Glancing behind me, I see that Sara is just feet behind but Robbie has been cut off from us by the shifting crowd. “Yo, hurry up,” I yell back to him.

He pushes himself through the crowd.

When I turn back, Sara is already through the door, looking back at us and waiting.

I try to step forward and an arm reaches out to stop me. “No freshmen,” the frat member playing bouncer tells me.

“Yeah, yeah.” I nod. “Connor invited me. I’m a potential pledge.” I pull out my phone and show him the texts from my high school friend who is now in Sig A. I remember Robbie. “And he’s with me.”

He examines the messages, grabbing my phone to look more closely.

“Yeah, okay.” He nods and steps aside to let us through.

“What was that about?” Sara asks.

“We’re dudes,” I answer.

She seems confused, but I don’t have time right now to explain the way the world works. We make our way down a hall, through more people, some of them leaning against the walls, flirting while casually sipping drinks, others loudly and excitedly telling stories fueled by alcohol and Syllabus Week excitement. There is a roar of noise, music and conversation, but no words are discernible.

I turn to Sara and watch as she takes it all in, her analytical mind probably trying to figure out what decision-making strategy the fraternity brothers used to choose the music and the cheap booze.

Speaking of, at the end of a hall there’s a table with a few open boxes of wine and 30s of beer. I pick up a Rolling Rock and examine it, wondering if the taste is worth the 5 percent alcohol content.

“Braden!” I set down the beer and look up to see Connor rushing toward me. He is still wearing his hair in that overdone boy-band-wannabe way, and his face is already flushed and sweaty from the party.

“Hey!”

He pulls me into a hug.

“These are my...friends, Sara and Robbie,” I say. “And this is Connor—he was my prefect at boarding school.”

“No way!” Sara’s eyes glow. “Like Harry Potter. They really call it that?”

Connor laughs. “Yeah, they really do.” He reaches out to shake her hand, then Robbie’s. “Nice to meet you, guys. Can I get you anything?” He turns toward the table and picks up a box of “sunset” flavor wine, then examines the label. “Ah come on, y’all shouldn’t be drinking this shit.” He sets it back down. “I’m so sorry—we are terrible hosts.”

“Eh, we’re freshmen,” I say. “I’m just happy to be inside the party.”