Page 17 of Seeds of Friendship
“No pressure,” Troy repeats, shaking his head. “Just our entire social future hanging in the balance.”
“Exactly.” I steal one of Ethan's muffins. “So we better make it fucking count.”
The thing is, I know we're probably screwed. Four random freshmen against an entire fraternity? It's David and Goliath,except Goliath has better parties and controls the entire social scene.
But what else are we gonna do? Give up? Accept our fate as the losers on Oak Street?
Fuck that.
“So,” Ethan says, “how do we get people to risk social death for our party?”
Now that's the million-dollar question.
7
“No fucking way.”
“Come on, man!” Ethan's practically on his knees in our living room, hands clasped like he's praying to the patron saint of bad decisions.
Alfie groans, not looking up from his geology textbook.
“Dude, it has to be you,” Troy insists.
Let me explain. Since our strategy meeting at CC's, we've been brainstorming how to get girls to come to our party. Turns out, we have to use ourselves. Like meat. Premium grade-A freshman meat.
The revelation came yesterday when we were walking back from lunch. Alfie had split off to go to the geology building, and we watched three girls literally stop mid-conversation to stare at him crossing the quad.
“Holy shit, that's Alfie Spencer,” one had whispered, not quietly enough.
“He's so freaking hot,” her friend had added. “Like, murderously hot.”
“I heard he's completely antisocial though. Never hooks up with anyone.”
“That just makes him hotter.”
“I bet you could win him over, Bri.”
“Ugh, I wish.”
Troy, Ethan and I had exchanged looks.
“These girls are crazy. How do they already know so much about him?”
Ethan shrugged. “It’s normal; the hot people always get singled out and gossiped about.”
That's when we knew—Alfie was our secret weapon. Mysterious, brooding, looks-like-he-could-murder-you-but-in-a-hot-way Alfie Spencer.
The plan is simple: Troy's got that all-American golden boy thing, Ethan's got the loveable goofball energy, I've got my whole charming bastard routine down. But Alfie? All he has to do is let a couple of strategic gossips know he'll be at the party and—this is the crucial part—that he's apparently “looking for a girlfriend.”
“I would never,” Alfie says now, his voice dripping with disgust. “I don't hook up with people like that. It's not my style.”
“Please, man,” Ethan begs, and fuck me, he actually looks desperate. “Look, I need this. I was the king at my high school. Please don't let me fall down the social ladder. This is the only favor I'll ever ask.”
Alfie stares at him for a long moment. Ethan's basically prostrating himself on our questionable carpet.
“Fucking hell, fine!” Alfie snaps. “I'll help. But I'm not hooking up with any of these vapid girls.”
“You don't have to actually—” Troy starts.
