Out of Control - Chapter 9

For the next several weeks I became a ghost. Not literally, though after what happened in that physics lab, who knew what was possible, but at least socially. Classes, meals, sleep, and the bare minimum of Alpha Sig events kept my pledge status technically active. Otherwise, I vanished.

I never heard anything from the Dr. Wells guy or anyone else from my email, although who knew if that address was still even good or not.

The more I realized I was on my own with this and the more I thought about what I’d already done, the more terrified I became of my new ability. The power to make people do whatever I wanted with just a suggestion crushed me with its implications. Even after setting up the “don’t hurt people with this” rule, I still didn’t really trust myself.

I think I could have probably gone that way the rest of the year, except Brandon cornered me outside Intro to Economics on a Tuesday, three weeks into the semester and held my feet to the fire.

“Dude, where have you been? Chris was asking if you’d dropped out or something.”

“Just busy with classes.”

Not entirely a lie, although I left out the part about being busy with them on purpose.

“Yeah, I get that, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with the guys, and honestly Alpha Sig isn’t just about parties, you know. It’s brotherhood. You can’t just disappear and expect to make it through pledging.”

I honestly wasn’t sure I wanted to make it through pledging anymore, although I hadn’t gone so far I was ready to burn bridges.

“I’ve been at the house.”

“Standing in the corner nursing the same beer all night doesn’t count as participation. Look, Greek Week starts Monday. It’s a big deal, all the fraternities and sororities compete for charity. Alpha Sig needs all hands on deck.”

That was it. He wasn’t here as my friend. Well, he was, probably, but he’d also probably been sent to bring me back into the fold too.

“I’ve got a lot of reading to catch up on…”

“Nope. Not an option. You’re on the roster for tug-of-war, volleyball tournament, and the car wash fundraiser. And the Greek Ball at the end of the week is mandatory attendance.”

And just like that, I was dragged out of my self-induced exile.

Monday morning transformed campus. Colorful banners hung between buildings. Teams in matching t-shirts hustled between events, chanting slogans. I texted Brandon twenty minutes before tug-of-war claiming a stomach bug, then repeated the excuse for Tuesday’s volleyball tournament.

By Wednesday, excuses ran dry. I showed up for my car wash shift. At least washing cars required minimal talking.

For two hours, I washed cars in silence. Not that it went unnoticed. Chris, the fraternity VP, kept giving me looks and Brandon tried engaging me a few times but eventually gave up when I barely responded.

While rinsing soap off a black SUV, I spotted girls in Sigma Delta t-shirts selling baked goods across the parking lot. Well, I recognized one of them as the girl I’d tested in the cafeteria, the one who’d had the “no poor people” rule. I’d given her the suggestion that we should be friends, but that had been part of the test. The more I’d thought about what I’d done, and could do, the more certain I’d been that I didn’t want to exploit that, even though she was actually kind of interesting.

“Earth to Kyle. You’re flooding the pavement,” Brandon had said as I just stood there staring at her.

I jerked the hose away. Water pooled across the asphalt.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“Sigma Delta, huh? Aiming high there, buddy.”

“What? No, I was just spacing out.”

“Sure. Just remember they only date Beta Theta Pi and Kappa Sigma guys. That’s an unwritten rule.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Whatever you say.”

Still, I’d made my appearance and done my good deed, so I skipped the Thursday talent show and Friday relay races with more excuses of illness.

Chris had allowed me to pass but made it clear, if I missed the ball, I was out of the frat. I almost did it anyway, just so they could make the decision for me, but chickened out and decided to go.

The invitation specified formal attire, which for me meant the same suit from high school prom and my mom had insisted I bring ‘just in case’. I’d apparently grown since then because it was just a little too short at the wrists.

But, I wasn’t going to blow money I didn’t have on a new suit for this, so slightly shrunken suit it was.

The ball was held in the main dining hall, which had most of its tables pulled out and then transformed by white twinkle lights and gauzy fabric. All of the tables left were adorned with flowers. It wasn’t a dinner, so they were mostly places for people to sit and talk. Despite strict alcohol policies, student waiters circulated with champagne flutes, although those of us with an X stamped on the back of our hands could only get waters or sodas.

I’d chosen the right suit because the place was like Prom on steroids, with designer dresses, tailored suits, and jewelry worth more than my tuition. It wasn’t hard to see the informal hierarchy at play, with frats and sororities more or less segmented by “groups.”

Alpha Sig was in the “also ran” category with the other less desirable chapters.

Brandon waved me over when I walked in.

“You actually showed up,” he said, slapping my back. “And in a suit and everything.”

“Mandatory attendance, right?”

