When Ren goes down, flashing and splashing us with red muck, Liam blows a whistle to call the end of the bout. Apparently, it’s a tussle to first down.

Liam steps over and lifts Neil’s hand to declare him the winner. It’s an awkward gesture, given Neil’s height. Though Liam’s arm is fully extended, Neil’s is still crooked and relaxed. If he were to stretch out his arm fully, Liam might be lifted straight up from the ground.

Ren digs himself out of the Jell-O and gives Neil a conciliatory pat on the back before stepping out of the makeshift ring. He looks displeased – though that might have something to do with the gummy red coating soaking his toga to his skin.

Neil steps out after him, and the crowd ripples to give both him and Ren some breathing room. No one is eager to get the gunk slathered on them.

Liam looks in the direction of me, Miguel, and Frankie. He nods towards the ring, beckoning two of us in for the next bout. My stomach sinks.

Miguel and Frankie share a look and then turn to me. I open my mouth, but someone else speaks first.

“Given his injury, I think our Adam has earned a bye for the first round, no?” Michael’s voice speaks from behind me. Close. I feel a hand on the small of my back that sends flutters up my spine.

Miguel and Frankie both shrug and step forward. Before they step into the pool-slash-ring, Frankie grabs Miguel’s shoulder and says something to him. I miss the words because I’m preoccupied with the feeling of Michael’s lingering hand and his presence behind me – I want to turn, to look at him, but I’m afraid that will spook him into realizing he hasn’t pulled his hand from my back.

Whatever Frankie said, Miguel rolls his eyes and pulls his arms up through his toga, which had remained looped around his neck like a shawl rather than down over his body. He tosses the oven mitt that he’d been using to cover himself into the crowd. There are a few yelps and groans as people dodge out of its path. Not the rockstar reaction he was hoping for, I don’t think.

Clothed again – though I am using that term loosely – Miguel steps into the ring after Frankie. They slosh around for a few moments to get a feel for their footing within the slippery terrain. Then Liam blows his whistle and the boys square up.

They hold themselves a bit more like boxers than wrestlers in this ring – tighter stances, circling each other with more distance between them. Since this is a first-down elimination, their goal is to avoid having both of their shoulders touch the ground by any means.

Miguel tackles Frankie, but he holds his stance and they end up in a grapple. They’re both strong, but Frankie has just enough height and weight on Miguel to eke out a sliver of leverage. He forces Miguel down to a knee, but Miguel trips a leg out from under Frankie and brings him down too. They’re both still upright, grappling on their knees in the Jell-O.

They’re slipperier now and slink in and out of a few holds. Drenched togas lift and fold and stick. I get another opportunity to admire Frankie’s build. I feel that unique pang of desire and jealousy – of wanting to look like him and lay next to him simultaneously.

And Michael’s hand is still on the small of my back.

Eventually, Frankie gets the better of Miguel’s slick footing and knocks him down. Liam’s whistle marks the end of their bout and Frankie’s victory.

Michael’s hand lifts from my back to clap and cheer. To my disappointment, it doesn’t return.

Liam states that the final round will be a three-way instant elimination and that injured as I am, I’ll still need to compete. He reminds the crowd of the prize, which I’d missed the first time around: the winner will have the option of moving into the team house next semester after Andre – the senior that had announced each of us as new brothers – graduates this winter.

My heart jumps.

I don’t need the room. I share a dorm on campus with Jason, and that’s been great. I haven’t even seen the team house before, since this initiation party required a swimming pool that only this alumni’s spot provides.

But I know that Michael lives in the team house. I could wake up in a room across from his. Eat breakfast with him in the mornings. Ask him about his day when he gets back from classes. Tell him goodnight. Every night.

Jason would understand.

I step forward. Andre pushes through the crowd and presents Liam with a bundle of yellow rope that shimmers under the moonlight.

“To level the playing field,” he says glancing at Frankie and Neil.

Liam smiles. He grabs the back of Andre’s neck and pulls his head down for a kiss on the crown.

“Are we all gonna miss the genius of this man, or what?” Liam shouts. The crowd responds with roars and cups raised to the night.

Liam beckons my competitors over and has them hold their left arm behind their back. He wraps a cord of rope around each of them and ties it to lock their arm into place.

“Have we escalated to bondage already?” Frankie snarks.

“Gotta give the people what they want!” Miguel yells from Ren’s side in the crowd. Another round of roars ignites around us.

Liam leaves my left arm free. It must be pretty clear that it’d be completely useless in a grapple.

The three of us step into the makeshift ring. It’s tight. Smaller than it seemed as a bystander. And slippery as all hell.

Standing in close quarters, it’s immediately obvious that Neil has the advantage. It wouldn’t take much for him to overpower either of us. On reflection, I’m amazed Ren lasted as long as he did.

Frankie turns to me. His eyes flutter briefly towards Neil, then back to me. His gaze flicks back at Neil again, first towards his feet, then up at his shoulders, then back to me.

I understand.

Liam blows his whistle and we both scramble towards Neil in a rush. I nearly slip out of control, but momentum carries me where I need to go: straight into Neil’s legs.

My shoulders slam into his shins and I feel a jolt of pain on my left side. Neil wobbles but doesn’t topple over. Of course, I wasn’t expecting him to. Not yet.

