Fucker.
So Wagner and Blue are still on my shit list, and I must be on Coach’s because I have to listen as everybody at the table offers up the worst ideas in the history of party planning.
“Why can’t we just do another bachelor auction?” The question comes from Jake Lanza, captain of the baseball team, and the guy who ruined my already failing soiree.
He’s got some supporters here, though, because half the people in the room are more than content to recycle last year’s idea with a different theme. Luckily, the event coordinator sees through Lanza’s bullshit.
Our athletic division had a few hiccups last year, and after Woodcock U’s program was blasted publicly for a hazing scandal, the powers that be here at Bainbridge University decided it was high time to hire a new PR firm.
I’d have said it was past time, but nobody asked me.
Valerie Grim is now the woman in charge of BU’s public persona, and that includes the annual charity fundraiser.
Based on the look she’s giving Lanza right now, chairing this committee is the least favorite part of her job.
“The reason we’re not redoing last year’s bachelor auction is because it’s already been done. There are twenty-three people on this committee,” she says, glancing around the room. “Surely we can come up with something innovative and new.”
Lanza scoffs, and it pisses me off. That’s no surprise,though. Everything is pissing me off these days and that’s so unusual. I’m the guy who goes with the flow most of the time, but lately I feel like the guy who’s grumpy and yelling at kids to get off his damn lawn.
“I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense to waste our time coming up with a brand-new idea when we already know this one works. My buddy’s girlfriend was on the committee last year and I bet she can get ahold of the files we need. Let’s take a vote.”
Before Lanza can ask who’s in favor of his dumbass resolution, Ms. Grim cuts him off with a glare and takes command of the meeting once more. “Mr. Lanza, if brainstorming a fundraising idea for charity is too strenuous an activity for you, the door is behind you on the left. If you think you can muster up the strength to forge on in the name of altruism, then please quietly listen to the rest of my presentation. And if you have to look up the meaning of the word altruism, you really don’t belong on a charity committee.”
The room falls silent and while I’m tempted to pump my fist in the air and cheer for our new committee leader, I’m not dumb enough to interrupt her and get my ass handed to me like Lanza did.
When Ms. Grim is finished presenting, we’re back to square one. The Greek organizations think a masquerade ball is the way to go, but the rest of the committee is stuck on the idea of an auction. If they can’t raffle off dates with single men, they’ll just hold an auction where nobody talks, but the bids go sky high.
I can’t lie. I’d look fucking fierce in a mask and even though I’m rarely quiet, I have no doubt I could make a killing at a silent auction if that was my only option.
But it isn’t.
I raise my hand and when Ms. Grim gives me the floor,my words are plain. “Let’s do something original, and something people actually want to come to.”
“Lemme guess, Jablonski,” Lanza pipes up, “another ABC party? You think people are gonna pay to see your bubble butt strut around in duct tape or some shit?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to blurt out that people pay damn good money to watch my bubble butt do lots of things, but the ice cold glare Ms. Grim is shooting at Lanza—and the fact that the college would likely kick me off the team if they knew about my MyFans account—have me keeping that thought to myself.
“What about a carnival?” I ask, knowing the idea is a freaking gold mine. “It should be simple enough to plan, and there’s plenty of room to get a lot of other campus clubs involved. That way, we could offer something for everyone—good food, games of chance, and maybe a dunk tank? We could charge general admission for most things, but there could be tiers, too, which would allow us to maximize the amount of money we’re raising.”
Ms. Grim’s beaming at me, and though I’ve never met the lady before in my life, it’s never a bad thing to have the head of PR on your side.
“I love that idea,” she says, smiling. “Mr. Lanza, don’t you agree it’s time for that vote you were talking about?”
When I walk out of the meeting five minutes later, I’m the new student director of charitable fundraising and I’ve got a carnival to plan. I should be happy about it, since that means everyone liked my idea. And my dad will be thrilled when I tell him. He’ll throw around words like “networking” and “outreach”, and maybe he’ll finally admit that I’m not just a guy who likes to have a good time, I’m the kind of man people trust when they need something done.
Or maybe I’m just trying to convince myself.
Because these days, I’m feeling more and more like a clown, and less like a captain.
My bad mood follows me home and it just gets worse when I spot Fallon in the kitchen. At least she’s alone this time. She is sitting at the counter eating lunch and even though she has just as much right to be here as I do—hell, maybe more—the sight of her ties me up in knots.
I’m still not over the way things went down this past weekend. I’m mad at myself for doing such a shitty job of sweeping that she cut her foot on stray glass. I’m pissed at Blue for making a fucking mess in the first place. And I’m frustrated as hell at Fallon for not letting me help.
I know exactly why she doesn’t like me and doesn’t trust me. But it’s been two years. I’m much less of a shithead now. I just wish she’d give me a chance to explain.
So, like the mature adult that I am, I completely ignore Fallon as I start pulling pans and utensils out of cabinets and drawers. I grab everything I need from the fridge and take up more than my share of counter space as I begin to assemble the world’s greatest grilled cheese sandwich. As I’m slathering one side of the bread with butter, she stands and my heart pinches when I realize she’s probably heading back to her room because of my surly mood. Or because she loathes me so damn much that she can’t be in the same room with me.
I should say something, but my mouth and my hands stay silent because my brain has given up on me. For the record, I don’t blame it one bit. I haven’t been myself lately, and I need to find my groove again, but I don’t even know where to start.
