Brent opened his dorm room door to Fitch, Mags, and Jake in nothing but a towel.
“Yes guys?” he said.
“Just wanted to get the details for the Halloween party,” said Fitch.
Brent’s parties were famous. Every year had a theme, with prizes for the best costumes, and nasty forfeits for the worst. He revealed the theme to his inner circle with twenty four hours notice, everyone else only got four.
“No party this year. While you kids are bobbing apples, scaring old ladies, or whatever it is you’re doing, I will be doing Kristi. She’s invited me over to watch scary movies.”
“Are you serious?” Mags whined.
“Did you not hear me?” said Brent. “I am going to get laid.” He over-pronounced the word, emphasising it by thrusting his hips. “But fear not kiddies, I hear Rupert’s having a party.” He winked, and closed the door.
“Really?” Fitch slumped against the wall. “King of the dorks?”
Rupert was a scholarship student. Having skipped a grade at school, he was younger than everyone else, and a complete social recluse. Although, not entirely through choice.
Last semester, Maloney, Fitch, and Mags had written a series of love notes to Rupert from April Reeves; the head cheerleader. They’d continued the ruse for months. Rupert had finally plucked up the courage to speak to April, presumably to ask her out, and waited for her outside the girl’s change rooms. April told everyone he’d grabbed her breasts. He’d been known as ‘Ruperv’ ever since.
“Maybe if we turn up with a keg, we can manage to turn it into something halfway cool,” Mags said.
“Not like we have anything else to do,” said Jake.
Rupert’s party was everything they’d expected it to be. Streamers, balloons, lame Halloween decorations, and children’s party games.
“Surely it’s the people who make a party,” Jake said, “and it looks like pretty much everyone’s here.”
“At least we’re not the only ones venturing into dorksville then,” sighed Fitch.
As they pushed through the crowd and into the house, they spotted people with shot glasses. Mags took one from a girl’s hand and swallowed its deep red contents.
“Weird aftertaste, but it’s booze!”
The shots were a prize in some game happening in the kitchen. They were blindfolded before being led inside. Jake knew the game from his childhood. Chocolate coins would be hidden in a bowl of spaghetti, pasta, and onions, and you had to overcome the gross textures to claim the prize. The chocolate coins were simply replaced with shot glasses.
Jake dug his hands in, pushing aside slippery, spongy shapes, and turning his nose from the smell. His fingers felt the hard edge of a glass, and he pulled it out triumphantly. Mags wasn’t far behind finding his.
“Is this hair?” Jake heard Fitch say.
Jake raised his blindfold, and staggered back into a chair. Fitch’s hands weren’t buried into a bowl of pasta shapes, he was elbow deep in the open stomach of April Reeves.