Chapter Text
Schpood was elected president of Westhelm in the fall of his sophomore year.
He likes to tell everyone he’s the first-ever sophomore president of Westhelm – generally, students campaign and work during their second year and are elected executives at the end of the spring semester, meaning they’re ready to go in the fall of junior year. But Schpood had flown through his pledge semester, was elected to the Philanthropy committee that spring, and ended by racking up almost 200 hours of community service over the course of his freshman year. He coordinated the Earth Day Community Clean Up and signed thirty-six volunteers. He organized the powderpuff flag football game with Mykonos and the Covenant and like, four different sororities that took place in the Colosseum. He invented the now-famous See-Saw-A-Thon. Schpood took Westhelm by storm.
Which is, of course, why he is now a senior, still president, and staring down at a table full of paperwork, some of which is clenched in Bardun’s fist so tightly it’s crinkling.
“I don’t understand,” he says. “What do you mean, they want us to stop partying?”
Owo shrugs. Next to him, Bardun has his head in his hands. “They say the darties go too hard.”
“He means that the admin thinks we’re going to give some freshman alcohol poisoning,” Bardun translates. “And that because we’re technically living on university property, they can take our party license away.”
This is not the kind of crisis Schpood signed up for. He thinks for a minute, then makes a decision.
“Well, first off, we’re not stopping the fucking darties,” he says. “Second off, who do they think they are? Do they think they can tell us what to do?”
“Yes,” Bardun says emphatically. “And they one hundred percent can!”
“This is such fucking bullshit,” Schpood says, crossing his arms and scowling. “We’ve never even had, like, a single incident.”
“Except for the–”
“Yeah, yeah, except for last year when that kid broke his arm, whatever, it wasn’t our fault.” Schpood throws his hands in the air. “This is a blatant attempt at character assassination.”
“I mean, they’re not focusing on you,” Skipolo says, holding a paper out in front of him like it’s written in another language. He’s squinting. The paper might be upside down, actually. “It’s more like, just, generally us.”
“What are they going to do if we don’t stop?” Schpood asks, tapping a finger against his chin.
“Campo,” 5pyder says. “Jail. Very large fines.” Schpood swears violently for a minute.
“Okay,” he says, turning to Izzy. “Treasurer. Can we buy a new house? Off campus?”
Izzy, who has his laptop open, glances down at the screen. He makes a slightly amenable face, then winces. “Um. Maybe with about.... four more See-Saw-A-Thons. A very small house.”
“No, we’d need a gigamansion,” Schpood says. The current lodge they’re in isn’t huge, but it does house twenty guys. Twenty-eight if they double some rooms up. Thirty if people sleep on couches. “So, that’s a no on buying a house. Whatever. We’ll pivot. PIVOT!”
On his cue, everyone who is standing turns in a quarter circle. Facing the wall, Schpood pauses a breath, then asks, “Okay. Ideas?”
“More charity,” Skipolo says. “Prove our worth.”
“Tone down the parties,” Bardun says. There are a couple boos.
“Meet with the admin and plead our case?” 5pyder says.
“We could reach out to the alumni corp,” Owo offers. “They might know what to do.”
Schpood lets out a very long hmmm and taps his chin again. All of those are good ideas – except for Bardun’s, of course. He’s getting kind of bored of staring at the wall, so he turns back to the table and puts a hand down against it, feeling the paper against his palm. This is so sick and twisted, he thinks mournfully. He hates meetings, and now he has to host like, four of them. And he knows what the right answer should be, he just doesn’t want to say it out loud.
“5pyder and Bardun,” he says. “You’re right. We have to coordinate with other people.”
“Holy shit,” someone whispers.
“But,” he continues, holding up a finger. “We’re not just going to roll over and show our bellies. This Friday, we are going to throw a rager like no rager before. We need to show the university that not only are our parties safe, they are legendary.”
Owo starts, “I don’t think this is the way to convince them that–”
“This is my fucking senior spring,” Schpood says, interrupting him. “I am not letting us losing our party license be my legacy.”
