we are the wildcats, hear us roar
Mar. 4th, 2007 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fenellaThis one's for TEAM RYAN SMYTH. Because TEAM RYAN SMYTH should be worshiped and adored, and given regular offerings.
No Tomorrow
Chp 3 – Rookie Year "Nothing Good Can Come of This"
When Boots stopped at room 417, he found a note that baffled him. He’d been on his way from a campus tour to the pool for a team practise, and had stopped just to pick up his gym bag. About to leave the room, he’d spotted a small yellow sticky note on the top of his laptop.
Boots, it read in sloppy handwriting, your boyfriend calls.
Boots stared at the sticky for a moment, a nagging uneasiness settling in, before crumpling the paper into a ball, and tossing it into the trash can under his desk. Of all the strange things that had happened in the past week – what with being hazed by both a group of steeped-in-tradition frat boys and the entirety of the Northwestern University swim team – this didn’t even make the top one hundred. (With one being the most bizarre event of the week, reflected Boots, number one hundred was probably on par with being abducted in the middle of the night and deserted in Northern Wisconsin; no wallet, no shoes, accompanied only by his Bulgarian roommate.***)
Feeling shrewd, Boots located a yellow sticky pad on Vladi’s desk. Hey, wrote Boots, glancing around the room for inspiration. Some guy phoned for you while you were out. He said that he’s Justin Timbersomething’s agent (Timberpond? Timberwood?) and that this Justin guy’s a fan and is interested in doing a music video that features you. Boots.
Grinning at his neatly written note, Boots stuck it to Vladi’s mirror on his way out. He didn’t bother to lock the door: locks, it had already been established, were no obstacle to even the average prankster. Not when their floor supervisor was amongst their ranks.
*
By the time that Boots arrived at the gym, the majority of the team – men’s and women’s – were clustered outside the main office.
“What’s going on?” asked Boots, joining the crowd.
“Field trip day,” answered Nathan, one of the seniors, and not without a touch of dread. “Head Coach Fraser’s favourite day. First he shows us pictures of the last championship team and tells us how we’ll never be as good as them, and then he takes us to the weight room and demoralizes the team by showing us how he can lift more, at fifty-five, than the rest of us combined at twenty.”
“And it’s the only day you’ll ever see him wearing any pants,” grinned Gracie, the team captain. Gracie fascinated Boots though he had concluded on the second day of her acquaintance, that as he wan't her competition, she was relatively harmless. Regardless, Gracie had more muscle mass than any boy Boots had ever met, and he had yet to see her stand still for more than four seconds at a time.
Some of the rookies guffawed while the older team-mates snickered or rolled their eyes.
“Now there’s a picture I didn’t want in my head,” winced a rookie girl, who’s name Boots thought might have been Katherine.
“Because normally he's wearing swim trunks?” added Gracie with mock exasperation. “God, you guys.”
“What about on the bus to meets?” asked maybe-Katherine’s friend, Dee.
“He drives himself,” explained another senior, with the air of someone who had told the story often and with much elaboration in the course of his time on the team. “Probably in his bathing suit, but no one really knows.”
“And the end-of-year banquet?” asked a girl, who Boots hadn’t seen before, joining the group. Carefully made-up and wearing a short summer dress that clung to her slight frame, the girl was a sharp contrast to the women’s swim team, well-muscled and ready for a workout in sweats and sneakers.
Gracie all but barred her teeth at the girl. “Alison,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be, like, off killing puppies or something?”
Alison raised a sharply defined eyebrow. “Oh Grace,” she said sweetly. “You should really work on your media relations. It’s bad for your little team.”
“As if anyone reads The Northwestern Times,” said Gracie, laughing.
“I’m here,” said Alison, smiling politely as if Gracie hadn’t said anything at all. “To get an interview with the Coach, and to see if any of you are worth the obscene amounts of scholarship funds that could be put to such better use elsewhere.”
It looked as though Gracie was about to order the ritual sacrifice of all journalism students on campus when Vladi opened his mouth.
“Why to rent tuxedo trousers,” he asked aloud. “When tuxedo jacket look better with Speedo, and is more affordable in any case?”
The girl that might have been called Katherine swooned, and there was some good-natured laughter and catcalls.
Boots felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Alison.
“Who is that?” she asked, reaching for a mini-cassette recorder. “What’s his name?”
“That’s Vladi,” said Boots feeling a bit as though he was doomed to be that guy’s roommate for life. “He’s my roommate.”
