“Everyone in Atlanta has a car,” Piper said. “You’re going to have to hitch rides if you want to go anywhere off campus.”
“I guess…I’ll just try to stick to the campus,” I said, shrugging.
“Oh, honey. Where are you from, again?” Piper asked sweetly.
“Tifton. It’s near Boone.”
“And where is Boone?”
“Sort of near Valdosta.”
“Oh,” Piper said, finally recognizing a city. “Well, Sasha, you’re in Atlanta now, and more importantly, you’re at Harton. Stick with us, okay? We’re basically experts at this place. Plus, guys are going to be all about this homegrown look,” she paused to motion at my body, “and we can tell you which ones are worth the trouble.”
I laughed a little. “That sounds great. Thanks.”
“So,” Kiersten said, “what are your lottery dates?”
“I…don’t…know what you’re talking about,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“The football lottery tickets? Oh my god, you haven’t registered yet?” Kiersten said, looking horrified. “That’s okay, it’ll be okay, don’t worry. You’re a sophomore, so you’ll be third tier for dibs. It’s not great, but it’s better than being a freshman. They get shit tickets, and that’s why they always end up selling them— it’s more fun to just tailgate than watch from the nosebleeds. Where’d you transfer from, anyway?”
“I didn’t transfer, actually,” I said. “I’m a freshman. I just took a year off after high school.”
“Oh! So you took like a gap year! Like the British take,” Piper said.
“Sure. Exactly,” I said. Technically, a gap year was more for fun and travel and relaxing, not smiling at smug corporate types who slapped my ass as I walked away from tables. But I had to admit, imagining that time as a gap year sounded a lot more pleasant, so I’d take it.
“Right. Ok. Well, we’re going to get you registered for the ticket lottery, New Lily,” Piper said, shaking her head. “And you’re going out with us tonight.”
“Tonight? I sort of have plans. But that’s really nice of you,” I said.
“Cancel them. What are they?” Kiersten asked.
“I was going to do a walk through of all my classes? I don’t know where the buildings are. Other than on the map,” I said.
Kiersten looked beyond horrified now. “Jesus Christ, no. No, no, no. You’re our suite mate, so what you do reflects on us. You’re coming to Football House,” Kiersten said, shaking her head.
I chewed my lip.
Kiersten sighed dramatically. “Ok, fine. Football House is near the Arts and Sciences building. We’ll take you by it on the way, as long as you promise not to tell anyone about…uh…anything. Let us do the talking, okay? Trust me, New Lily, you’ve totally lucked out getting in our suite. We’re going to show you how to Harton like a pro.”
2
I had never thought of myself as a small town girl, even though in a sort of academic sense, I knew that’s what I was. But everyone from Tifton was a small town boy or girl— most people in my graduating class were working at the canning factory, or on a farm, or maybe, if they were really fancy, the Wal-Mart.
Those that went to college didn’t look back, save the cursory visit at Christmas, which had made my “gap year” all the more humiliating. I was the valedictorian, after all— yet without a detailed explanation, when people saw me waitressing at the clubhouse they’d always assumed I was just another small town, go-nowhere type of girl, soon to be barefoot and pregnant.
But still— there was a difference between a girl from a small town and a “small town girl”, and I wanted to make sure everyone at Harton understood I was the former. That’s why I agreed to this football house party thing.
Academics are the priority, I reminded myself (as if I needed reminding). But hey, hadn’t I read somewhere that people with strong social connections and community ties were more likely to succeed? As long as I kept my eye on the prize— the degree— what could a little revelry hurt?
“Why’s it called the football house?” I asked as we cut through the campus. True to their word, they’d taken me by the Arts and Sciences building, pointed out the library, and even shown me a picnic area where “people who like to study hang out when the weather is nice”.
“Not the football house. Just Football House,” Piper explained, looking over her shoulder at me. They’d dressed me in one of Piper’s dresses, a number so small I didn’t know if I should pull it down or tug it up, and Kiersten’s shoes, which were the highest heels I’d ever walked in. I had insisted on doing my own makeup— I actually liked makeup, I just didn’t like quite as much of it as Piper and Kiersten did.
“Ok. Why is it called Football House?” I corrected.
“It’s where the football players hang out,” Kiersten said. “They can’t live there, since that’s considered a gift, so it’s sort of a…club? I guess? You’ll see. One of the alumni bought it. It’s amazing.”