STORY: The Frat Boy

One afternoon, Betsey is walking across campus all alone. As she passes by a frat house, she notices a handsome, young man come outside without a shirt on. He approaches Betsey and stops a few feet in front of her to start stretching out on the lawn. She smiles and nods her head politely.

“Hi there.”

“Hey,” the Frat Boy says. “Aren’t you that writer everybody’s always talking about?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I literally hear people talking about you all the time. I’ve read all of your articles. I really like your stuff. It’s funny. Entertaining. You’re a good writer.”

“Uhh… thanks.”

“So… uhh… what are you doing right now?”

“Huh?”

“Right now. Are you doing anything? Maybe we can go get some food or something.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just let me go inside real quick and put a shirt on.”

“Uhhh… okay?”

The Frat Boy winks at Betsey and runs inside real quick to put a shirt on. While he’s inside, he high fives a couple of his bros. Betsey stands there in shock for a moment before taking off down the sidewalk. When the Frat Boy comes back outside, he sees her crossing the street and runs over to catch up with her.

“Hey,” he says. “Where are you going? I thought we were going to get some lunch.”

Betsey stops and turns around to survey the area. No one else is standing behind her.

“I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course I’m talking to you. Why wouldn’t I be talking to you?”

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yeah. You’re Betsey Horton, Writer Extraordinaire.”

“And you’re like, the President of the Fraternity. Why are you talking to me?”

“Because I think you’re hot.”

“I don’t understand. Guys like you don’t talk to girls like me. You’re destined to marry The Perfect Girl.”

“Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “About that. It’s cool, it’s cool. I’ll explain later. Just let me take you out. It’ll be a good time, I promise.”

He winks at her again. Betsey is charmed by his frat house antics in spite of her better judgment. Plus, he does look pretty hot without a shirt on.

“Are you sure this isn’t some kind of cruel joke?”

“My life is a cruel joke,” he says seriously. “Besides, I always secretly went for your type. The kind who’s always sitting in the coffee shop writing angsty poetry. I like the stories you write about me better instead. They’re funny. I like to inspire you.”

Betsey looks him over and smiles, believing him to be sincere.

“Well… all right. If you really like my writing that much, I guess I’ll let you take me out on a date.”

“Cool.”

The Frat Boy does not take Betsey to the Taxidermy Capital of the World.

The End.

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