*
After the workout, Vladi – who, much to the admiration and chagrin of the men’s team, had been able to keep up with Coach Fraser – was the first to return to room 417. Boots, who had been required to stay for extra training, returned sore and tired to find Vladi lying on what Boots thought at first was Boots bed.
Before he could say anything, Vladi held the post it note out to Boots. “Boots, why did you write not down the number?”
“Uh,” said Boots. “What? Vladi, why is our room backwards?”
Vladi looked around the room quizzically, as if noticing for the first time that their belongings had been carefully switched and looked vaguely disoriented for all of a few seconds. Then he returned to the matter at hand. “Boots,” he persisted. “Did Justin’s agent say he will be calling again?”
“Oh,” said Boots, shaking his head. He was occupied looking back from side to side; whoever had done the switch had been meticulous. It was all very confusing. “No, Vladi that was a joke.”
“A joke?” asked Vladi, looking sadly at the sticky in his hand. “But is not funny. No, uh, 'ha, ha, ha'.” Vladi threw his head back and shook it from side to side to demonstrate the desired effect of a joke, before staring at Boots imploringly.
Boots sat on his new bed, dropping his gym bag at his feet, and looked across at Vladi. “I did it because you left me one.”
Vladi looked quizzical. “Yes? Your boyfriend call.”
Boots nodded, “Yeah, a joke. Ha, ha.”
Vladi shook his head. “No, his name is” he paused, squinting, as if trying to remember the name. “Ben? No. Brutus? No, no.”
That’s when it dawned on Boots. “What, Bruno?” he squeaked in alarm.
And when Vladi nodded, smiling, Boots looked on horrified “Vladi, Bruno isn’t my boyfriend!”
“I ask who is it, he say you live together.” Vladi shrugged by way of explanation.
“Yeah, we were roommates,” said Boots defensively.
“He say seven years,” argued Vladi. “Seven years is serious relationship.”
“That would make me twelve,” protested Boots, horrified on multiple fronts.
Vladi looked at him wide-eyed. “You are committed man, I am being impressed.”
Boots cursed Bruno inwardly and took a deep breathe, feeling as though this was the end of life as he knew it; the proverbial march to the gallows. “Vladi,” he began slowly. “I’m going to tell you something, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else. Especially not anyone else on the swim team.”
Vladi nodded, looking resigned, but still clutching the yellow sticky and waited for Boots to continue.
Boots shut his eyes, took a deep breath and then blurted, “I graduated from a boarding school.”
Vladi looked at him, and when Boots didn’t continue, he prompted helpfully, “… and?”
“And,” said Boots, reluctantly. “It was all boys.”
Vladi stared, nonplussed. “…and?”
“And?” asked Boots, confused. “That’s all.”
“Oh,” shrugged Vladi, smiling his perfect smile. “That’s funny. A good joke. Ha, ha.”
Boots stared. “It’s not a joke, it’s true!”
“So,” shrugged Vladi, reaching for his guitar. “You go to school, like Harry Potter. I keep your secret. You are magic, yes?”
Boots nearly smacked his forehead with the heal of his hand in frustration. “No, I’m not a wizard, it was a normal school. Kind of.”
“You are wizard,” laughed Vladi and made an odd gesture, wiggling the fingers on the hand not adjusting the tuning pegs of his guitar. “Poof!”
“No,” said Boots, horrified. “There was no poofing.”
“Poof!” laughed Vladi, and then struck what Boots was coming to know very well as the opening chords of Sexy Back. “Boots was a wizard,” sang Vladi, clearly entertained, stretching the melody out to fit his new words. “He went to school, and stayed there for a spell.”
“Oh my God,” said Boots in agony, head in hands. How was it that Vladi, who couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, could make puns at his expense? If it was unintentional, that was almost worse. Life was not kind, thought Boots feelingly.
Vladi broke off here, at Boots swearing. “You are religious, Boots?”
Boots looked up. “Uh, no, well I’m Catholic but really I don’t -”
“Me also,” said Vladi. “Is wonderful, we go to church together on the Sunday!”
Vladi was smiling so charmingly that as much as Boots wanted, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate his new roommate.
“Yes,” said Boots, settling for hating himself instead.
“You should call this Bruno,” said Vladi earnestly. “He sounded very missing of you. You’re lucky to have such good friend.”
Boots smiled, “Yeah, I know. Thanks Vladi.”
