by B. P. Kasik
Upon arrival in her suite, Cara was handed a blue water bottle and an orange folder, both embossed with the UVA logo. After sorting through the school course packet, a stack of ads, and a rainbow pile of colored coupons for local businesses, she found her schedule for both days, including her assigned time for meeting with academic advisors in a place called Wilson Hall. Also a name tag. Which was good, because it meant everyone would be wearing them, saving her the stress of learning anyone’s name. She used the permanent marker on a nearby table, wrote her name in all caps, then slapped it above her heart.
She flipped through the course packet and quickly got overwhelmed by the number of available classes in every department. Where would she even start? She had a bunch of AP credits thanks to her ability to write a decent essay on each of her AP exams, so she was free to take whatever she wanted without worrying about prereqs. She noticed a class on Faulkner, but figured that would be a bit elementary for her. Plus, too obvious. Everyone would expect her to take that.
A slightly older-looking student came out of a sparsely furnished dorm room and approached her. The student, whose name tag identified her as “Christie,” extended her hand to Cara. “Welcome and wahoowa. Hope you have fun here, Cara. That’s your room over there.” Cara realized this was her RA. She started to respond, but then Christie walked away and said a half-hearted, “Welcome and wahoowa,” to other arriving students before pointing them to their rooms, as well.
Cara walked into room 213 to find her roommate already there. Nametag: Bri.
Bri nodded at her. “I’m not planning to smoke up during our orientation here. But that doesn’t mean it’s not gonna happen.”
“I appreciate the warning. You’ll get no competition for me for those resources.”
“You drink?”
“No.”
“You’re not like obnoxiously sober, are you? Mormon, or something?”
“No, no. I just don’t really like drinking.”
“Yeah, me neither. Just smoking. You don’t bother me about it, we’ll get along just fine.”
Cara nodded. “Got it. No bothering you about smoking.”
“Okay,” Bri said. “You’re cool. Let’s go check stuff out.”
They wandered outside. Christie was corralling everyone out on the grass in front of the building. It looked like she wasn’t just the RA for their suite of rooms, but the entire dorm.
Cara looked out and finally took a look at her surroundings. Their building looked directly into Scott Stadium, the 80,000-seat monster with Parthenon-level architecture on the edge closest to them. This must have been the most popular dorm at UVA, since it looked down a steep hill right to the field of play. All one-hundred yards were in view. Beyond the stadium, most of the city was visible, with mountains stretching up all around it in the distance. The dorm didn’t look like much, but it was pretty remarkable, after all.
“All right, everyone! Welcome, wahoowa, and way to go on attending the University. I am Christie, your Resident Advisor for the duration of your stay. I’m an incoming fourth-year history major, with a focus on state history. Ask me anything, I’ll be happy to tell you it’s too complicated to explain.” A small laugh, then, “You’ve probably taken a look at your schedules and are probably overwhelmed. We may have overscheduled you a bit, but rest assured—you will be fed. You will still have time for fun. Please make sure to keep your water bottle on you. We will be walking a lot, so hydration is key. We had someone pass out last year. We don’t want a repeat of that.”
“Should we drink like fishes?” asked a wisecracker.
“Yes,” Christie said without missing a beat. “Drink like a Wahoo. Just make sure it’s only water.” Another small laugh. “Now comes the part you’re all gonna roll your eyes at and proclaim as lame. We’re gonna do that thing where we all get together as groups to do get-to-know-you activities on a field.”
Sure enough, groans erupted all around Cara. Cara added to them. She hated getting split up in a group setting. It always made her think the organizer was too lazy to plan an activity for the duration of the event.
“But,” added Christie, “We’re gonna do it a little differently this time. Normally, we do this on the Lawn in front of the Rotunda, which is pretty cool.” A few murmurs of agreement. “But this time—we’re going into Scott Stadium to do it on the field!”
And the crowd went wild.
Chapter 5
All five hundred of the students poured out onto the Cavaliers’ field, feet squishing against the perfectly mowed grass. The RA for each dorm held up an orange sign so that everyone could find their group and get going with the silly orientation activity.
Christie was unusually tall, which made her easy for Cara to spot.
Looking up at the stadium seats stretching up on three out of four sides made her feel like she was in an enormous valley. She didn’t care much for football, but she wondered what that must be like to play the sport with so many bodies and eyes looking down on you. The pressure had to be crushing.
Once everyone was segmented into their little groups, they all sat in circles. And sure enough, variations on Duck Duck Goose and Red Rover proceeded. Cara had never felt more infantilized. Though as she looked around, everyone seemed to be having fun despite themselves.
Christie noticed the guy next to her—Name tag: Bill—was laughing harder than most.
As the current active player made her way around the circle tapping heads while saying the name of each person she tapped–the duck, Christie leaned toward Bill and said, “Big fan of group activities?”
“What?” He laughed. “I haven’t done this in years. You’re laughing, too.”
“Yeah, but I’m enjoying it ironically.”
“Ah. Whatever works.”