He handed me a soda and we chatted for a while, mostly just hanging with the other Alpha Sig guys. It wasn’t the worst time ever, although I was still having to be super careful with my words.

Eventually, he got pulled to go do something, I hadn’t really been paying attention, and I was left on my own.

Which is when I saw her again.

Emma stood across the ballroom in a deep blue dress hugging her curves before flowing to the floor. Her hair swept up exposed the elegant line of her neck. Her expression, though, did not match the rest of her at all. If I had to guess, I’d say boredom, maybe even annoyance, despite perfect makeup and poised posture.

The guy beside her, who I recognized as the same Kappa Sigma jerk who told me during rush week I was “too poor” for their fraternity, was ignoring her completely. He laughed with his brothers, occasionally using Emma as a prop, his hand at her waist when making a point or pulling her close when they were all saying something and the other guys’ girls came around, but then going back to ignoring her when it was just the guys.

“Who’s that guy?” I asked Brandon when he came back, nodding toward Emma’s date.

I didn’t know if he’d know or not, but unlike me, he’d been really involved in a lot of the Greek life stuff, so I thought he might.

“A jackass. I think his name’s Lowell … something. Hawknose, Dovefoot. I know it’s something to do with a bird. Anyway, he’s one of the Richie Riches from Kappa Sig. Why?”

“Just curious.”

Lowell said something to Emma before heading toward the bar with his friends, abandoning her. She immediately pulled out her phone, scrolling with obvious disinterest.

I don’t know why I cared or was so interested, but I said, “I’ll be right back.”

Ignoring his little head shake and knowing smirk, I crossed over to her and positioned myself where she could see me without feeling cornered. I pretended to examine flowers until she glanced up.

She just stared for a second, I guess trying to figure out what I was doing, and then it hit her where she knew me from. I could see it in her eyes when she remembered. Surprisingly, she smiled. Not the polite social smile she’d worn all evening, but something genuine.

“Kyle, right?” she asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside her.

“Yeah, we met in the cafeteria.”

“I remember. You’re in Alpha Sigma Phi?”

“Pledging. Though at the rate I’m going, I might not make it through.”

“Not enjoying the Greek experience?”

“Let’s just say I’m not a natural joiner. Greek Week looks like it was a success though.”

“If success means the same houses winning everything while the rest pretend to be thrilled for us, then yes, smashing success.”

“Not what I expected to hear from someone that’s part of the ‘winning everything’ group.”

“Don’t be fooled by the perfect hair and mandatory social smile. I didn’t even want to be here tonight. I’m only here cause my parents know Lowell’s parents and his mom said something to my mom. Had I said no, she would have guilted me for a month. And even though I’m … me, I’m also still a freshman and our president thought our going to this together ‘strengthen ties’ with Kappa Sigma for upcoming social events. That’s what I get for being ‘a valuable strategic.’“

I knew she came from money from the stuff she’d said at the cafeteria, but the way she talked, it was more than that. Although I also got the impression she didn’t like it when people talked about it, so I didn’t ask.

Instead, I said, “That sounds ... dehumanizing.”

“Welcome to Greek life. My father and Lowell’s father play golf together or something equally cliché. Our families have been pushing us together since we were fifteen.”

“And you’re not interested?”

“God no. But this is how it works. You play the game or you’re out.”

Before I could say anything, Lowell and a few of his friends showed back up.

“Emma, you’ve always had a soft spot. Out here entertaining … the help.”

One of his friends snickered.

Emma’s face flushed. “Lowell…”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I should get back to my table.”

Lowell placed his hand on Emma’s shoulder possessively. “Yes, run along. Emma, they want us for the announcements of the winning houses.”

I nodded to Emma. “It was nice talking to you.”

Walking away, I could feel Lowell’s smug smile burning into my back. I rejoined Brandon, who made the sound of a plane crashing and exploding, just as the university president took the stage to announce winners.

Kappa Sigma and Sigma Delta won overall just like Emma said they would, having raised the most charity money.

I put it out of my head and tried to have a good time, since I was forced to be here. If I was going to do this fraternity thing, I did need to mend some fences with my brothers, so I did the best I could being social.

Around eleven, I stepped outside for air. After weeks of not really talking to anyone, all the socializing was starting to wear me down.

“Hiding too?”

Emma stood a few feet away, kind of ducked away against one side of the building.

“Just needed air,” I said. “Congratulations on the win.”

“Thanks. Lowell’s celebrating properly. Last I saw, he was making out with some freshman from Pi Beta Phi behind the DJ booth.”

“Wow. Classy guy.”

“I couldn’t care less, honestly. We’re not actually together, no matter how hard he keeps trying.”