Vladi nodded. “If you will be needing me, I am down the hall, waxing the legs.”
*
“I can’t believe that you’re a frat boy,” said Bruno disbelievingly. “You’re one of them now Melvin. You’re the establishment.”
“You’re being a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” asked Boots, with the phone tucked between his head and his shoulder. He was squinting at the writing on a bottle of hair remover that Vladi had left for him, made more difficult by the fact that he was holding it at arm’s length. “They’re not the establishment; they could probably care less about the establishment.”
“Oh my God!” Bruno sounded horrified. “That’s even worse. If the establishment falls apart, the anti-establishment will fall apart as well. They have to care!”
“Do you even make sense to yourself?” asked Boots, putting down the bottle and lying back on his bed.
“Don’t tell me that you no longer believe in the anti-establishment!” Bruno sniffed meaningly.
Boots sighed. “I believe, Bruno,” he said placatingly. “I believe. Besides, some of the guys are pretty cool.”
Bruno snickered. “Did you have a secret pledge ceremony?”
“Uh,” said Boots.
“You did, didn’t you!” shrieked Bruno. “I knew it! What did you have to do?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Boots uncomfortably.
“Oh come on,” said Bruno. “It’s me.”
“Exactly,” said Boots. “You know you could check it out for yourself. McGill might have a chapter of Theta Delts; it’s a pretty big frat.”
Bruno seemed to consider it. “We’d be frat brothers. That would be cool.”
“Yeah,” agreed Boots. “And you could make sure that the establishment doesn’t fall apart.”
“Sneaky,” said Bruno. “It would be like being undercover.”
Boots snorted into the phone. “So when are you moving in to residence, anyways?”
“Oh, well, you know. I was supposed to move in this morning,” said Bruno airily.
“Supposed to?” asked Boots, suspicious.
“Yeah, well,” said Bruno. “I’m thinking about living at home.”
“You’re kidding, right? You’ve been complaining about your family all summer.”
“But I mean, we don’t all have your incredible good luck with roommates,” said Bruno.
Boots rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure whether I’m offended or, no I’m just offended by that one.”
“You know what I mean,” said Bruno and Boots let it slide. “What if I’ve already used up my good roommate allotment?”
“You want to know what I think?” asked Boots.
“Not if it’s hurtful,” retorted Bruno.
“I’m more worried about your roommate,” stated Boots, staring at the window, where Canadian and Bulgarian flags hung side by side.
“Boots!” said Bruno. “Think of all the good times we had.”
“And think of all the good times that your poor unsuspecting roommate will miss out on, if you don’t move into res.,” pointed out Boots.
“You’re pretty crafty, you know that?” asked Bruno after a pause.
“Yeah, well I learned it -” said Boots
“-from the best,” finished Bruno smugly.
“I was going to say from the biggest pain in the ass,” said Boots. “But whatever.”
“That’s mean,” said Bruno. Then, “Oh, hey, have you heard from your family since they dropped you off?”
“No,” said Boots. “Why?”
“I saw them on the news this morning,” said Bruno not without glee. “They’re being held at the border.”
Boots sat up quickly, bashing his head on his headboard. “Ow, fuck.”
“Boots?” Bruno was asking worriedly when Boots picked the phone up off of his bed. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” said Boots, “Do you know why they’re being held? Or what happened?”
“I think your old man was fighting the establishment,” said Bruno admiringly. “I was thinking about getting a group to go down there and protest their unlawful detainment.”
“Oh no,” said Boots. “Don’t do that. You’ll get arrested too.”
“Do you think I would?” asked Bruno with interest.
“Don’t do it, Bruno,” warned Boots. “Go move in to your dorm, and wake up on time for your classes and be a good student. Go to some McGill parties and join the debate club or something. And Bruno? Be nice to your roommate. But don’t get arrested. And oh my God, don’t get your roommate arrested either.”
“Sure, Boots,” said Bruno in a way that Boots was sure meant trouble. “I’ll see you around.”
“No you won’t,” said Boots in horror. And then there was a click. “Bruno? What do you mean you’ll see me around? Bruno?”
*
*** Which, in turn, led to the discovery of numbers 97, 94 and 63. Respectively that the aforementioned roommate was in possession of some mad karaoke skills; Wisconsin’s karaoke establishments are run by the mafia, and do not take kindly to threats; and that sweet, little, elderly women who are prone to picking up hitchhikers are not likely to be sweet, without physical strength, or even female.
