alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

2.1 ➢ Rockefeller.

Trains in New York are difficult to get on. The first time I came to the city, I was seven years old and with my mother, clutching onto her hand as she stepped onto the first platform with me in tow. Now, as a lone teenage girl cautious of all the people ambling to get on alongside me, their own destinations and designations to get drilled into their minds, I am nothing short of nervous.

I don't know where I'm going, but I have a free day today and I figured that this would be the best way to spend it. I've been loitering around the teen-filled streets of the campus for so long that I've actually forgotten what it feels like to be in the company of someone not in my age range.

There are businessmen, and businesswomen, practically everywhere I go. Everyone has a briefcase and almost everyone has a to-go cup of something caffeinated. The section of the train that I'm in barely has anybody on it, yet the air is filled with the unmistakable scent of coffee beans and the odd Red Bull.

Smiling to myself, I tuck my knees up to my chest and stare out of the window. It smells like Sadie's cafe. Which is somewhat an unfortunate irony, because I'd caught the train to temporarily escape my college routine, but still. The familiarity isn't unwelcome.

There's a feeling of pride in my chest, nestled right in the middle of my heart and my ribcage, and I know it's because of my second task. I'd conpleted it before I could stop myself, and that means being initiation-free for the next couple of days; or just until all the others can finish theirs.

It wasn't difficult, though it wasn't that much different from the first. I just had to get a date from a Level One. And this time, thankfully, I wasn't too much of a coward to act and ask Michael; we're going out for brunch tomorrow afternoon.

"We grade the lads here by number," Bethany tells me, brandishing a large book from underneath the desk. My eyes widen, for all I can actually think about is how the hell she managed to fit something like that under there.

"Explain?"

"Gladly," she smiles, "Depending on a few factors, actually. Fraternity presidents are automatic Level Ones. No questions asked,"

"Of course," I blink blankly, her words holding zero meaning to me whatsoever.

"Rushers and freshmen, Twos, but some of the hotter ones can pass off as Ones if they're taller than six-foot-"

"Uh-"

"Guys who aren't in frats are Threes. Some of the more attractive ones can slip into Twos, but just barely. And unless they're the mysterious, sad and brooding type, it's rare for someone who isn't in a fraternity to become a One. Very rare,"

I'm baffled, but I can't let Bethany see this. She's skilled in the art of detecting confusion, and her way of counteracting it is with agitation and this certain patronising tone that she likes to use. Both of which I am really not in the mood for right now. "Right."

Thinking about the events of yesterday makes me cringe, so I shake my head to forget the most of it. Bethany acts like everything she does is being captured in a teen film, directed by someone invisible for the whole world to see. The fact that she forces the girls of Delta to acquire this mindset is beyond me, but I wouldn't put it past her.

I snuggle into my coat, blowing a puff of air out into the cold as I force my eyes shut. Unlike the people wielding briefcases and glancing at the gold watches around their wrists in irritance around me, I have no place to be. I could very well stay on this train until it does full circles, in and out and over and under the city, and I'd still have nothing to lose.