Chris

  Chris Smith assumed he had led a mundane life his entire eighteen years. In his mind, everything about him was ordinary. He was average height and weight. He was neither handsome nor unsightly. He had brown hair and hazel eyes. He spoke in a flat, monotone voice. Even his name was ordinary—Chris Smith. There was nothing at all special about himself.

  All his friends and acquaintances were the ones that were exciting. In high school, his best friend, Mike, had a passionate year-long relationship with a skater punk guy named Rocco. Rocco was a senior and was the lead guitarist in a local band. Another good friend, Jared, managed the reinvented band when Rocco left. Jared took his place as lead guitarist. Most of Chris’s friends knew how to skateboard. Chris wanted to learn but had not worked up the courage to try.

  He was the drummer of the previously mentioned reinvented band. Some would say that was exciting. Even still, Chris felt that, as the drummer, he was still out of the spotlight when they played. A part of him wanted to be the frontperson of the band. That spot was already taken by Haley, a fiery punk girl who was a year under him. Also, he couldn’t sing to save his life.

  He played on the baseball team. However, he was one of the more average team members. He never hit a homerun. He was never a star pitcher. Homeruns and star pitchers were the domain of his best friend, Mike. It was hard to compete with the guy who had a fluid sexuality and had pitched them to the State playoffs. In his own mind, Chris was just another person on the team.

  Indeed, it was an uphill battle for Chris to stand out when everyone else had something exciting and special going for them. He felt no one ever talked about Chris Smith. His senior yearbook was filled with nondescript sentiments such as “Stay a sweet guy” or “Take care”. No one recounted tales of mischief like cutting class or cracking jokes in the middle of a lecture.

  Chris was determined to change all that. Going away to college, he thought, was going to be the best time in his life. He was going to forge a new path—create a new identity for himself. He was going to stand out in the anonymous crowd. These next four years, Chris was going to make it a point that people knew who Chris Smith was.

  Chris decided to go to a small liberal arts college a few hours away from his hometown. It was far enough away from home that his parents would have to give advance warning to visit him. There would be no random Mom drop-ins. Chris had decided to attend Wellington University which was almost 5 hours away from his hometown of Miners Creek, Tennessee.

  Wellington University sat in the middle of nowhere, Illinois, USA. The midwestern town developed as an afterthought. The College came first—the town was born because people who worked at the college needed a place to live. Because of its isolation, Wellington was well known for hard drinking and partying. There was not much else to do except study, drink, and party.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  All social life at Wellington was directly tied to its strong fraternity and sorority system. At Wellington, almost 90% of the students went Greek. All parties and bands happened at the numerous fraternity or sorority houses. Some fraternities and sororities were more popular than others. Each one had a nickname related to its membership. No matter what your rank in the social order at Wellington, there was a Greek organization that fit.

  Chris had no idea which fraternity was the best or was the most popular. He was unfamiliar with any of the workings of Greek life. He was also not aware that the students of Wellington were mostly upper class. Most of the student body had gone to elite prep schools and were well versed in the culture of the upper crust. Many students were from wealthy families—old money families—families with debutantes and cotillions.

  Chris’s family was not poor—or even middle class. His dad owned and ran a successful HVAC company. His mother was a small-town lawyer. The Smiths were upper middle class. His family was prominent in Miners Creek, but their influence stopped at the city limits. His family would not have been able to send Chris to Wellington if he had not received a substantial financial aid package. Wellington offered Chris a full ride because they were eager to branch out. Wellington no longer wanted to be known as a rich kids’ school so, several years ago, they started to offer aid to promising public school students. Wellington wanted a richer diversity in its student body. Chris was a beneficiary of Wellington’s gesture. He could have easily gone to a state school with his high school friends, but his parents wanted him to elevate his status in society. Naturally, not wanting to go against his parent’s expectations, he decided on Wellington.

  Chris arrived on campus in the late afternoon. He was to report to Stoggard Hall which was one of several dorms set aside for incoming freshmen. He was astonished at the old world feel of the campus located in the middle of the Southern Illinois flatlands. It was as if he had stepped onto the campus of Oxford University. All the buildings were in a Gothic style. It could easily be the movie set of a Dracula movie. It didn’t help that he arrived on a foggy dusk evening when the shadows of the towers and spires blanketed the ground with eerie darkness.

  His admissions packet had a map which did not do the campus justice. He had to pull over on the side of the street to get his orientation. Stoggard was a couple of blocks from him but hidden from the main road among thick dark oak trees. Luckily, the streetlights had illuminated so he was able to see the street signs. The font of the street signs was in Olde English script and difficult to decipher. He could, however, make out Stoggard Avenue and drove towards the sign.

  The campus was teeming with groups of students arriving on campus. Many of them must be upper classmen since they seemed to instantly know each other. They all looked older even though they were only two or three years older than him. Chris figured that the stress of college must add several years to one’s appearance. One thing that stood out to Chris was how happy everyone was against the solemn foreboding background of the university architecture. The dissonance between the cheerful attitude of the people and the dark Gothic setting left Chris uneasy.

  Chris found a spot close to the dorm. He decided he was going to check in first before bringing in any of his clothes and other items that reminded him of home. His car was a midsize used domestic sedan, so he was able to pack it full of items. He instantly noted that most of the other cars were foreign and were much newer than his family hand-me-down sedan.

  “Okay, here goes,” Chris said to himself as he got out of his car and walked toward the Gothic dormitory. “Today, I’m a new guy.”