“I’m Tripp Holmes,” the golden boy says. “We’re all pretty shaken up. Jay was a real—” but his voice wobbles and he seems incapable of finishing. Instead, he waves us toward the massive wooden double doors, one of which he holds open so we can step inside. I take a deep breath, squash down a flood of memories, and follow him.

We’re greeted by a sweeping foyer with wide arches. The floors are tiled, protecting, I suspect, glorious old hardwoods from dirty shoes and spilled beer. To the right is a light-filled room with a long table, window seat, and built-in bookshelves. There’s a student curled in an armchair with an open book on his lap, and it’s unclear whether he’s studying or sleeping. But all the same, the mornings here seem peaceful. It’s the way my shoes stick to the floor and the smell—musty, with faint whiffs of lemon Pine-Sol, frying bacon, and Axe body spray masking something earthier, feral, like a wet animal mixed with weed—that remind me we’re at a fraternity house and not some quaint boarding school.

Tripp shifts next to us and runs his hand through his hair. He clears his throat. “How does this work?” he asks.

“Why don’t you start by giving us a tour of the house,” I suggest.

“A tour—?” His pale brows crumple in confusion.

“So we can get an idea of Jay’s day-to-day life here.”

Something loosens in his shoulders. “Okay, sure.”

He ushers us farther into the foyer. “We have eighty-nine active brothers. Thirty-five live in the house. Two brothers per room. Except for the president—he gets his own. The chapter at UGA was founded in 1910, making it one of the oldest on campus.” He gestures to a glass case at the opposite end. “Those are our trophies, awarded to the top chapters in the country. The photos are of famous former members—starters on the football team, UGA coaches, CEOs…” I walk toward the case for a closer look and see the athletes Tripp indicated, one or two B-list celebrities, and also former governors, a US senator, and the current UGA president, Ed Williams.

“That,” he points to the sunlit room on the right, “is our study room. At Kap-O, we value academic success. Most people don’t know this,” he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind his ear, “but the average fraternity member’s scholastic GPA is higher than the average non-Greek university student’s GPA. In fact, more than seventy-five percent of our members have at least a three point oh.”

Teddy catches my eye, but I beam encouragingly at Tripp. He smiles back.

“Over here,” he says with a renewed bounce to his step as he leads us through a pair of closed doors on the right, “is our chapter room.”