed this time. The uneasy feeling was stealing back into the pit of his stomach.
A final hum of feedback sounded, followed by Grant Sidwell’s resonant voice. “Yes, everyone take a seat, please. Not the pledges. I need you around here beside me. Right there is good. And in a line, please.”
Scott followed the pack and took his place at the rear of a line that stretched along the back of the house, nearly to the trees. Outside the lights, he could more clearly see the faces in the audience, flushed and excited. His mother’s words jabbed through his jittery thoughts.
They’re going to humiliate you.
Grant lifted the microphone and turned back to the audience. “All right, all of you know how this works. When your little brother or sister takes the stage, you’ll give them a scenario to act out. As always, you can team up and do a couples or group scenario. Our panel over here” — Grant indicated the four members in the front row — “will be awarding the points. Remember, humor and humiliation score highest.”
Amid the laughter, Grant turned to the first pledge. There had been some jostling and rearranging in the line while Grant had been speaking, and Sweet Pea, by virtue of his pudginess and indifference, had been shoved to the front. He took the stage to a smattering of applause. Soon, his older Gamma brother was beside him, microphone in hand.
“Change his diaper!” someone yelled.
“Yeah, then make him eat it!”
Scott felt too nauseated to laugh. He had held his place at the back of the line by slipping farther into the darkness and then slipping back when the line had returned to order. For an instant, he had considered slipping away entirely, stealing off into the night and walking home. Oakwood wasn’t too far away. But no, he needed to stay, needed to finish what he’d started. He stood on tiptoes, looking for Blake and Janice. He found them in the middle of the line.
“Swee’Pea, Swee’Pea, Swee’Pea…” his older brother said, massaging his neck. “You are going to prove your loyalty to our esteemed club by singing the Gamma fight song three times. Do you remember the words?”
“Yeah, of course.”
By Sweet Pea’s surprised smile, Scott could practically read his thoughts. That’s it? That’s all I have to do?
His older brother raised a finger. “But you have to sing it in goo-goos and ga-gas. With your thumb in your mouth. Crawling around on your hands and knees.” His grin looked positively devilish. “Got it?”
Sweet Pea’s own smile vanished beneath a wave of laughter. He looked at his older Gamma brother another moment to make sure he was serious. He was. Shoulders slumped, Sweet Pea fixed his thumb in the corner of his mouth, sank to his knees, and started into a limping crawl.
“Goo-goo, ga-ga-goo, ga-ga, goo-goo…”
“Faster, baby!”
Scott cringed when Sweet Pea’s older brother kicked him in the rear. That brought down fresh laughter.
“Ga-ga, goo-goo, ga-ga-goo …”
“I said, faster!” Another kick, this one harder. The laughter became riotous. “And aim your bonnet toward the audience when you sing!”
Scott’s stomach roiled, and he placed his hands on his knees. He could see Janis saying something to Blake. Scott looked back to where Sweet Pea was receiving another kick, his older brother screaming above his ear now.
After two minutes that felt like two years, it was over.
Sweet Pea stood to a round of applause. His older brother hoisted one of his arms like a prize fighter just gone the distance. Sweet Pea looked appropriately dazed. They stood, waiting for the judge’s decision. Two 7s and two 8s.
“Bitchin’!” Sweet Pea’s older brother said. “A 7.5!” He clapped Sweet Pea’s back, then hustled him into the audience where they would enjoy the rest of the show as spectators.
See, it’s all in fun, Scott told himself through his shallow breaths.
The other scenarios went similarly though not all of them were as physically abusive as Sweet Pea’s, Scott was glad to see. Amy, the Playboy bunny, was forced to give an impromptu speech on the importance of sex education, using a list of words she had been given — all of them crude, naturally. And every time she paused, said “um,” or laughed, she had to hop in a circle like a bunny, which was often.
Before long, Blake and Janis’s turn came. Scott lowered his head, not wanting to see her embarrassed. Since Margaret still wasn’t there, Grant came up with a scenario for both of them. Blake was to get on one knee and propose to Janis, who was then to run around squealing like she was “the happiest girl in the world.” It was among the lamer scenarios, but Scott still found he couldn’t watch. He stared at the tips of his father’s derby shoes, the outdoor lighting branding the back of his neck.
“Janis,” Blake said. “These last two months have been amazing. I mean that. And you would make me the happiest man in the world if you would only accept this ring and say, ‘I do.’”
Pretend or not, the sincerity of his words crushed Scott.
“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Janis said flatly. She gave a half-hearted squeal, then said, “All right, we’re done here.”
The audience protested, but when Scott raised his face, Janis was already leading Blake around to the back row to sit. The judging was unanimous: all 1s. Grant shrugged and turned to the next pledge, Peter Pan.
Jeffrey’s dancing and prancing scored an 8.5, the highest so far.
Scott shuffled forward with a line that was becoming frighteningly shorter while the audience, with its retired acts, was growing larger and larger, spilling beyond the lawn chairs. Though the night was cool, the deck lighting that shone ever brighter over Scott made his body pour sweat.
It’s all in fun, he repeated. All in good fun.
Don’t be stupid, his mother’s voice shot back.
By the time Scott’s turn came, he felt as if he’d been cored out and strung through with frayed wires. His shirt stuck to his back, and he cou
ld feel a muscle at the corner of his mouth beginning to twitch.
“Last but not least,” Grant announced, opening his arm toward Scott. “Britt, I believe this one’s yours?”
Laughter burst from the audience, and when Scott turned, he saw Britt emerging from a sliding glass door beneath the deck. He was wearing a priest’s robe and a white clerical collar. In one hand, he carried an ottoman, in the other, what looked like a large scroll. As Britt entered the light, the solemnity of his face evoked more laughter. He glanced over, the shine in his eyes speaking not to holy compassion but to punishment, the fire and brimstone variety.
“Silence!” Britt commanded.
He set down the ottoman at the front of the stage. “Sit down,” he told Scott.
Scott stepped forward, and all of Bud’s training left him. His knees began to fold like a lawn chair before muscles jerked into action, throwing him upright. Pinwheeling his arms, he managed to steady himself. Laughter spouted from the audience. Make them think it’s part of an act. Scott led with his hips now, chest sunk back, arms stiff at his sides. But the laughter that accompanied him was not the companionable kind; it wielded a cruel edge.
The muscle at the corner of his mouth began to jump again. Scott bit the inside of his lip to contain it.
“My faithful parishioners,” Britt boomed into the microphone, “my flock, my herd…”
“I ain’t your sheep!” someone shouted.
Britt didn’t break stride. “It pains me deeply to inform you that there is a deceitful presence in our midst. Yes, a deceitful presence who came unto us like a thief in the night this past August, pretending to be someone he is not.”
Scott’s body stiffened.
“But he has been outed. Yes, he has been outed, my flock. Behold!”
When Scott turned, he found Britt holding open the scroll that was not a scroll at all, but a poster. Scott’s first instinct was to leap up and tear it from his hands. Instead, he remained rigid, his face becoming so hot that he could feel the color leaching from it. He was staring at himself, or rather a ghost of himself past, one who had thick glasses, a disheveled head of hair, a smile as awkward and crooked as the collar of his shirt, and volcanic eruptions of acne across his brow. It was his yearbook photo from Creekside Middle School, from the year before. Copied, blown up, and pasted to the unfurled poster in Britt’s hands.
XGeneration, Books 1-3: You Don't Know Me, The Watchers, and Silent Generation Page 20