“You don’t sound like it’s nothing.”

“Ha, yeah, okay, it’s still insulting I guess. Like I’m not even worth the pretense of respect.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He’s always been like that.” She sighed, looking back at the ballroom doors. “God, I hate these things. They’re exhausting.”

“I can imagine.”

“Can you?”

I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean that as an insult.

“You’d be shocked to learn that the poors do know what being treated like the furniture feels like.”

“Jesus, I’m a bitch, aren’t I.”

“No. I get what you were saying.”

“Still, I’m sorry. Although that really wasn’t what I was saying. I mean, yes, it was what I was saying about Lowell, but there’s also this … I don’t know, level of expectation that’s exhausting. Everyone always wants something.”

“Trust me, expectations exist in every world. They just look different.”

I could see she was actually thinking about that. For a few minutes, we just stood there in silence until a thought popped into my head. I almost didn’t say it, but then thought, what the hell.

“You know, I know a place off-campus where I promise we won’t run into any of these people. They’ve got pretty good burgers. I didn’t think I saw you eat all night. It’ll at least be less stuffy than here.”

I very specifically didn’t ask her if she wanted to go, and kept it to an observation. I was enjoying hanging out with her, and did feel bad for her, after a fashion, but I wasn’t going to stoop to giving her a command again.

She looked surprised by the statement, but then I could see her really considering it.

“You know what?” she said after a beat. “That sounds perfect right now. Let’s get out of here.”

We walked in silence for the first ten minutes. Emma’s dress was thin and off the shoulders, so she was probably okay, but I felt like I was broiling in the suit.

“How far is this place?” she asked, finally breaking the silence.

“We’re almost there. Maybe five more minutes.”

“I should have worn different shoes,” she complained.

I hadn’t really paid attention, but I could imagine the high heels she was walking in weren’t super comfortable.

“Sorry, I wasn’t even thinking.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“A place called Grady’s. It’s about ten minutes from campus.”

“Grady’s,” she repeated, testing the name. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s kind of the point. It’s not on the approved Briarfield social circuit.”

“Is it safe around here?” Emma asked, not sounding particularly worried, just curious.

“Safe enough. I’ve walked it a few times. Found it one night when I was exploring.”

She nodded, accepting this without further comment. As we rounded the corner onto Mason Street, Grady’s came into view. The building squatted between a carry-out pizza place and another bar, its faded brick façade illuminated by a neon sign with three letters burned out.

“This place?”

“Yep,” I said, pushing open the door.

We were hit with the smell of beer, grease, and cigarette smoke that somehow lingered despite indoor smoking bans like ten years ago. The bar wasn’t packed, but it was decently busy for a Friday night. A few heads turned our direction, taking in our formal attire with raised eyebrows before returning to their conversations or drinks.

“It’s like we crashed someone else’s party in reverse.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said, guiding her to a booth in the corner, the vinyl seats patched with duct tape. “Trust me, the food is good and they don’t care who you are.”

“I’m choosing to be charmed rather than appalled. Though I’m pretty sure my dress is going to need professional cleaning after this.”

Before I could respond, Bernice, who’d also been here the other two times I came and seemed to be the only employee aside from the bartender, appeared. She was in her fifties with streaked blonde hair piled haphazardly on top of her head, wearing a faded Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt cut at the shoulders.

“Your majesties. What can I get for you?”

“What’s good?”

“Nothing’s good, honey. But the burgers are edible and the beer is cold.”

“Then I’ll have both, please.”

Bernice’s eyebrows shot up. “Got an ID?”

Emma hesitated. “I…”

“She’ll have a Coke,” I interjected. “And I’ll take the same. Two burgers, please.”

After Bernice left, Emma leaned forward. “I have a fake ID, you know.”

“I figured, but I want to come back here and don’t want to risk it. She’ll say nothing’s good, but trust me, there aren’t better burgers in walking distance.”

“So this is where the other half lives.”

“More like the other twenty percent. Most kids like me end up at state schools or community college. Note we’re not on Beals Street where all the trendy places are. This place feeds the people who actually work for a living.”

“Ouch. Though if we’re trading stereotypes, I should point out that not everyone with money is a soulless robot programmed for social climbing.”

“I really hope that’s true. So, how does it feel, being somewhere no one has expectations for you?”

She looked around for a moment and said, “I honestly don’t know. Good? Weird?”

“But it’s what you wanted, yeah? To get a break from all that?”

“I think so. I guess I’ve complained about it, but never really thought about what I’d do if I got the chance to escape. I’m kind of at a loss, honestly.”

Our conversation paused as Bernice returned with our drinks and food. The burgers came on paper plates, massive and messy, served with a mountain of fries.