“How about this,” Skipolo says. “5pyder and I plan a party for Friday. Bardun and Owo, you guys set up a meeting with admin. Schpood,” he says, turning to look at him. “You gotta get Stuco and the Senate on our side, man. Go talk to Saps. With them vouching for us, admin might let us off.”
He makes a good point. Schpood nods. Student Council and the Campus Senate are two huge bodies of student representatives that work with the university all the time. While admins might not listen to the frat, they’ll definitely consider something more if both the council and senate also have something to say.
“I’ll see if Saps can do anything,” he says, his phone already out and in his hand. Two minutes and one booze spreadsheet later, Saps has already texted back:
Idk. ask jophiel about it she definiteeely knows more than me!
“Senior class president,” 5pyder says, snooping over his shoulder. “This is getting serious.”
Jophiel. He knows about her. He’s definitely talked to her before, and even had a class or two together. She’s friends with a lot of the sorority girls, but isn’t one of them herself. She’s a notorious study freak, the type of person who spends hours in the library and is always on the dean’s list. If anything, Schpood admires her drive. But he’s never had a prolonged conversation with her – if anything, he knows her the best through Saps, who is one of her best friends. But it doesn’t matter.
“I’ll do anything to save the darty,” Schpood says solemnly, and then scrolls until he finds Jophiel’s number: sup?
Jophiel responds almost immediately. They chat back and forth for a few minutes, setting up a time and place to meet. Schpood is busy with social engagements and presidential duties, and Jophiel is also pretty busy with academic endeavors and presidential duties. It’s surprisingly hard to find a date and time that works for both of them.
Over his head, Bardun says, “We have until March 1st to submit our petition, apparently.”
“We can pull that together,” 5pyder says. He looks down at Schpood. “Right?”
Jophiel is texting: how about this saturday? sorry for suggesting a saturday. but it seems like it might be the only time that works :p
The emoji makes Schpood grin. It’s silly.
“Right?” 5pyder says, flicking him on top of the head.
“Right!” Schpood says, suddenly thrown back into reality. He has no clue what he’s saying right to. “Whatever you guys were talking about, I totally agree and I am one-hundred percent on your side.”
Bardun and 5pyder exchange glances over his head. Schpood doesn’t notice, because he’s busy texting Jophiel back and saying yeah that works. see you then :)
He goes to class, because while it’s his senior spring, he does have a GPA he needs to keep up in order to finish out his tenure as frat president. They take things like that very seriously, he’s found, and so he goes to his Roman Civ class on Monday and emails his most favorite Classics major buddy about working on a presentation together. On Tuesday, he goes to his thesis independent study and talks with his academic advisor about the work he did over the holidays, and then on Wednesday he goes to his Religion and the Roman Empire class, which is also pretty fucking cool all things considered. Wednesday afternoon he has Roman Civ again, and he’s busy playing the Oregon Trail — the original one, not the shitty new version — in the back row when his favorite Classics major buddy sits down next to him.
“Okay,” Fluixon says without flair. “We can do the presentation together.”
Schpood grins. “Amazing.”
“On one condition.”
“Ugh, here we go.”
“You actually pull your weight.”
“Oh yeah. Of course.” Schpood is definitely not lying through his teeth — why else would he willingly choose to work with Fluixon if not for the unspoken agreement that Flux would do all the work between the two of them? “Yeah, I’ll totally pull my weight. You have nothing to worry about.”
Fluixon doesn’t seem convinced, because he stares at Schpood suspiciously. Say what you will about the guy, but he does have a pretty good I’m thinking about killing you stare. But at last he relents. “What time are you free to work on it, then?”
They tentatively organize a date for that Friday, sometime early afternoon. Which unfortunately puts a damper on the rest of Schpood’s week. He intentionally organized his schedule for senior spring to be as frontloaded as possible: Monday through Wednesday only. Technically, he has a class on Friday, but with everything going on… yeah, no. Attendance isn’t part of his grade, so Schpood skips it all the time.