No Tomorrow
Chp 3 – Rookie Year "Nothing Good Can Come of This"
When Boots stopped at room 417, he found a note that baffled him. He’d been on his way from a campus tour to the pool for a team practise, and had stopped just to pick up his gym bag. About to leave the room, he’d spotted a small yellow sticky note on the top of his laptop.
Boots, it read in sloppy handwriting, your boyfriend calls.
Boots stared at the sticky for a moment, a nagging uneasiness settling in, before crumpling the paper into a ball, and tossing it into the trash can under his desk. Of all the strange things that had happened in the past week – what with being hazed by both a group of steeped-in-tradition frat boys and the entirety of the Northwestern University swim team – this didn’t even make the top one hundred. (With one being the most bizarre event of the week, reflected Boots, number one hundred was probably on par with being abducted in the middle of the night and deserted in Northern Wisconsin; no wallet, no shoes, accompanied only by his Bulgarian roommate.***)
Feeling shrewd, Boots located a yellow sticky pad on Vladi’s desk. Hey, wrote Boots, glancing around the room for inspiration. Some guy phoned for you while you were out. He said that he’s Justin Timbersomething’s agent (Timberpond? Timberwood?) and that this Justin guy’s a fan and is interested in doing a music video that features you. Boots.
Grinning at his neatly written note, Boots stuck it to Vladi’s mirror on his way out. He didn’t bother to lock the door: locks, it had already been established, were no obstacle to even the average prankster. Not when their floor supervisor was amongst their ranks.
*
By the time that Boots arrived at the gym, the majority of the team – men’s and women’s – were clustered outside the main office.
“What’s going on?” asked Boots, joining the crowd.
“Field trip day,” answered Nathan, one of the seniors, and not without a touch of dread. “Head Coach Fraser’s favourite day. First he shows us pictures of the last championship team and tells us how we’ll never be as good as them, and then he takes us to the weight room and demoralizes the team by showing us how he can lift more, at fifty-five, than the rest of us combined at twenty.”
“And it’s the only day you’ll ever see him wearing any pants,” grinned Gracie, the team captain. Gracie fascinated Boots though he had concluded on the second day of her acquaintance, that as he wan't her competition, she was relatively harmless. Regardless, Gracie had more muscle mass than any boy Boots had ever met, and he had yet to see her stand still for more than four seconds at a time.
Some of the rookies guffawed while the older team-mates snickered or rolled their eyes.
“Now there’s a picture I didn’t want in my head,” winced a rookie girl, who’s name Boots thought might have been Katherine.
“Because normally he's wearing swim trunks?” added Gracie with mock exasperation. “God, you guys.”
“What about on the bus to meets?” asked maybe-Katherine’s friend, Dee.
“He drives himself,” explained another senior, with the air of someone who had told the story often and with much elaboration in the course of his time on the team. “Probably in his bathing suit, but no one really knows.”
“And the end-of-year banquet?” asked a girl, who Boots hadn’t seen before, joining the group. Carefully made-up and wearing a short summer dress that clung to her slight frame, the girl was a sharp contrast to the women’s swim team, well-muscled and ready for a workout in sweats and sneakers.
Gracie all but barred her teeth at the girl. “Alison,” she said. “Shouldn’t you be, like, off killing puppies or something?”
Alison raised a sharply defined eyebrow. “Oh Grace,” she said sweetly. “You should really work on your media relations. It’s bad for your little team.”
“As if anyone reads The Northwestern Times,” said Gracie, laughing.
“I’m here,” said Alison, smiling politely as if Gracie hadn’t said anything at all. “To get an interview with the Coach, and to see if any of you are worth the obscene amounts of scholarship funds that could be put to such better use elsewhere.”
It looked as though Gracie was about to order the ritual sacrifice of all journalism students on campus when Vladi opened his mouth.
“Why to rent tuxedo trousers,” he asked aloud. “When tuxedo jacket look better with Speedo, and is more affordable in any case?”
The girl that might have been called Katherine swooned, and there was some good-natured laughter and catcalls.
Boots felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to see Alison.
“Who is that?” she asked, reaching for a mini-cassette recorder. “What’s his name?”
“That’s Vladi,” said Boots feeling a bit as though he was doomed to be that guy’s roommate for life. “He’s my roommate.”