“Just holler if you need anything else, Your Majesties,” Bernice said with a wink before heading back to the bar.

Emma eyed the burger skeptically. “There’s no way to eat this without destroying my dignity, is there?”

“That’s kind of the point of coming here. No dignity required. Tuck this into your dress like a bib,” I said, handing her a napkin.

To my surprise, she did just that before picking up the burger with both hands and taking a massive bite. A drop of sauce escaped the corner of her mouth, and she quickly wiped it away with a napkin.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled through her mouthful. “That’s actually amazing.”

“Told you.”

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. It was actually really comfortable.

“So,” Emma said finally, wiping her hands on a napkin. “You were just wandering around and found this place?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? Don’t you have your frat stuff to do? More scavenger hunts or whatever.”

“No,” I said with a short laugh. “We’re done with that. And I just haven’t felt like doing frat stuff, so after class I’ve been wandering the town just… seeing what’s around, and this place reminded me of home.”

“This? Reminds you of home?”

She looked around at the dim lighting, the scratched wooden bar, the collection of mismatched furniture.

“Sort of. My dad used to pick me up from school when a job finished early and we’d go to this place in town that was a lot like this.”

“What does your dad do?”

“Construction. Mostly residential framing. Though he’ll take whatever work he can get.”

“And your mom?”

“Office manager at a dental practice. Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills.”

“What about your parents? Your dad sounds important.”

“My father’s in politics. State senator, although he’s got this plan to go higher. My mother runs the family foundation and sits on like a million charity boards.”

“And no time for family dinners at the local dive bar, I guess.”

“No. There was always a function, somewhere to be to show how happy of a family we are.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t at Harvard or something.”

“That’s what dad wanted, but mom and all the women in my family go here. The money’s really on her side, so she won that argument. She thinks it’ll teach me to be a proper lady, or whatever.”

“And is this where you wanted to go?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t like I was given a choice.”

“That’s wild.”

“What?” she said, I think not expecting that answer.

“Just, it’s so different. My mom cried when I got my scholarship to Briarfield. First person in my family to go to college.”

“That must have felt good.”

I thought about it. “Yeah, it did. Still does. But it comes with pressure too. I’m really afraid I’ll screw it up.”

And I’d gotten incredibly close to doing just that.

“It sounds like we’re not that different after all.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Your side has a lot better accommodations.”

She laughed, a real laugh that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. “True. But the golden handcuffs are still handcuffs.”

From the back of the bar, a cheer went up as someone sank a difficult shot at the pool table. Emma glanced over with interest.

“Do you play?” I asked.

“Pool? God, no. My mother would consider that deplorable for a young lady of my standing.”

“Want to learn something deplorable?”

Her eyes lit up. “I think I do.”

I guided her to an empty table in the corner. The felt was worn thin in spots but it was level and all the balls were there.

“The basics are pretty simple,” I explained, racking the balls. “You use the cue ball, that’s the white one, to hit the others into the pockets.”

“I’m familiar with the general concept,” Emma said dryly. “I’ve seen movies.”

“Right, sorry. So, stripes or solids?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Beginners usually take solids. They’re easier to sink.”

She raised an eyebrow. “In that case, I’ll take stripes.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her automatic competitiveness.

“Your funeral.”

I broke, sinking two solids right off the bat. Emma watched intently as I took my next shot, studying my stance and grip on the cue. When I missed my third ball, she gave herself a little nod.

“So I just...?” She positioned herself awkwardly, the cue sliding around in her grip.

“Not quite,” I said, stepping behind her, showing her how to form a bridge with her hand. “Try it like this.”

She adjusted her position. Her first shot missed completely, the cue ball barely grazing her target.

“This is harder than it looks.”

“I could help if you want?”

She nodded, and I moved behind her, adjusting her stance and showing her how to line up the shot properly. I was acutely aware of how close we were standing and the subtle scent of her perfume.

“Like this,” I guided her arm through the motion. “It’s all about follow-through.”

Her next shot connected, though the ball bounced off the rail without going in. She turned to me with a triumphant smile anyway.

“Progress!”

We continued playing, Emma improving with each shot. By the end of the game, she’d managed to sink three of her stripes, celebrating each one with increasing enthusiasm despite my eventual victory.

“Again,” she demanded as I sank the eight ball. “I’m getting the hang of this now.”

“You’re a quick study.”

“I’m competitive. It’s both my best and worst quality, according to my mother.”

The second game went more slowly, with Emma taking her time on each shot, applying the techniques I’d shown her. When she managed a bank shot that sank a striped ball in the corner pocket, she actually jumped up and down in excitement, drawing amused looks from the regular patrons.