Usually, this leaves Thursday onwards free for planning the most important social events on campus. But now it just means that he has to spend part of his Friday studying, or whatever. He’s about to walk into the library when his phone buzzes – it’s Bardun. His message is preceded by a frowny face emoji.
Bad news. Initial meeting went poorly. Admin says they r willing to pursue legal action if we dont comply.
“Fuuuuck,” Schpood says out loud. The automatic doors in front of him open, then close, then open again as he texts back, ur joking
Nope, Bardun says. We better write a rlly good petition.
Schpood asks, we can at leasy still party now right?
Bardun answers almost immediately. they didnt say anything, but idk man. might be best to stop
No.
Groaning, Schpood falls into his seat in the agreed-upon spot in the library, then buries his face into his hands. Across the table, Fluixon is staring at him with wide eyes and a very judgemental expression.
“What is happening,” he says flatly.
“You didn’t hear?” Schpood asks.
“I don’t pay attention to anything you do, at all.”
“They’re taking away my parties,” Schpood says, mournful. “Or, trying to.”
“Okay,” Flux says, still staring at him. “What does that have to do with Roman Civ?”
Schpood fixes him in a glare. “Sometimes, I don’t think you like me.”
“I don’t,” Flux says, in that way he says things he’s lying about. Schpood has only known him for a few weeks, he thinks, or has it been a year already? He doesn’t know. Maybe it’s only been days. Forgive a guy for being forgetful – his whole world is ending. Flux starts talking about a presentation or something, and Schpood tunes out. His pocket buzzes. 5pyder.
brdn told me to tell u that he has scheduled a meeting w solev
Schpood scowls.
do i have to go?
5pyder answers instantly. Dude. u r the president. Solev is our alumni advisor. Yes
He scowls more. Today is going from bad to worse.
ok
but i AM going to crash out
5pyder’s little bubble icon starts, then stops, then starts again. istg if you get us banned from campus faster i will piss in your bed
LOL BET???
u wont
He can picture 5pyder’s eyeroll. ur a freak
HAHAHA get used to it
He’s busy sending 5pyder a bunch of kissy and winky emojis when Flux clears his throat loudly.
“Woah man,” Schpood says. “That was aggressive.”
“You are not paying attention,” Flux says. He slams his laptop shut, and Schpood flinches. “Whatever. I’ll do this myself, I guess.”
Oh, sick. “Really?” Schpood asks, already grabbing his backpack. He can’t believe it was that easy to get Flux to forget about that whole ‘pulling his weight’ thing. This is why Flux is his favorite Classics major buddy! “That’d be fan-fucking-tastic, actually, I’ve got a million things going on right now. We’re throwing Stoplight soon, and the school wants to kick us out, so we’ve really got to make it good. Might be the last.” He’s already visualizing the booze spreadsheet. “Will you be there?”
“Sometimes,” Flux says, throwing open the door to the study room, “I really think you have brain damage.”
“That’s not a no!” Schpood crows after him, leaning back in his seat so far that it almost tips over. Flux flips him off as he leaves, but that’s fine. He’s got a license to save and a party to plan.
Later that afternoon, in the Westhelm game room — a collection of three shitty sofas gathered in a loose circle around a TV — they start out planning the barebones for Stoplight. It’s this annual party that Westhelm throws every year right around Valentine’s Day. Aside from Wild West, it’s one of the biggest ragers known to mankind and Schpood is about to make this one the greatest party that campus has ever seen. Despite the grave danger they are facing, Spyder nods along to every idea. Yes to confetti. Yes to a giant vat of jungle juice (secret Westhelm recipe, passed down from generation of frat brother to generation of frat brother). Yes to lasers.
In between, Fluixon texts him a schedule of study groups for the next two weeks. Schpood gets a little sidetracked lamenting about this stupid Roman Civilization presentation. Do they really need three different meetings in order to put together a slideshow on Augustus’ impact on the Roman Empire? No. Definitely not. There’s no way. Schpood’s favorite class this semester is getting hijacked by the one guy on campus with the biggest insecurity complex imaginable and who can’t do anything by halves.
