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Jim was hauling his backpack onto his shoulder and contemplating his life choices when Nicky approached him. They didn’t know each other that well, but usually partnered up for assignments and had developed some sort of friendship.
“Hey, Jim!” Nicky grinned at him and threw an arm over his shoulder. “You know about the exy fall banquet, don’t you?” Nicky didn’t give him a chance to speak before continuing, “Well, you see, since Erik isn’t here to be his wonderful self and my date I was wondering if you’d like to come? There’ll be booze for Kevin’s inevitable breakdown, it’ll be fun!” He looked at Jim expectantly.
Jim scratched at the back of his neck. He vaguely remembered his roommates, mainly Emma, warning him to stay away from the exy team, boasting stories about—‘supposedly’—uncalled for drug busts and ‘psychotic knife-wielding midgets’.
He dismissed the memory before shrugging and saying, “Yeah, sure.”
Nicky perked up. “Great! I’ll text you the details and a pic of my outfit later so make sure that we match. Bye!”
Jim watched his retreating form, feeling a little overwhelmed and realizing he may have agreed too quickly. Hell, he didn’t even know what going out with the exy team entailed.
He could feel his thoughts starting to spiral and reminded himself that Nicky just seemed like a cute, normal guy and that the stories were probably fake anyways. Besides, they were all responsible adults in college, what could possibly go wrong?
—
Jim had managed to selectively forget that he’d promised Nicky to be his date when he got a text from him about a week before the banquet would take place. It mostly featured threats to pick a proper outfit and reassurances that as long as he didn’t pull attention to himself he’d be fine, which wasn’t very reassuring at all.
He looked up at the sound of Emma’s curse. She was sitting sideways with her feet propped up in his lap, radiating annoyance. She glared down at her Nintendo Switch. “If I catch another fucking sea bass, I swear to God Tom Crook won’t see another bell from me in his life.”
Dylan tutted. He emerged from the kitchen with a concoction of what looked like toast with cheese and jam in one hand and a bowl of coffee in the other. Neither Jim nor Emma commented on it. They were both long since used to his strange eating habits and shared a solidarity in being repulsed by them.
“You know,” Dylan said sagely while dipping his toast into the bowl, “You could do us all a favor and try taking a break from your seven hour long marathon.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Never.”
Jim could pinpoint the exact moment Dylan went into full mother hen mode, lifting his chin and straightening his shoulders.
He dearly hoped this altercation wouldn’t resemble that one time Emma had barely slept in three days, too busy studying, until Dylan had dragged him into his plan to lock her in her room without any study materials and a lot of water bottles. (A whole lot of water bottles. Probably too many water bottles.) When they’d come back barely an hour later she’d been sprawled over the covers, snoring into her pillow.
Most of the time it seemed like his friends were made for antagonizing each other, but while they did bicker about eighty percent of the time, they were great at knowing when it was time for an intervention and always respected each other’s boundaries. They worked.
“Emma, I’m pretty sure that by this point your eyes feel so dry even Desert Bluff’s waterfall of blood couldn’t quench their insatiable thirst,” Dylan said.
For a minute, the room was soundless except for the quiet music emanating from the Nintendo.
Emma was the first who recovered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I am deeply, deeply disturbed.”
Jim was inclined to agree with her while also relieved that this was seemingly the end of it. He cleared his throat. “So, uhm, is this a good time to say I’m going to the fall banquet next week?”
Dylan pinched his nose bridge between two fingers, the epitome of exasperation. “And how exactly did you come to the conclusion that this was a good idea?”
“I don’t know! Nicky asked me and I just said yes. I was under time pressure.” He didn't know why he was feeling so defensive about this.
“You were under time pressure?” he echoed incredulously. “You could have just said no!”
“You’re screwed!” Emma stage whispered, cupping her hands around her mouth.
Dylan flicked her forehead. “Not. Helpful.”
“Well obviously I wasn’t trying to be,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest petulantly.
He covered her mouth with his hand, effectively shutting her up, and turned back to Jim, either oblivious to or ignoring the contemplative look in Emma’s eyes that said she was thinking about biting his hand.
“Now, you can’t go back on your word so the most we can do is pray for your survival.”
Jim sighed. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” He asked hopefully.
Emma snorted while Dylan just looked at him with pity in his eyes. What they were trying to say was clear: yes, it could indeed be that bad.
—
Jim rubbed his hands up and down his arms, trying to get rid of the goosebumps there. He checked his phone for the tenth time in the last two minutes, but he—unsurprisingly—hadn’t received any new messages in the few seconds that had passed. He mentally cursed Nicky’s off sense of timeliness and began counting the decaying leaves at his feet to pass the time.
It took another five minutes and an extraordinary amount of leaves before Nicky came hurrying over, an apologetic smile gracing his face. They idly talked about future projects while Nicky lead him to the orange monstrosity that was to be their
ride.
The rest of the team seemed to be waiting for something, talking in groups and laughing. There was tension in the air though, and it became even more evident to Jim when Nicky’s smile turned strained as he watched something over Jim’s
shoulder.
Jim turned to see two figures approaching. One was exponentially taller than the other, who seemed to be a carbon copy of the blond man Jim had unconsciously shied away from. One of the only differences he could find was the frown that seemed permanently etched onto the newcomer’s face, while the other one couldn’t seem to get rid of his painful looking grin.
He turned back to the group to see money exchanging hands between the foxes. He sighed internally. He’d been here barely five minutes and already felt at loss. But hey, things couldn’t get any worse when they were already at the ground, right?