“Just not what I expected from an institution of higher learning.”
“Maybe the lesson you need to learn is to lighten up.”
“You might be right. Hey, I’m—”
“Cara. Right. I see your name tag.”
“Oh. Of course. Sure. I’m guessing you’re Bill?”
“I might be. Unless I lied on my name tag.”
“That would be pretty devious on your part.”
“All part of my sinister plan.”
“It’s good to have a plan,” Cara said.
“So what are you—”
Cara missed the rest of his sentence because the active player tapped the top of her head and said the wrong name, thus making her the goose.
“Hold that thought,” said Cara, who sprang up and chased the active player around the circle. She wasn’t able to catch her, thus becoming the duck-duck-gooser herself.
And she had to admit that—even though it cut off her meeting with Bill—she had fun playing.
Chapter 6
The enormous blob of prospective students flowed down McCormick Road and filled up the auditorium in Cabell Hall for an orientation presentation.
Cara spotted Bill sitting a few rows from the entrance.
He waved, then mimed the act of tapping the heads of the people in front of him, then gave her a dramatic thumbs-up.
Cara rolled her eyes, but was glad someone appreciated her mad skills at the game of ducks and gooses.
She approached him. “Seat next to you taken?”
He shrugged. “It is if you take it.”
“Then take it I shall.” She did.
They looked around as more people poured into the place.
“So, are you—” they both said at the same time.
Cara laughed. “We were both about to ask each other where we’re from, right?”
“I think we were.”
“You first.”
Bill shrugged. “Local yokel. Born and raised here.”
“Townie, huh?”
“I don’t like that term.”
“But local yokel is okay?”
“We all have our preferences.”
“Fair. So you know this place pretty well?”
“Surprisingly, no. I never walked around here much. UVA is just the place where my dad works. He went to school here too, so there’s some history there.”
“So did you walk from home to get here?”
“Took the CTS bus. I packed light. You?”
“NoVa girl.”
“Northern Virginia, huh? I hear you have some nice strip malls and traffic up there.”
“It’s really dazzling.” Cara tried to think of another question. Her mom told her the most fun question in get-to-know-you conversations was to ask people what surprised them most or what they were most looking forward to. So she said, “What’s surprised you most about orientation so far?”
“It’s not as white as I expected.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You asked.”
“I did, no offense taken.”
“I mean, I live in this town. I’m used to the sea of white washing over the town whenever students arrive. But it looks like it’s getting more diverse.”
“Can I ask a super-ignorant question?”
“Thrill me.”
“I’m from a normal-sized kind of city.”
“Yeah?”
“And we have a, you know, diverse population.”
“Uh-huh?”
“But all my friends are…I’m kind of…I don’t hang out much with people who are…”
“Like me?”
Cara exhaled. “Yes.”
“You mean guys?”
“No.”
“Tall people?”
“Cut me some slack, I’m trying here.”
“Yeah, yeah. I see what you’re saying, so what’s your question?”
“Do you prefer black, person of color, or African American?”
He laughed. “Thank you for asking. ‘Person of color’ seems to be picking up steam, but feels like a step back, culturally. I could give you a detailed breakdown on why all three of those terms annoy me, but ‘African American’ annoys me the least.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And do you prefer white, Caucasian, or luminescent American?”
Cara laughed. “That’s pretty good.”
“I thought so.”
“So what are you most looking forward to?”
“Seeing if the frats are as bad as I’ve heard.”
Cara winced at this conversational lemon. “You’re into frats?”
“My dad was. He was the first African-American member of this one frat here, so he kind of wants me to join up there.”
“Oh. You’re not interested, though.”
He laughed. “I gave it some thought. Here. Have a look.” He handed her a half-crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. She skimmed over its contents.
Frats
PROS:
-Great social connections for life/ brotherhood.
-Parties. All the time.
-Dad will be proud that I pledged a frat.
-If I decide to join, they’ll almost definitely have me.
-Looks GREAT on a resume.
-Lots of help on tests and homework.
-Can maybe improve frat culture from within.
-Charitable work/ community service projects.
CONS:
-Probably gonna get hazed. Rumors: getting my face spat on, having to carry raw fish in my underwear, rolling around in vomit, chugging soy sauce, simulated death/ kidnapping, won’t be able to change my clothes for a week, forced binge drinking, re-imbibing alcohol I puke up, eating gross foods, getting forced to lick other pledges’ butts, maybe spanked with a paddle? (Do they still do that? They can’t really, can they?)
-Fees. Maybe in the thousands of dollars.
-Will have to learn the frat’s history, be ready to answer any questions on it.
-As pledge, I’ll be on the bottom social ladder rung, so will probably have to clean the house, wash cars, do laundry, type papers, do 3 A.M. food runs, etc.
-Some people will assume I’m a rapist scumbag.
-Might cost me as many friends as it gets me.
-I’ll be accused of sexism, racism, alcoholism, elitism, and all other manner of isms.
Cara whistled as she finished reading. “You have given this some thought.”