“Wait a minute,” 5pyder says, looking up from their color-coded chart of how much alcohol to buy. He seems to finally be listening to Schpood after all this time. “Fluixon? Like, Flux? Saps’ roommate?”
Schpood debates about the ethics of texting back Flux and telling him fuck no. Instead, he complains, “Yeah, I know, that guy fucking sucks.”
“Dude.” Spyder turns to fix him with a very intense stare. “That guy is friends with half of the campus senate. You know, Thomas and Snowbird and all those guys? Hello? You need to talk to him about this.”
“What? He’s not even on the senate himself. Why would it matter?”
“Because they’re friends! He can ask them to do shit for him, and in association, you!” 5pyder says. “It’s like when Bardun tells me to tell you an idea he had, because you’re more likely to say yes.”
Schpood opens his mouth, then stops as the full weight of that sentence hits him. “Wait, is this his idea?”
“Shut up,” 5pyder says. “You need to go to every study session. It’s our in with the campus senate. And after that, you have to talk to Jophiel.”
“I already am talking to Jophiel,” Schpood snaps. He’s being so good. He shows 5pyder his brief texts with her, where they planned to meet up in the library. “Look. I’m literally seeing her tomorrow.”
“Oh shit, nice,” 5pyder says. “Good luck with that.”
“I’m very charming,” says Schpood, puffing his chest out. “I’m just so nice and beloved and influential. Everyone loves me, including Jophiel. There is simply no way she wouldn’t endorse Westhelm’s ability to keep throwing parties. Right?”
“Right,” Spyder says, dragging a neon-orange highlighter across one section of the alcohol chart, not looking up from his very intense work.
Schpood, true to his word, shows up at exactly one PM for his meeting with Jophiel the next day. It’s a Saturday early in the semester, so the place is basically dead. Room 412 is itty-bitty. They’ve basically put her in a coat closet. Schpood knocks once, to pretend like he’s being professional, and Jophiel says come in! Schpood comes in.
“Hi,” Jophiel says.
“Hey,” Schpood says back. They stand there for a moment, and then Jophiel gestures to the chair across from the teeny tiny desk.
“You can sit,” she says.
“I didn’t know you had an office,” Schpood says, moving to do so. He glances around. “It’s, uh. It’s nice.”
“Thanks,” Jophiel says, grinning. “Do you not have one, Mr. President?”
“Yeah, no,” Schpood says. “We meet in the dining room.”
“You know, for a frat house, that place is pretty nice,” Jophiel says. “Impressively clean.”
“We’re not animals,” Schpood says.
“No, contrary to popular belief,” Jophiel says. “So. They want to take your party license away, huh?”
“Can you fucking believe it?” Schpood asks. He’s getting a little more comfortable – it’s just Jophiel, after all. Even if this meeting is in an official capacity, she’s still his friend. “Westhelm. Our darties are notorious. They’re coming after us and not like, fucking Mykonos or something? Or Barbieland?”
Jophiel raises a brow at him. Schpood coughs. “Sorry. Mattel. Whatever.”
She neatly ignores that. “You know, maybe that notoriety is a bad thing. Admin have gotten worse about cracking down on underage drinking.”
“Which is like, bad and all, blah blah blah,” Schpood says. “But no one has gotten hurt at Westhelm since the eighties.”
“Barring last year.”
“That was not in our house,” Schpood says, scowling. “He was way down the street. Practically in Mykonos territory!”
“Right, but you do know how it looks,” Jophiel says. “You know how it looks, right?”
Schpood grimaces. “I fucking know,” he says.
“Sorry,” Jophiel says. “I’m just telling you the truth. I want to help you, okay? I like Westhelm parties. And Madzvie is really pushing me to help you guys out, too.”
“Fucking A, Barbieland,” Schpood says, grinning. Jophiel smiles back at him, her eyes earnest and sweet, and his heart jerks. Huh?