“Did you see that? That was incredible!”

“Not bad for a beginner. You’re a natural.”

“Or I have an excellent teacher.”

Her smile was warm, unguarded in a way I hadn’t seen before.

As we finished our second game, someone was setting up a karaoke machine on a small stage that had a local band playing at it the previous weekend.

“What’s happening?” Emma asked.

“Looks like karaoke night. I didn’t know they did that. What do you think?”

She glanced at the stage, where a middle-aged man was already butchering a Bon Jovi song. “I can’t.”

“You can do whatever you want. Besides, you can’t be any worse than that guy.”

“Maybe let’s just watch for a bit.”

We returned to our booth as the karaoke host called for more volunteers. Emma watched the performers with a mixture of horror and fascination as we ordered another round of Cokes.

“These people have no shame,” she observed as a group of women in their forties belted out an off-key rendition of ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun.’

“That’s the beauty of it. No one here cares what you sound like. It’s just about having fun.”

She didn’t say anything to that, just watched the people singing and living it up. I could see her sometimes glance over at me and back at the bar, like she wanted to say something, but then she’d stop and look back at the stage.

“Alright, folks, who’s next? Don’t be shy!” the announcer said.

Emma suddenly turned and looked at me and said, “If I do this, you have to do it too.”

“Deal.”

With a nod to herself, she stood up, smoothed down her evening gown, and made her way to the stage. I think the bar patrons had gotten used to us by now, because no one really paid attention as she looked through the book of songs. After a minute, she said something to the host, who nodded and handed her the microphone.

The opening notes of Heart’s “Barracuda” filled the bar. An interesting choice. And not one I’d have thought she would have gone with.

She stood awkwardly for a moment, then closed her eyes as the lyrics appeared on the screen. And then she began to sing.

Her voice wasn’t professionally trained, but it was strong and surprisingly good and a whole lot better than the people who’d gone before us. As she got into the song, her initial stiffness melted away. By the chorus, she was actually performing, one hand gripping the mic, the other punctuating the lyrics with emphatic gestures.

The bar crowd, initially bemused by the sight of a girl in a formal gown singing classic rock, began to cheer her on. By the final chorus, everyone was clapping along, and when she finished, they erupted in applause.

Emma returned to our table, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“That was...”

“Completely terrifying,” she finished for me, grinning ear to ear. “And absolutely exhilarating.”

“You were amazing. Where did that come from?”

“My rebellious phase at fourteen. I used to lock myself in my room and blast songs I found on the internet when he was away on campaign trips. My mother was horrified.”

“I can imagine.”

“Your turn,” she reminded me, eyes sparkling with challenge.

I groaned but kept my promise, taking the stage for a mediocre but enthusiastic rendition of “Sweet Caroline.” I wasn’t a great singer, but I’d been to just enough karaoke to know that people would get into singing the chorus, and start doing a lot of work for me. By the last verse, everyone was singing along.

Works every time.

When I returned to our table, Emma was still laughing.

“That was beautiful,” she teased. “Truly moving.”

“I never claimed to be talented, just brave.”

Those were the only songs we sang for the night, but we talked and played several more games of pool, and had just a great time.

As midnight approached, Emma glanced at her watch. “I should probably head back soon. We have a sisters meeting tomorrow to plan out our philanthropy for the semester.”

“Even on a Saturday?”

“Especially on a Saturday. The good causes never sleep.”

We settled our tab and stepped back into the warm night air. The walk back to campus felt shorter somehow, since we talked the whole way back, instead of the silence we’d held on the walk out.

“So,” Emma said as we approached the edge of campus, “do you think your fraternity brothers would be scandalized to know you spent the evening at a dive bar teaching a Sigma Delta girl how to play pool?”

“They’d probably high five me and be pretty crude about it, honestly. I’m betting your sorority sisters would be the scandalized ones.”

“True. Though they’d be horrified for all the wrong reasons.”

When we reached the path that led to our separate dorms, she stopped and said, “I had a really good time tonight. Thank you for the rescue.”

“Anytime. It was fun.”

She studied me for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You know, you’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, giving me a little wave and heading off in her direction.

I just stood there for a second, not sure how to take it. There’d been a real connection here, that much I was sure of, but as with everything else since the accident, I actually couldn’t be sure it was real real, or if I’d just made it real.

I’d made sure to not say anything that could be taken as a command, but part of me still replayed the night, worried. I also couldn’t help but think maybe it was some lingering effect of my earlier influence in the cafeteria.

Still, for the first time in weeks, I felt something like hope. Maybe this power didn’t have to define everything about my life if I was careful.