“You’re just a little drunk.” He smiled. “Fortunately you puked up most of the beer, so you won’t get any drunker.” He tossed me a towel, and I started rubbing at my head. He started rummaging around in his closet and tossed me a pair of red sweatpants and a CSU-Polk sweatshirt. I took my wet clothes off, folded them, and pulled the sweats on. I sat down in his desk chair.

Why didn’t Chad want me? What was wrong with me?

You don’t look like Jacob, the insidious voice mocked me again. Why choose a Honda when you can have a Bentley?

“Are you okay?” Roger asked again.

I was about to say something about Chad when I looked at him. He was so happy I was his little brother, I knew I could never, ever tell him I’d picked Chad first. I just nodded instead and forced a smile onto my face. “I was worried you might not want me,” I said, hating myself for lying.

He laughed. “Are you kidding me? I couldn’t believe it when Eric asked me if I wanted to take you. I was so sure I’d never get a little brother. I mean, it’s not like I’m the most popular guy in the house. And I got the coolest pledge out of the whole class.” He gave me a delighted smile, and I couldn’t help noticing how much better he looked. His entire face lit up when he smiled—and it was so much better than the perpetual scowl he usually wore.

My disappointment started fading. So what if the big brother I’d wanted hadn’t wanted me? Was it a good idea to pick a big brother I was attracted to in hopes of getting to date him? No, it wasn’t—that was a stupid reason to pick someone. I remembered what Eric said about the role of a big brother. Roger filled that role far better, and he had been my second choice.

It wasn’t like I’d been pawned off on someone I hadn’t picked.

But I’d been so sure Chad would take me.

You were sure, the voice mocked, you were hoping, and convinced yourself Chad would take you. Why would he?

I shook my head.

“I’m hardly the coolest pledge,” I said, watching as Roger pulled a box out from under his bed and expertly started rolling a joint.

“Yeah, you are.” Roger licked it to seal it before lighting it. “You’re not like the others—you’re not like the rest of the brothers here, either. You’re different.”

“I don’t want to be different,” I said, watching as he inhaled. “I want to be like everyone else.”

He laughed. “I meant different in a good way. Jeez, Jordy.” He took another hit. “You don’t want to be a lemming, do you? Different is good, man, really good. It makes you stand out, makes you get noticed. People who are like everyone else never get anywhere in the world, they just blend in. Who wants to blend in? I sure don’t.” He shrugged. “Do you know what usually passes for intelligent conversation around here? ‘Dude, I fucked the Delta Zeta with the huge tits.’” He shook his head and took another hit. “You, on the other hand, have a brain. You think.” He held out the joint to me.

I looked at it dubiously. “I don’t know if I should. Marijuana affects your memory and kills brain cells.”

Roger grinned. “You see what I mean? No one else around here would even think twice about smoking a joint.” He winked at me. “Just this once. For me, okay? To celebrate? Come on, Jordy, live a little. Just this one time won’t hurt you.”

Never give in to peer pressure, I heard my father say. Never, ever do something to fit in. You’re your own person, and you know the difference between right and wrong. And anyone who tries to get you to do something you don’t want to do isn’t your friend in the first place.

On the other hand, it was just this once. Roger was right—getting stoned once was hardly going to kill me.

I reached over and took the joint from Roger. I looked at the thin line of white smoke curling up from the red ember. “So, what do I do?” I asked.

“Well, you suck on the end, and then hold the smoke in until you can’t anymore.” Roger grinned. “Just know you’re going to cough really hard the first time.”

“Wow. That sounds just great.” I rolled my eyes. “I can see the appeal.” He laughed, and I took a deep breath and raised the joint to my lips. I did as he said, sucking on the end. I wasn’t able to hold the smoke for very long. I started coughing almost immediately. My lungs felt like I’d inhaled fire. My eyes were tearing and I couldn’t stop coughing. He handed me a bottle of water from the minifridge. I managed to choke out a “thank you” as I twisted the cap off and gulped water down.

I put the bottle down on the desk and wiped at my eyes. “That was awful,” I said, and was about to add, “I’ll never do that again” when a strange mellow feeling began creeping through my brain. Goose pimples rose on my arms, and I could feel every single hair follicle on my body tingling. It was a weird feeling—but at the same time it was nice. The nausea in my stomach was gone—a definite plus—and there was this really pleasant euphoric sensation creeping over me. I started to resist it, but closed my eyes. Don’t fight it, just go with it. That’s the whole point of smoking, to feel like this. I relaxed and went with it.

I couldn’t help myself. I started giggling.

Roger took the joint back from me and took another hit. He grinned at me as he stubbed it out in an ashtray. “I think that’s enough for you, my young Padawan.”

“Padawan?” I made a face. “What does that mean?”

Roger stared at me. “You’ve never seen any of the Star Wars movies?”

“Oh, yes.” I nodded and smiled at him. “A Padawan is of course a Jedi Knight in training.” I giggled. Why did everything seem so funny? “Of course I’ve seen the films. They are an integral part of modern American pop culture.” I nodded. “My senior year I spent a lot of time watching popular films online. Titanic, The Matrix—” My voice trailed off. I couldn’t think of the names of any of the other movies I’d watched. I tried to concentrate and summon the titles, but they wouldn’t come. “That’s weird. I can’t think of any of the others.” I shrugged. “But the Star Wars mythology was a classic rendering of the struggle between fascism and democracy, broken down into a simplistic message of good versus evil for easier absorption by the audience.”

Roger threw his head back and laughed. “See what I mean, Jordy? You aren’t like anyone else! Anyone else would just say they were cool. But not you.” He shook his head.

“That’s bad, isn’t it?”

“No, Jordy, it’s great. Don’t ever change, okay? Don’t let them turn you into a Beta Kappa clone.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what it was like for you at your Swiss school—”

“St. Bernard.”

“—but I can tell it wasn’t a good experience for you.”

“I liked St. Bernard,” I insisted. The mellow feeling was actually quite delightful. “I got an excellent education there. I was challenged and stimulated intellectually.”

“I’m not talking about your education,” he replied. “Did you have friends there? Were you popular?”

“I—” I stopped. I’d never told anyone what it had really been like there. Maybe it was the pot, but I could tell Roger was actually interested—he really wanted to know. “It was awful.” My eyes welled up with tears. “I didn’t have any friends. The only people who treated me like a human being were the teachers. The other students were terrible. They looked down on me because I was an American. They looked down on me because I wasn’t of royal or noble blood. They picked on me. They made fun of me. Then they got bored and just ignored me, which was lonely but it was better. But I showed them all. I was smarter than all of them. I got better grades. The teachers thought I was the best student in the history of the school. I made up my mind I was going to be the best student, that I was going to be the most successful one.” I wiped at my face. “Of course they didn’t care about my grades.”