the stick doll.”
“That’s rude,” she said, feigning insult. “He has a name.”
“Oh, yeah? What is it?”
She looked down at the doll and then smiled at me. “Duh. His name is ‘Woody’.”
Man, she was good.
“Okay. What do I get for Woody?”
She shrugged. “What do you want?”
“I’ll settle for a phone number.”
She bit her bottom lip, reached into her pocket, and pulled out her phone. “Tell you what—how about you give me your number, and I’ll think about it?”
“Deal.”
I gave it to her, and she typed it into her phone. Once she was finished, she tucked the phone back into her pocket, and hopped off the picnic table.
“I’m gonna get back to my friends. We’ll see you around, Jacob Reese.” She began walking back to the group of girls at the other end of the yard.
“Just be careful with the doll. They’re pretty flimsy,” I called after her.
She turned to me while continuing to walk backwards towards her friends. “Don’t worry. I won’t play too hard with your Woody.”
Every conversation around the yard stopped. The only sound was the music playing from the open window of the frat house. My cheeks burned, but I wasn’t mad. I liked being recognized as the target of her flirtations.
Laura and her friends gathered and left. She gave me one final glance as they headed off down the street. I relaxed on the picnic table and sipped my beer, basking in the glow of our conversation, but after a few minutes, it was time to attend to business.
I hopped off the picnic table and headed inside the frat house.
Loud music thumped from the first floor as I climbed the stairs. The place stunk of beer.
At the landing to the second floor, I headed down the hall, past closed bedroom doors, and the occasional pair of people talking or drinking. The closer I got to the door at the end of the hall, the stronger the smell of weed became, along with incense that was trying mightily to mask it.
I stopped at the end of the hall and listened. I could hear voices, laughter, and music coming from inside. I rapped on the door and it opened a few inches. A face peered through the crack and gave me the once-over.
He turned to the interior of the room. “It’s Jacob.”
“Let him in,” a voice answered.
The door swung open. I stepped in, and it was quickly shut behind me.
I was greeted with a chorus of “Jacob!”
It was the fraternity’s recreational room. There was a pool table in one corner, a ping-pong table in the other. There were couches situated around a TV, where guys were playing video games. The room was thick with haze, and I was sure that I was already getting a contact buzz. These were all the seniors—the cool guys. There were some girls there too, taking hits from the water bong on the table in front of the TV. There were also copious beer bottles and a few handles of Jack Daniel’s and Jägermeister scattered around the room.
Jeremy Massi, the fraternity’s president, got up and gave me a bro hug.
“What’s up, Jacob? How you been?”
“Good.”
“You want a beer or something?”
“No, thanks. Just doing my regular pickup, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Got it.”
He went over to a shelf, took down a book, opened it, and pulled out an envelope. He walked over and handed it to me.
“There you go.”
I took out the wad of cash from inside and began counting the assortment of hundreds, twenties, tens, and fives.
“Sure you don’t want to hang out?” Jeremy asked. “It’s a party.”
“Nah. I’m good,” I said.
It took me a while to count the cash, given that it was a couple thousand dollars in small bills.
“It’s all there, man. Two grand from all the frats on campus.”
“Just covering my ass,” I reassured him.
He patiently waited as I finished counting.
“All right,” I said, tucking the envelope into my jacket. “Jimmy will be by later with the delivery.”
“Tell him to hurry. We’re running low and the party is just getting started.”
“Will do. Pleasure doing business with you.”
We bro hugged again. I had been doing the job for a little over a year and Jeremy and I had gotten to know each other—not well, but well enough.
I turned to leave when one of the guys on the couch, I think his name was Dustin, sat up.
“Hey, Jacob?” he asked, stoned out of his mind.
“Yeah?”
“So, like, do you carry a gun when you do these deals?”
Jeremy sighed. “Dustin, come on, man.”
“No, I don’t carry a gun. I just handle the cash,” I answered.
Dustin smiled and slowly blinked his eyes. “That’s cool, man. Your life is like Scarface, right?”
“Shut up, Dustin,” one of the other seniors said.
Dustin turned to him. “What? Scarface is cool.”
“See you later, Jacob,” Jeremy said, waving me out the door.
“Later.” I waved back.
I walked out the door, back into the relatively cleaner air of the hallway, and headed downstairs.
No, I didn’t carry a gun.
This was the job I had turned to after my parents cut me off.
I had worked odd jobs to try to pay my tuition but it wasn’t cutting it. I needed to finish school, or so I thought, and took on massive amounts of debt. I think my parents were waiting for me to ask for help, but I was an arrogant twenty-something who felt that he had been wronged. So, no. I was going to do it myself, no matter how it wrecked my financial future.
I did a little better in my classes, now that I was paying for them myself, but the stress was too much. I started slipping, again. I’d blow off class and hang with an acquaintance
