Chapter 3

The young girl came to the open classroom door and handed Bud's teacher a square piece of yellow paper. The man glanced at it, caught Bud's eye and beckoned him to come to the door. In the hall Bud's gray-haired math teacher handed him the note and said, "Mr. Mason wants to see you. You in trouble?" Behind his thick glasses, his eyes looked huge, the whites bloodshot. His breath was musty, faintly moldy.

"No sir, not that I know of," Bud answered as the teacher scribbled the time on the note and handed it to him.

Bud went down the iron stairs and entered the main office. He showed the principal's prim secretary his summons. She nodded and said, "Sit," pointing with her head toward a narrow wooden bench that was probably older than the school building. Bud rubbed his fingers tips across the dozens of initials carved in the seat now covered with black stain.

He studied the pattern of tiles on the floor and tried to calm his insides. The intercom buzzed and the secretary said, "You can go in." She held out her hand for his pass.

In the small office filled with bookcases and filing cabinets, Bud sat where the principal pointed. The wooden chair was hard and the arms hit him at an odd height, high on his ribs. He wiggled but could not get comfortable. He cleared his throat and swallowed, putting his hands between her knees. He could feel his heart beating and his stomach churning. He had never been in the office before.

"Do you know why I sent for you, Seth?" Mr. Mason asked, pressing his fingertips together. He looked at Bud over the tops of his bifocals. He was a balding, middle0aged man with only a few wisps of dark hair over his pasty pate. He always wore a stiff bow tie, wing-tip shoes and a heavy class ring. Locker room rumor had it that the ring came from a pawnshop and that his ties were on an elastic band. Another rumor said he was queer. Bud was not sure what that meant.

"No sir," he said, shaking his head and trying to recall his recent behavior in both classes and the halls. After being tossed out of the school in Rockville for fighting when he was a sophomore, he knew he had to avoid trouble.

"Do you belong to a fraternity, a secret society?" asked Mr. Mason, adjusting his tie, twisting his head to the side and then taking a sheet of paper from a folder on his desk. He licked his liverish lips.

Bud swallowed again and blinked, his mind seemingly frozen shut. He saw that the man's shirt collar was frayed and dirty.

"Well," said the principal, "it's a simple question. Do you?"

Bud nodded. "Yes, sir," he said and felt a burning sensation in the bottom of his stomach.

"Do you know that fraternities are illegal in Maryland schools, public schools?"

Bud shook his head and lied. "No, sir,"

"Well, they are, and the superintendent wants to wipe them out, every one of them. What's the name of your fraternity?"

Bud cleared his throat. "Chi Alpha," he said. "Sir."

"How many fraternities are there in this school?" the principal asked, leaning back in his swivel chair and taking off his glasses. He pinched his nose, wishing he were somewhere else.

"I don't know, Mr. Mason."

"Guess," the man said, replacing his glasses and beginning to twist the ring on his right hand, looking impatient.

"Maybe six or seven," said Bud.

"And sororities, do we have some of those?"

Bud nodded. "I think so." That also felt like a lie. One of Bud's back teeth started to ache, and he tried to relax his jaw.