*
After the workout, Vladi – who, much to the admiration and chagrin of the men’s team, had been able to keep up with Coach Fraser – was the first to return to room 417. Boots, who had been required to stay for extra training, returned sore and tired to find Vladi lying on what Boots thought at first was Boots bed.
Before he could say anything, Vladi held the post it note out to Boots. “Boots, why did you write not down the number?”
“Uh,” said Boots. “What? Vladi, why is our room backwards?”
Vladi looked around the room quizzically, as if noticing for the first time that their belongings had been carefully switched and looked vaguely disoriented for all of a few seconds. Then he returned to the matter at hand. “Boots,” he persisted. “Did Justin’s agent say he will be calling again?”
“Oh,” said Boots, shaking his head. He was occupied looking back from side to side; whoever had done the switch had been meticulous. It was all very confusing. “No, Vladi that was a joke.”
“A joke?” asked Vladi, looking sadly at the sticky in his hand. “But is not funny. No, uh, 'ha, ha, ha'.” Vladi threw his head back and shook it from side to side to demonstrate the desired effect of a joke, before staring at Boots imploringly.
Boots sat on his new bed, dropping his gym bag at his feet, and looked across at Vladi. “I did it because you left me one.”
Vladi looked quizzical. “Yes? Your boyfriend call.”
Boots nodded, “Yeah, a joke. Ha, ha.”
Vladi shook his head. “No, his name is” he paused, squinting, as if trying to remember the name. “Ben? No. Brutus? No, no.”
That’s when it dawned on Boots. “What, Bruno?” he squeaked in alarm.
And when Vladi nodded, smiling, Boots looked on horrified “Vladi, Bruno isn’t my boyfriend!”
“I ask who is it, he say you live together.” Vladi shrugged by way of explanation.
“Yeah, we were roommates,” said Boots defensively.
“He say seven years,” argued Vladi. “Seven years is serious relationship.”
“That would make me twelve,” protested Boots, horrified on multiple fronts.
Vladi looked at him wide-eyed. “You are committed man, I am being impressed.”
Boots cursed Bruno inwardly and took a deep breathe, feeling as though this was the end of life as he knew it; the proverbial march to the gallows. “Vladi,” he began slowly. “I’m going to tell you something, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else. Especially not anyone else on the swim team.”
Vladi nodded, looking resigned, but still clutching the yellow sticky and waited for Boots to continue.
Boots shut his eyes, took a deep breath and then blurted, “I graduated from a boarding school.”
Vladi looked at him, and when Boots didn’t continue, he prompted helpfully, “… and?”
“And,” said Boots, reluctantly. “It was all boys.”
Vladi stared, nonplussed. “…and?”
“And?” asked Boots, confused. “That’s all.”
“Oh,” shrugged Vladi, smiling his perfect smile. “That’s funny. A good joke. Ha, ha.”
Boots stared. “It’s not a joke, it’s true!”
“So,” shrugged Vladi, reaching for his guitar. “You go to school, like Harry Potter. I keep your secret. You are magic, yes?”
Boots nearly smacked his forehead with the heal of his hand in frustration. “No, I’m not a wizard, it was a normal school. Kind of.”
“You are wizard,” laughed Vladi and made an odd gesture, wiggling the fingers on the hand not adjusting the tuning pegs of his guitar. “Poof!”
“No,” said Boots, horrified. “There was no poofing.”
“Poof!” laughed Vladi, and then struck what Boots was coming to know very well as the opening chords of Sexy Back. “Boots was a wizard,” sang Vladi, clearly entertained, stretching the melody out to fit his new words. “He went to school, and stayed there for a spell.”
“Oh my God,” said Boots in agony, head in hands. How was it that Vladi, who couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, could make puns at his expense? If it was unintentional, that was almost worse. Life was not kind, thought Boots feelingly.
Vladi broke off here, at Boots swearing. “You are religious, Boots?”
Boots looked up. “Uh, no, well I’m Catholic but really I don’t -”
“Me also,” said Vladi. “Is wonderful, we go to church together on the Sunday!”
Vladi was smiling so charmingly that as much as Boots wanted, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate his new roommate.
“Yes,” said Boots, settling for hating himself instead.
“You should call this Bruno,” said Vladi earnestly. “He sounded very missing of you. You’re lucky to have such good friend.”
Boots smiled, “Yeah, I know. Thanks Vladi.”
Vladi nodded. “If you will be needing me, I am down the hall, waxing the legs.”