“I know Saps will vouch for you too,” she says, and Schpood is suddenly distracted, because what the fuck was that? Why did he just – what? Is he having a heart attack or something? Every time he looks at her he feels like someone is squeezing his chest. “So as long as you can hold it together when we meet with the dean, then it’s fine.”
“I’ll hold it together,” Schpood finds himself saying. It’s like someone has grabbed all his puppet strings and is putting him through the motions, mind whirling, disconnected.
“Cool,” Jophiel says, smiling again. She moves to get up from her seat, holding a hand out over the desk. “Then we have a deal.”
Oh god, are his palms sweaty? He really hopes his palms are not sweaty. They feel sweaty. He reaches out and clasps her hand in his, praying that they’re not as clammy as he thinks they are. He squeezes a little too tight – Jophiel’s smile doesn’t drop.
“All business aside,” he finds himself saying, “Stoplight is soon. You in?”
“I haven’t missed one yet,” she says, grinning. Then, lightly, “I didn’t have Valentine’s Day plans anyway, so.”
Schpood is really not quite sure what that means. He blinks at her, then says, “Well, Stoplight itself is totally a fucking plan. And you can remind yourself of what you’re helping save.” Focus on the party license, Schpood. Not on the pretty girl in front of you who you might be actively flirting with.
“Guess I’ll see you there, then,” Jophiel says. She glances down. “Um.”
He’s still holding her hand. Fuck. Shit.
Schpood lets go quickly, laughing it off. “Sorry,” he says, pushing himself up and out of the chair. “Have a good one, Jo.”
Later, Schpood drowns his sorrows in chocolate milk.
“I called her fucking Jo,” he says mournfully, staring up into his empty cup. “Nobody ever calls her Jo. She probably thinks I’m an idiot.”
“It’s not the worst nickname in the world,” Skipolo says. “And to be fair, you are an idiot.” He’s currently on the couch with 5pyder, both of them with their eyes locked on the screen. They’re playing Fall Guys, cartoon characters bumbling around wildly and crashing into each other at random. 5pyder’s goal seems to be to make Skipolo lose, which on any other day would be very funny. Right now, Schpood is down in the dumps, and it just makes him sad. What happened to brotherhood? Schpood throws his empty cup at Skipolo and laughs when it bounces off his forehead. Skipolo, of course, does not look away from the TV.
“Hey,” 5pyder says. “She said she’d vouch for us to the dean. That’s huge.”
“But will she really?” Schpood asks, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Maybe she thinks I’m lame and she decides she doesn’t want to. Or that I’m an alcoholic! Or a womanizer! And she’s a feminist so she never wants to be around me again.” He’s spiraling. All of his worst thoughts are coming to light. “And then we lose the party license and everyone hates us and we turn into one of those – god forbid – dry frats.”
All of them shudder for a moment.
Schpood groans, flopping back onto the floor. “I think I’m just going to resign. Or drop out.”
Above him, 5pyder and Skipolo look at each other, then both pause the game.
“Okay, man,” Skipolo says. “Let’s fucking talk. Why are you so hung up on this chick?”
“Her name is Jophiel,” Schpood says, scowling at Skipolo’s upside-down face. Skipolo looks over at 5pyder, who slowly starts shaking his head.
“He’s whipped,” he says, leaning back into the couch cushions. “One meeting with her, and he’s whipped.”
“Woah!” Schpood says. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means you like her,” Skipolo says. “Duh.”
“No, I know what whipped means,” Schpood says. “I’m not – I’m not a dumbass. But I don’t like Jophiel. What the fuck.”
“I dunno, man,” 5pyder says. “You sure are talking about her a lot.”
“Yeah, I talk about you a lot too,” Schpood says, raising a brow. “So?”
“So half the campus thinks we’re dating,” 5pyder says. Skipolo nods, solemn. “I even think some of the pledges do, too.”
“Do they really?”
