Every day more and more people turn against the war. It’s gotten to the point where even the veterans who fought in it are voicing their opposition at protest marches and on the news. Young men who might have voluntarily enlisted a few years ago are resisting. Those who can afford college are applying like never before. As a result, more borderline applicants than ever were wait-listed this year (see yours truly). From admissions office after admissions office, I heard the same thing: freshman classes are full. Yes, sometimes one or two accepted students don’t show up in the fall, but the chances of getting one of those spots are slim to none, especially if I don’t have some kind of pull.

Charles taps a Marlboro out of the pack and lights it. “So, tell me, Lucas, why don’t you want to go to Vietnam?”

The answer is obvious. I don’t understand why he’s being such a dick. “Because I don’t want to die.”

He takes a drag and exhales smoke upward. “Riiiight. With the odds being one in five of getting killed or wounded, let some other sucka fight. Why risk your own neck?”

I’m here because Milton said this is the place to come for help dealing with the draft, and I guess I should appreciate this guy for volunteering his time, but his attitude completely blows. “No, I don’t want anyone to fight for me. I don’t want anyone to fight, period. I don’t believe in war. It’s wrong.”

Charles flicks his cigarette ash onto the floor. “Oh, yeah? So you wouldn’t have fought against Hitler?”

Again, the answer seems obvious. “You can’t compare Vietnam to that. Hitler was a madman. He was killing millions of innocent people. Now we’re the ones killing innocent people. And why? It’s not like the United States is in any kind of danger.”

Charles scratches the side of his nose thoughtfully. His eyes slide toward me. “Someone tell you to say that?”