I wrap my good arm around his legs and squeeze them together as tightly as I can, narrowing his stance. My head is caught between his thighs, but I don’t have time to remaneuver. Jell-O smears across my face from his legs.

Frankie, just a moment behind me, leaps into a crossbody dive that collides with Neil’s chest. Neil might have caught him if he had both his arms free. As it is, and with his legs locked together, he can’t absorb the impact. He goes down hard, pulling me with him.

Neil’s shoulders land on the ground and my face gets wedged someplace it shouldn’t be. At least, not without buying him dinner first. I clamber to extricate myself and hope he’s too stunned by the fall to feel the tickle of my stubble sliding out from between his legs.

He groans as Frankie and I both stand. Frankie mutters a timid apology and holds his free hand out for Neil to take. After a moment, he reaches up and takes it, letting Frankie pull him to his feet.

Liam blows his whistle and waves Neil out of the ring. He unties the rope binding Neil’s arm behind his back, and Neil rolls his shoulder to stretch it. I hope he isn’t seriously hurt. The team doesn’t need two of us recovering from the night’s stupidity.

Liam blows his whistle again, and Frankie and I turn to face each other. We start to circle the ring. Red jelly sloshes and squeezes between our toes as we take steady, measured steps.

Frankie is the first to break course. He charges, and I hunch down as he spears a shoulder into my right side. My feet slide back until they hit the rim of the pool, but I don’t fall.

Frankie’s arm is hooked around my waist. His hand clamors desperately for purchase around my back, and he isn’t bashful about what he grazes. But with only one arm free, my waist is too wide for him to be able to hold any meaningful grip.

He pulls his arm back and slips it around my right leg – a hold just narrow enough for him to keep his grasp. He starts to lift, and nearly takes me off of my feet.

But he’s made a rookie mistake.

I swing my left leg over his shoulder and just… sit. He crashes face-first into the ground, splashing red muck out towards the audience. The crowd pulls back reflexively for a moment, then flows forward again like a wave emboldened by the tide. Everyone breaks out into wild cheers.

I step up off of Frankie and hook a hand beneath his arm to help pull him up. He looks dazed.

“Heavier than you look,” he coughs out.

I let him lean against my good shoulder while he catches the breath that was just knocked out of his lungs. “And you’re bolder, getting underneath an opponent like that,” I say.

He sucks in air in thin breaths. “Must be drunker than I thought.”

Instead of blowing his whistle, Liam just steps over and unties Frankie’s binding. Then he slides under his other shoulder and helps him step over the rim of the pool. He guides him over to the rest of the boys and lowers him to a sitting position on the ground.

Then Liam steps back over and raises my good hand in victory. The vacant room is mine. In the house with Michael. More cheers. The boys all join in, even Frankie.

I scan the crowd for Michael and find him beaming a bright smile from the second ring of the crowd. For a second I think I catch him wink at me, but a flurry of hands raising cups breaks my line of sight at the same moment.

Liam announces that there’s a consolation prize for a brave new brother. The boys perk their ears and he waves them over. Frankie has a handle on his breath now and gets up to follow.

“As you know, new brothers are required to rotate as the team’s designated sober driver throughout their first year,” Liam explains – more for the crowd than the few of us huddle around him.

“Well, one brave soul willing to lick the Jell-O from Adam’s face – until it’s completely clean – will get a pass for the first semester. That means being free to get sloppy at every party.”

I shoot Liam a look of concern. I definitely did not agree to this. He doesn’t meet my eyes.

Neil and Ren almost immediately start shaking their heads and walking away. Frankie cocks his head at me and bits the corner of his lip, but a moment later he’s walking away too.

Miguel hasn’t moved. He’s examining my face with narrowed eyes. Calculating.

I open my mouth to speak. “Listen, I don’t think–”

Miguel raises a hand to stop me. “I’m a terrible driver, anyway.”

He grabs my head with both hands and pulls me towards his face. I’m caught off balance and stumble into him. And then I feel the wetness of his tongue on my cheek, sliding up towards my eye.

The crowd goes wild again. Liam hollers next to us. I think about pulling out of Miguel’s grasp, but we’re already in it – and the moment has a life of its own.

Miguel’s lips close around a glob of Jell-O hanging from my ear lobe, and I feel my pulse quicken. His mouth is warm. He sucks on my ear for the briefest of instants – teasing me, maybe – and then turns my face so he can look at the other side.

It’s mostly clear already, but he drags another lick across my cheek for good measure. Then he releases my head and Liam leads the party in a final round of hollering whoops and applause.

I feel dazed. A little humiliated, if I’m being honest. I look over at Miguel, but he’s watching the crowd. Drinking in their attention and acclamation. He lives for it.

“Glad I could help,” I murmur bitterly to myself.

I scan the crowd again, looking for Michael. I don’t find him.

Liam steps between Miguel and me and clasps a hand down on each of our shoulders.

“Let’s get you freaky kids cleaned up, yeah?”

He pushes us both towards the crowd, which parts to clear a path back to the house.

I look over my shoulder to see Neil, Ren, and Frankie following behind us. I search again for Michael but come up empty.

“And welcome to the team house, Adam,” Liam says. He squeezes my shoulder. “But the night isn’t over. Not just yet.”