Fubar by Ron Carpol

Author:Ron Carpol
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780974256047
Publisher: Connor & James Book Publishers

PART 5

THE

VAGINAL CLUE

19

THE TRAITOR

Wednesday, January 22

11:55 A.M.

LYMAN’S SCREAMS OF JOY AND LAUGHTER were the longest and loudest. And for five million good reasons.

Adams was reading off the grades again from a newly-delivered batch of postcards. I quickly chomped down on half a dozen Rolaids but they didn’t help much.

“Stafford. You got a D in Sociology.”

“You raised your .5 GPA up to a .667,” Bookie-the-mathematician yelled out laughing. “I’m not taking bets on you flunking out any more. It’s a done deal.”

He was right. There was no way for me to get a 2.0, straight C average, with only one grade left. It was English, and it would take a miracle to get a C which would still keep me way under a 2.0. And even then, I wouldn’t have the necessary 12 units because of the F in Man & Civ. Fuck!

The familiar gurgling of nausea stared again. My knees were wobbly and sudden flashing chills made me shiver. As Adams continued reading other people’s grades, I desperately tried to make it to the downstairs toilet behind the kitchen.

But as I started to push open the kitchen door, whatever was in my stomach leaped out of my throat like in the Alien movie. Thick crap that looked like a freshly-cooked Denver omelet splattered all over the linoleum floor.

My stomach was continually dry-heaving when Adams and some of the pledges walked over to me, laughing.

“Sorry about the grades, Stafford,” Adams said, sounding like he really meant it. “Especially after last night.”

None of the rest of the guys except Batman and Vysell seemed too concerned about me, no doubt doing their own arithmetic and already subtracting me from the eleven guys who could make the fraternity.

I sneaked a look at the grade chart. Zoom’s name was now circled in red with a diagonal line through it, joining the other losers who were gone. The only other change was that there were more B’s and C’s posted plus Lyman’s new A giving him three A’s. My two D’s and the one F were still the only grades anybody got under a C.

Barry Thompson, a senior, whose fingernail usually found a home in one of his nostrils, looked and me and laughed. “Can’t believe your grades, Stafford. It’s almost impossible to flunk out of this school. You’re going to be the first pledge ever to do it.”

I didn’t answer as Adams interrupted Thompson. “Some of you guys haven’t made reservations for the Spring Formal in Palm Springs. For the guys who get kicked out, don’t worry, you’ll get your deposit back.”

_____

1:00 P.M

We were sitting on the living room rug eating Godmother sandwiches and drinking Cokes at the Venice Battered Women’s Shelter on Rose near Lincoln.

“We got a traitor here,” Adams told us grimly, staring at us one-at-a-time.

Nobody said a word.

“What do you guys think of Castle’s father?” Adams suddenly blurted out.

“Good guy,” Froggy said. “Remember when he took us all to a Laker game when he was visiting here around Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah,” most of the other guys piped up, agreeing with Froggy.

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