“Welcome to Delta Omega Rho, pretty boy,” Caleb murmured. “Part one is over. Part two starts tomorrow. And it’s not going to get easier.”
Another silence. Deeper this time.
It was taped to a brick pillar just outside the campus dining hall, competing for space with lost pet posters and bake sale announcements. The design was aggressively masculine: black and gold, a roaring lion silhouette, and the words fraternity x pretty boy pt 1
“You’re rushing,” Caleb repeated, as if tasting a strange flavor. “Look around, pretty boy. We don’t do cardigans. We don’t do poetry slams. We do tire flips at 6 AM and keg stands at 10 PM. What exactly do you think you’re contributing?” “Welcome to Delta Omega Rho, pretty boy,” Caleb murmured
By the time he reached the gym, blood had seeped through his sleeves. His hands were shredded. But he set the cinderblocks down without a sound. Then he turned around, walked back to the oak tree, and did it again. And it’s not going to get easier
“You think because I’m pretty, I’m weak. You think because I don’t grunt when I lift a grocery bag, I don’t know what it means to bleed for a brother. You’ve built a house of muscle, Caleb. But muscles can’t read the room. I can.”
When his roommate, a well-meaning finance bro named Derek, shoved a rush card into his hand, Leo’s first instinct was to use it as a bookmark for his Proust. But Derek said something that stuck.