—
As it turned out, there was this thing called digging, and Jim had dug himself a hole he probably wouldn’t be able to find his way out of for quite a while.
Everything had been fine for a while. Once Nicky had introduced him to everyone—well, everyone who cared, which was only about half of the group—he’d found that the upperclassmen were actually nice to talk to, and he’d been somewhat enjoying the ride learning inconsequential facts about their lives.
That was, up until the moment he’d followed Nicky’s gaze to the back of the bus, where Kevin Day and one of the twins—Aaron? Andrew? He still didn’t know—were seated.
Kevin was breathing heavily and a light sheen of sweat was visible on his brow. Jim couldn’t help but think of what Nicky had said—that they’d bring alcohol for ‘Kevin’s inevitable breakdown’. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now wondered whether the remark wasn’t that innocent as he’d first thought after all.
His thoughts were rudely interrupted when Matt asked him what courses he took and he turned his attention back to the conversation. From there, it didn’t take long before they arrived at the court, which would be acting as a venue for the time being.
When he first saw the esteemed Ravens, it took him all of his willpower not to burst out laughing. They just looked absolutely ridiculous with their matching outfits, positions, and even facial expressions.
Looking at the Foxes, though, it was clear that they didn’t share the sentiment. No, they were seething.
Jocks really are that serious about their sport, huh?
The next ten minutes of soap opera level drama passed in a blur.
Jim didn’t actually know anything about this Riko dude, but he’d already decided that he didn’t like him, judging by the condescending look on Riko’s face when he shook Dan’s hand, if you could even call it that. Jim admired the way she seemed determined to squeeze the life out of Riko’s hand and wholeheartedly hoped it would bruise. The last time he’d been so invested in something was back when- hell, he couldn’t even remember.
It went downhill from there. The general air of entitlement that clung to Riko when he talked to Kevin could give even Gaston a run for his money.
Not that the rest of the Ravens were any better. The insults they were spouting non-stop seemed random and rehearsed, as if they’d all been given a script to learn and no specifications on what should be said at what time.
What he hadn’t realized was that it could get even worse. Or better, depending on how you looked at it.
The brunet he’d deemed quiet at first turned out to be, well… not so quiet after all. After some sort of name game Jim didn’t even try to understand, a waterfall of words tumbled out of his mouth. It was quite glorious, if he was being honest. He couldn’t help but think that the boy would be a terrifying and amazing friend to have at the same time. The open adoration in Matt’s eyes said that he was thinking the same thing. Meanwhile the blonde one just looked like he was enjoying all of this an awful lot.
Dan, on the other hand, was horrified, and to Jim’s relief they were relocated to the coaches’ table. After that dinner was pretty tame and before he knew it they were clearing out the court and Nicky was dragging him onto the dancefloor.
When they returned to the rest of the group everyone was tipsier and more eager to leave than they had been upon first arrival, and the coach rounded them up to return home. On the bus, Jim fell asleep within minutes.
—
Jim stumbled into his dorm to find Emma, Dylan, and a few other friends in a pile on the couch. They were only halfway through their weekly Mario Kart tournament despite it already being later than midnight.
After kicking off his shoes, uncaring of where they landed, he immediately went to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of vodka before plopping down on the couch. He stared listlessly at the ceiling and started to go over the events of that night in his head. He quickly reconsidered and dropped his head into his hands, making a noise somewhere between a groan and a wail of anguish.
Emma snorted at the inhuman sound and nudged his knee with her foot without taking her eyes off the screen, fingers moving over the buttons furiously. She was in third place but catching up quickly. “That bad, huh?” She nudged him again and opened her mouth in silent request. He located the bowl of skittles and aimed, squinting his eyes shut. He launched the projectile and felt quite proud when it landed perfectly.
He slumped in the coach and groaned again. “Talk about an understatement. If I could go back in time and hit myself on the head with a broomstick I would.” He was quiet for a moment. “You know what? A broomstick is too merciful. I’d definitely use a hammer. That way I wouldn’t even have to be here, but in the hospital with a nice concussion.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and a recommendation for a mental facility, drama queen.”
He glared at her. “You know, if you’re trying to be supportive, that’s really not the way to go.”
“Well-” Emma paused to whoop in victory when Dylan was knocked from his first place by a blue turtle, ignoring his indignant shouts and quickly taking the lead.
She glanced at Jim minutely and shrugged, a smug smile taking over her face. “I don’t want to say that I told you so… but I did fucking tell you so.”
He threw a handful of skittles at her in retaliation but she simply laughed. Her character raced over the finish line and she threw down her console, massaging her fingers and sighing in relief.
“If you wanted to be babied you should’ve gone to our resident soccer mom,” she said, before looking at Dylan, who was currently arguing with someone about whether it would be easier to kill a person with a butter knife or a fork. “Yeah, no, scratch that,” she said.
For a moment, and not for the first time, they both wondered what the hell was going on in their friend group. Emma gave up first and turned her attention back to Jim. “I’m still waiting for you to tell me what actually happened, by the way.”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he promised. It was a great fucking story, after all, and he couldn’t bear thinking that he went through tonight for nothing.
She agreed easily and patted his head as if comforting a child. “We’ll make popcorn and put on some Troye Sivan for moral support.”
He snorted and pushed back her arm. “Sounds great.” He was already looking forward to it.
And hey, if there was one thing he’d learned from this whole experience, it was this: do not ever, under any circumstances, accept an invitation to go out with the Palmetto State University Foxes.