I handed him my shirt and took off my shoes and socks. "Why do we have to get undressed?"

"It's just part of the ritual of the night," Blair said. "It won't be the last time you're in your underwear in front of the Brotherhood."

"Um-" What the hell does that mean?

"Relax," he whispered, "it's no worse than wearing that bikini at that pool party we had, remember? And at least no one here is going to be judging your body."

I undid my pants and pulled them off, handing them to Blair, who folded them. All around me my pledge brothers were fumbling to get out of their clothes. I felt drunk from the Olde English 800; at one point I leaned back against the wall to maintain my balance. The brothers were still all screaming. Ted Norris fell down when pulling his pants off, and I looked at him with more than a little disgust. His body was even worse unclothed than I could have imagined. He had tits, for God's sake, and it looked like his skin had never been exposed to the sun. He had this stricken look on his face, and his big brother-a tall, good-looking guy from Oregon named Dave Pittenger-looked just as disgusted as I felt. Ted was constantly bragging at pledge meetings about being a star jock in high school, how popular he'd been, and how many "chicks" he'd bagged. How was thatpossible, I wondered, looking at his soft flabby body. He doesn't look like he's ever done any kind of exercise his entire life. What is wrong with him? Why does he lie all the time? Why can't he just be himself and stop trying to impress everyone?

Not for the first time, I wished he would drop out of the pledge class.

Marc blew the whistle again, and the crowd of brothers moved back again. Marc walked along the line of us, looking us up and down. When he reached the end of the lineup, he walked back along, this time shaking his head. He walked out in front of us. "All right, pledges, do you know what I see when I look at you? I see a bunch of clay that needs to be remolded into brothers of Beta Kappa. You've had it pretty easy so far this semester, but from now on it's going to be a lot harder. We need to find out if each and every one of you has what it takes. You are a unit. If one of you fails, all of you fail. You have to help each other out. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link-and likewise, your unit is only as strong as its weakest link. Do you understand me?"

"SIR! YES SIR!" we shouted back in unison. They'd taught us that-they called it the "sir" sandwich; if we were ever addressed by the name pledge, we had to start each sentence with sir as well as finish it that way. It was kind of like being in the military in a way; I'd commented about this once to Blair. Blair shrugged, "I think it comes from the after World War II period, when everyone was in college on the GI Bill. They joined fraternities and brought the whole military thing with them."

I glanced at Ted out of the corner of my eye. He was going to be the weak link in our chain, there was no question about that in my mind.

"Good." Marc replied. "Now, it's game time. Pledges vs. their Big Brothers. Are you ready to compete, pledges?"

"SIR! YES SIR!"

"All right. Let the games begin." He smiled. "And don't embarrass me too badly, pledges. You know your performance reflects on me. Don't let me down."

The first game was called beer relay. Two troughs of beer were set up, and the pledged lined up alongside their big brothers. When Marc blew a whistle, the pair at the front of the lines had to run to the trough, stick their face in it, and drink as much as they could for a minute, when Marc would blow the whistle again. Those two went to the back of the line and the next two took their turn. Whichever trough emptied first signified the winning team, while the rest of the brothers stood around with cups of beer cheering on the brothers-jeering and mocking us.

I didn't know how I could possibly drink any more beer after chugging down that huge bottle, but the other pledges were in the same boat as I was. Actually, some of them looked worse off than me. Jason Ziebell looked positively green. His curly reddish gold hair was soaked through and plastered to the side of his head. He was either going to puke or pass out at any second. I couldn't help but look at his ass, though. His white underwear was soaked through and clung to him like plastic wrap.

And Ted looked like he was going to blow chunks at any minute. He was leaning on Dave Pittenger, who looked like he wished he were anywhere else but there. Even Chris and Eric, who took great pride in how much they could drink, looked glassy eyed. All of my pledge brothers looked the worse for wear, and when Marc blew the whistle the first time and Tommy staggered to the trough and stuck his face in the big puddle of beer, I worried he might not be able to get back up again. Tommy was a lightweight when it came to drinking-one beer made him drunk, two and he was a complete mess-so I wasn't sure how long he would last. Sure enough, once the whistle blew again, Tommy couldn't get up. His big brother, Chris Morales, had to help him to his feet, and even then he couldn't straighten up. Chris walked him to the back of the line, where he passed Tommy off to Jason-which was kind of like propping up a sand castle with water. I just kept taking deep breaths. My stomach was lurching, and I knew it was just going to be a matter of time before all that beer was coming back up. Every so often Blair and I would make eye contact, and he would give me a reassuring smile as we moved closer to the front of the lines.

When it was finally my turn, Blair and I raced up to the trough. It was obvious the brothers were going to finish their trough long before we were, but I gamely stuck my head down into the beer, gulping down as much as I could stand despite the turmoil in my stomach. When the whistle blew again, it took me a lot longer to run back to the end of the line than it should have-and I almost fell down once or twice. Chris Moore stepped up and helped me to the back of the line, both of us weaving. "Thanks, man," I breathed out, bending at the waist and taking some deep breaths. Everything was kind of spinning in my head, and I was having trouble focusing. Chris smacked me on the back.

"You okay?" Blair asked. He was standing next to me, kneeling so our faces were at the same level.

I just nodded, letting out a huge belch that tasted like beer.

He shook his head and smiled. "Hang in there, Jeff. This should be over soon."

My second time at the trough, I really didn't think I was going to be able to get back up again. When I got to my feet, everything seemed out of focus, and the room did really start spinning. Suddenly I could feel all the beer starting to come back up ... and my entire body seemed to heave. I fought it down, but my stomach fought back.

"HE'S GONNA PUKE!" someone shouted, and through the haze I realized they were talking about me.

"Get to the bathroom, pledge!"

"Don't you dare blow chunks in the Great Room!"

"Puke! Puke! Puke!"

I realized the race had been paused, and all the brothers were chanting "Puke!" at me. Every eye in the room was focused on me, and as I looked around the room, my body still trying to reject the beer out my mouth, I saw the delight on the faces of not only the brothers but my fellow pledges-every single one of them wanted to throw up as well, but didn't want to be the first. Once one of us puked, the rest of them would follow suit-but no one wanted the disgrace of being the first.

And then my gaze locked with Blair's.

He shook his head slightly "no."