*
“I can’t believe that you’re a frat boy,” said Bruno disbelievingly. “You’re one of them now Melvin. You’re the establishment.”
“You’re being a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” asked Boots, with the phone tucked between his head and his shoulder. He was squinting at the writing on a bottle of hair remover that Vladi had left for him, made more difficult by the fact that he was holding it at arm’s length. “They’re not the establishment; they could probably care less about the establishment.”
“Oh my God!” Bruno sounded horrified. “That’s even worse. If the establishment falls apart, the anti-establishment will fall apart as well. They have to care!”
“Do you even make sense to yourself?” asked Boots, putting down the bottle and lying back on his bed.
“Don’t tell me that you no longer believe in the anti-establishment!” Bruno sniffed meaningly.
Boots sighed. “I believe, Bruno,” he said placatingly. “I believe. Besides, some of the guys are pretty cool.”
Bruno snickered. “Did you have a secret pledge ceremony?”
“Uh,” said Boots.
“You did, didn’t you!” shrieked Bruno. “I knew it! What did you have to do?”
“I can’t tell you,” said Boots uncomfortably.
“Oh come on,” said Bruno. “It’s me.”
“Exactly,” said Boots. “You know you could check it out for yourself. McGill might have a chapter of Theta Delts; it’s a pretty big frat.”
Bruno seemed to consider it. “We’d be frat brothers. That would be cool.”
“Yeah,” agreed Boots. “And you could make sure that the establishment doesn’t fall apart.”
“Sneaky,” said Bruno. “It would be like being undercover.”
Boots snorted into the phone. “So when are you moving in to residence, anyways?”
“Oh, well, you know. I was supposed to move in this morning,” said Bruno airily.
“Supposed to?” asked Boots, suspicious.
“Yeah, well,” said Bruno. “I’m thinking about living at home.”
“You’re kidding, right? You’ve been complaining about your family all summer.”
“But I mean, we don’t all have your incredible good luck with roommates,” said Bruno.
Boots rolled his eyes. “I’m not sure whether I’m offended or, no I’m just offended by that one.”
“You know what I mean,” said Bruno and Boots let it slide. “What if I’ve already used up my good roommate allotment?”
“You want to know what I think?” asked Boots.
“Not if it’s hurtful,” retorted Bruno.
“I’m more worried about your roommate,” stated Boots, staring at the window, where Canadian and Bulgarian flags hung side by side.
“Boots!” said Bruno. “Think of all the good times we had.”
“And think of all the good times that your poor unsuspecting roommate will miss out on, if you don’t move into res.,” pointed out Boots.
“You’re pretty crafty, you know that?” asked Bruno after a pause.
“Yeah, well I learned it -” said Boots
“-from the best,” finished Bruno smugly.
“I was going to say from the biggest pain in the ass,” said Boots. “But whatever.”
“That’s mean,” said Bruno. Then, “Oh, hey, have you heard from your family since they dropped you off?”
“No,” said Boots. “Why?”
“I saw them on the news this morning,” said Bruno not without glee. “They’re being held at the border.”
Boots sat up quickly, bashing his head on his headboard. “Ow, fuck.”
“Boots?” Bruno was asking worriedly when Boots picked the phone up off of his bed. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” said Boots, “Do you know why they’re being held? Or what happened?”
“I think your old man was fighting the establishment,” said Bruno admiringly. “I was thinking about getting a group to go down there and protest their unlawful detainment.”
“Oh no,” said Boots. “Don’t do that. You’ll get arrested too.”
“Do you think I would?” asked Bruno with interest.
“Don’t do it, Bruno,” warned Boots. “Go move in to your dorm, and wake up on time for your classes and be a good student. Go to some McGill parties and join the debate club or something. And Bruno? Be nice to your roommate. But don’t get arrested. And oh my God, don’t get your roommate arrested either.”
“Sure, Boots,” said Bruno in a way that Boots was sure meant trouble. “I’ll see you around.”
“No you won’t,” said Boots in horror. And then there was a click. “Bruno? What do you mean you’ll see me around? Bruno?”
*
*** Which, in turn, led to the discovery of numbers 97, 94 and 63. Respectively that the aforementioned roommate was in possession of some mad karaoke skills; Wisconsin’s karaoke establishments are run by the mafia, and do not take kindly to threats; and that sweet, little, elderly women who are prone to picking up hitchhikers are not likely to be sweet, without physical strength, or even female.