Everyone stares at him like he’s stupid. “Uh, yeah,” Skipolo says at last. “That’s like, the big rumor about us. People think Schpyder is a real thing.”
“Oh, that name is sick,” Schpood says. “I wonder if us making out last year at Wild West had anything to do with that.”
“I’m pretty sure it definitely had something to do with it,” 5pyder says. “I stand by the fact you need to brush your teeth more, by the way.”
“It was going to be more gay if we backed out!” Schpood argues. This is a long-running argument he knows he can win. “What did they want us to do? Not make out?”
Skipolo is looking at him like he wants to throw up. “Dude,” he says. “You’re sick.”
“Can we please turn the conversation back to Jophiel?” 5pyder asks, beet red.
“Yeah. I mean, no,” Schpood says, conflicted. Saying he has a crush feels so high school, but there’s no denying the butterflies in his stomach. Sue him: he’s not immune to practical, organized, pretty girls. He buries his face into his hands and says, “How about this – how about we don’t not talk about anything ever again.”
He gets his wish in the next second, because Skipolo gasps aloud. Everyone rotates to stare at him.
“I have something greater,” Skipolo says, staring down at his phone in a mixture of bemusement and awe. “Guys. You will not believe this. I have just received the most insane piece of gossip about Saparata since — since ever.”
It’s enough to immediately derail the whole conversation. Skipolo turns his phone towards them. It’s a text from Cass, which is a screenshot from Seraphim, which is a voice message recording from none other than Jophiel. “Saps is being set up with Turntapp.”
Turntapp is not a bad guy. He’s just a frat president — the Covenant — which means that Schpood is supposed to hate him on sight. He can still remember the last Powderpuff game and the fight they almost got into. There’s a lot of history behind their mutual indifference for each other, none of which matters at all right now.
“What the fuck?” Schpood asks, scrambling to look. “That’s a nightmare.”
“For Saps,” 5pyder agrees, wincing.
“No way he goes through with it,” Schpood says. “Fifty bucks they get into a fist fight.”
“Saps is a whore, though,” Skipolo says, and 5pyder punches him in the arm. “What? It’s true! I’m in – fifty bucks they make out.”
The rest of the afternoon devolves into setting up a betting ring. Schpood lets himself relax, tossing out any thoughts of party licenses or Student Council senior presidents named Jo.
He makes fun of Flux at their next meeting, which immediately ruins his grand plan to ask Flux to put in a good word with Campus Senate for him. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s interrupted by Skipolo anyway, calling because he and Spyder are having a disagreement over who’s going to drive to get the keg and Schpood has to handle it that second or else he’s going to explode. When he looks back up, Flux is gone. Screw it. Schpood will have the chance to ask him another time.
He’s in the library. He’s on the fourth floor. Somehow, he ends up back in 412. But the door is locked and Jophiel is not there. He feels a little stupid standing outside of her office door, feeling a bit bereft, and ends up just wandering the stacks for a little bit. The fourth floor of the library hosts the Law collection, and he flips through heavy tomes for one or two minutes before he gets bored. He sits on the floor in the middle of the aisles, surrounded by dust and paper, and pulls out his phone.
hey
For a nail-biting three minutes, she does not respond. He types out a million messages in between, and sends none of them.
Then, hi schpood! what’s up?
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Schpood searches for an excuse to why he might be texting her, and settles on, heard abt saps and turntapp. crazy move
i know right?
we have money on how its gonna end
yeah? what’d you bet?
forty bucks they fight outside the bar
LOL! i don’t know if saps is that type of guy :) not like someone else i know
feel like ur talking abt me here
noooo :) :)
hey i know i already asked. but were in the middle of planning rn, Schpood says, then winces, and asks, u said u were gonna be at stoplight?
wouldn’t miss it for the world!
Fuck. She’s so cheerful. Schpood wants to giggle into his phone like a high school girl, which is a deeply, deeply embarrassing thing he will never admit to, not even under duress. 5pyder’s voice echoes through his mind, tormenting him. Whipped.