I settled on a spot beside the end-zone bleachers. I could see the stands from there yet was also quite mobile. Half time had just begun, and the Harkness band was marching onto the field.
When the models first approached the regular student section I was confused. They dipped into their shopping bags and began handing out empty plastic cups — the kind that were often sold as souvenirs at a sporting event. They were burgundy, though, which probably meant they were Beta Rho swag.
After passing out all the cups, the models took places in front and along the sides of the Beta Rho sections.
Meanwhile, Bella had tucked herself onto the end of a bench in the student section, while Lianne did the same a few rows up.
Then Lianne put a coach’s whistle to her lips and blew.
Immediately, the models bent over whichever guy was seated on the end of the nearest stadium row. With animated hands, they explained what they wanted, and then they passed a stack of cards into each man’s willing hands. After only a small amount of prodding, I saw those cards begin to travel down the row, some burgandy and some white…
My heart thumped like crazy.
On the ground level, two models had recruited a couple of people to hold the ends of a banner which read, SINCE 1915. And at the very top of the stands, a similar banner was unfurled, this one reading, BETA RHO FRATERNITY.
Now came the tricky part of the operation that would only work if Bella and Lianne had executed their graph-paper design perfectly, and if most everyone sitting in those twenty rows of seats held up his card as he’d been told to.
When all the cards had made it across all the rows of seats I heard Lianne give another blast on her whistle. That’s when the models began lifting their folders into the air, pantomiming the action they wanted to see down the row. They did this with come-hither smiles on their faces. It was quite a sight—and one that several decades worth of frat boys did not fail to notice.
As my breath stuck in my chest, several hundred white and burgandy sheets of cardstock were raised into the air.
For a heart-stopping second, I couldn’t decipher a pattern. But as two hundred fraternity members and their dates raised their arms into position, it became obvious that the card mosaic formed letters. Bella’s message was unmistakable. Together with the banners, the frat boys had unwittingly spelled out:
Beta Rho Fraternity
THINKING w/
OUR DICKS
Since 1915
Several things happened at once.
There was a roar of surprise and laughter from the opposite side of the stadium and a scramble as everyone reached for his or her phone. In the student section, people were holding up the souvenir cups and passing them around for inspection.
Lianne’s models began their speedy getaway, jogging quickly down the stairs. But their progress was slowed by all the other people crowding those steps, coming and going from the bathrooms and concession stands. Bella and Lianne stayed put, watching their girls retreat, like captains willing to go down with the ship.
“Come on,” I whispered to myself. The sooner Bella was out of there, the better. I saw her rise to follow the last model down the steps, and I tracked her progress as she wove through the crowd. I found myself walking slowly toward the staircase, as if to meet her at the bottom.
That’s when I saw him — a guy I recognized from the Casino Night party at Beta Rho. He was wearing his football jacket slung over his shoulders because one of his arms was in a sling. The jacket had “Whittaker” printed on the arm. In his good hand he held a molded tray with three drinks on it.
His face broke open in shock as he took in the sight of his fraternity’s declaration. And then his features morphed into rage. “What the FUCK?” I heard him yell. “Guys! Put those down!”
Now I was moving faster, weaving between people, trying to get to Bella.
“Hey, watch it!” somebody said as I swerved past.
There was no time to apologize because Whittaker was sweeping the stands with his eyes, his mouth still open from shock. He was turning… toward Bella, who had almost made it down to ground level.
I ran the last few paces, deciding not to slow down as I approached him. Instead? I collided with his drink tray, smacking right into him. The result was an instant curse, followed by the splash of soda all over my upper body.
“You asshole!” Whittaker yelled. “What the…”
“Oops,” I said quickly. I righted what was left of the tray in his hands. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. Can I buy you another one?” As I apologized, I braced myself for a punch. I’d gotten him all wet, too.