“I have.”
She didn’t expect a potential frat boy to be so open and nuanced about his interest in Greek life. “So what are you going to do?”
“No clue! My dad would love it, but I’m not feeling it. I mean, I’m handing my deepest thoughts on the issue over to a complete stranger, so obviously I’m a bit conflicted about it.”
“It would seem so.”
“How about you? What are you looking forward to?”
“Faulkner. All things Faulkner.”
“Cool, I read one of his books. He’s awfully fond of the n-bomb.”
Cara blushed. She had never talked about Faulkner with someone who might take direct offense at his words before. “Oh, I, uh…”
“Hey, you didn’t write it. We’re cool as long as you don’t read those particular parts out loud in front of me.”
Cara laughed very nervously. “Thanks, I guess?”
“You’re welcome.”
A finely suited speaker approached the podium on stage, patiently waiting with a smile for the crowd to quiet down. A stylish, confident move. Cara respected that he didn’t ask people to quiet down. He simply stood up there.
“Welcome,” he said. “You’re going to hear about a lot of new things on your visit here. We don’t want to overwhelm you. So remember that it’s okay if you only retain a small portion of what you hear. Soon it’ll become the air you breathe, the water in which you swim. Give yourself a few weeks on Grounds, you’ll be an expert on the Corner, first-year life, the College Inn, Corks & Curls, streaking, Carr’s Hill, Foxfield, Blue Hole, Lawnies, Midsummers, Fridays After 5, the Academical Village, the Pav, Foxfield, the free trolley, and the Downtown Mall.”
Cara’s eyes glazed over. She looked around, saw that most people in the audience were completely lost as well. That was good.
“Please purge all those words from your long-term memory now! You’ll learn about them in time. If you take nothing else away from this speech, please remember that the administration is happy to have you here. We hope you have a positive experience here for the next four years. Or more, if you would like to pursue graduate studies!”
Another small laugh, from students who couldn’t fathom such a thing at this point in their academic careers.
“In addition to our academics, we have a great deal of resources to help you adjust to your new life here, including readily available counseling, twenty-four hours a day. In person, on the phone, and online.”
That was nice. Cara hoped she didn’t need to make use of that service, but it was good to know it was there.
“And now,” he continued, “we have a series of skits about college life, fraternities, and responsible drinking.” The crowd groaned again. “You are going to laugh at them, I assure you. But I hope you also find something useful or helpful in them.”
She turned and made eye contact with Bill. He shook his head, playfully, rolled his eyes.
Sure enough, the half-hour’s worth of skits were ridiculous, performed by a student improv troupe. Cheesy Goofus & Gallant examples of party behavior. What to do, what not to do with friends. Examples of microaggressions to avoid. An introduction to fraternities and explanation of the regulations that kept them under control. All pretty boring.
Cara looked over at Bill throughout. He seemed to be having fun, except during the frat material. He seemed unnerved by that, like he was taking all the jokes personally.
She really hoped he was leaning away from pledging a frat. He just seemed so nice, and she wondered if joining a fraternity would take that away.
The presentation wrapped up, to
tepid applause. The crowd exited the building, pouring out onto the Lawn. Bill slipped away.
Cara tried to strike up conversations with several people as she walked along. None really worked. No one was rude, everyone was just distracted or nervous or compulsively checking their phones.
Their enormous group was split up into chunks, with one tour guide each.
Cara’s guide was a young woman barely older than herself, who spoke with surprising confidence and force.
“Welcome, everyone! Congratulations again on your acceptance to UVA. We look forward to having you as students.”
So many congratulations. It was starting to make Cara feel like a phony. There was nothing too special about her. She’d gotten good grades, sure, but most people had good grades. She had almost no extracurriculars going on through high school, just some after-school work on the newspaper and yearbook. A few part-time jobs. Her saving grace had been her ability to write a good essay. She’d faked her way through the three essay questions with ease, writing about Faulkner, her part-time job, and her favorite memory from childhood. That was it. She’d cranked out some decent writing, sent it in, and now here she was. Her twelfth-grade English professor helped look over all three essays for her. He even asked if he could use her essay on her part-time job as an example of how to write. But still—she couldn’t help thinking that everyone around her was so much smarter and well-rounded than her. They had to be, to get into this school. She’d just faked her way in.
“Now we’re just gonna take a look around Grounds and show you some sights that will be highly relevant to you when you come in as first years.”
Cara was glad she’d brought her water bottle on this outing. The sun beat down hard on them as they made their way along McCormick, looking at the old dorms and a variety of academic and administrative buildings with names that went in one ear and out the other. “Cocke Hall” got a solid laugh from the group’s peanut gallery.
There was some talk about sensitivity and being cautious in their interactions with their peers, following up on the microaggression-themed skits in the previous presentation. “There will be a mandatory seminar on this issue during your first couple of weeks here. It will be held in this building,” she said, pointing to an imposing brick structure that looked like a newer construction than the rest of Jefferson’s Academical Village.