flop onto the bed in my boxers, chomping on the apple. The night had been a rollercoaster. First there was the game, which was aces. I fucking killed it. Emory and I clicked back together like pieces in a puzzle. Usually, other teams struggle with a good passing game, but us? We’re like magic.
Then, I relented and went to Devil’s Tower. What happened there was entirely unexpected. Worst case, I figured I was in for some kind of Red Devil hazing from the football team, and the thought was amusing. Best case, some girl wanted to be my welcome wagon, which worked out perfectly for me, considering that my molecular makeup at the moment must be something like fifty percent raging horniness and fifty percent crippling indecision.
It was neither of those.
When Carlton opened the door, I’d expected to go up the tower, because where else would we go? Instead, he’d taken a hard left toward an old wooden door. I didn’t even remember it being there, but that’s fair. It’d been a long time since I’d been to that place—the last time being accompanied by one very athletic Sheri Brown, the first semester of freshman year. It was the first time I’d successfully gotten under a girl’s bra. Naturally, that’s the only thing I remember about the place.
Behind the wooden door was a staircase that led down, winding under the one that led up to the bell. Carlton used a flashlight to light the way, and again, I wondered if I was about to get my ass beat in some good old-fashioned, Preston Prep hazing. I spent the whole way fighting a laugh, because seriously. As if whatever these spoiled little rich boys had in store could hold a candle to the hazing I’d endured at Mountain Point. Nevertheless, fight or flight began to kick in. My heart hammered, instinct driving me to look for an escape, and then toward fight when none could be found. I could take Carlton in a fight—no doubt about that. I was fast and strong. I was still plotting my preemptive attack when we reached the bottom of the stairs.
We came to another door, this one circular.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, frowning at the strange entryway. Carlton grinned and rapped a knock on the door. A moment later, it swung open, the hinges old and creaking. On the other side was a long room with a low ceiling. The walls and floor were made of concrete and it smelled a little musty, like old, dry dirt. Over a metal desk were some decorations—red felt Preston pennants, black and white photos, trophies. It was like the twisted basement version of Preston’s main hall, with all the display cases. It was dark, only lit by a few flickering camping lanterns. Emory stood in the middle of the room, slightly hunched, arms open wide. A few other guys I recognized as part of the defunct Devils stood behind him.
“What’s going on?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t about to get outright murdered. Kids at Mountain Point might be harder, more vicious, but I tend to forget that rich kids like these have a tendency toward the batshit insane.
“History, my friend,” Emory said, all dramatic and weird. “We’re making history and here’s your chance to get in on it.”
Over the next hour and a case of room-temperature beer, Emory explained that what he wanted to do was to reestablish a straight-up, elitist secret society. Apparently, the Devils didn’t start off as a bunch of jocks terrorizing underclassmen and scratching notches in the beam above the bell tower. It started a hundred years before the current incarnation; a group of high-powered individuals, male and female, who dominated the school academically, athletically, and socially. They had a strict initiation that went beyond drinking a gallon of vodka and screwing virgins. They had rituals, rites of passage, and—if Emory is to be believed—a civility lost on the current group of students.
How did Emory find out about this long-lost Preston Prep lore? Well, like he said, the Devils’ roots run deep. Alumni, current faculty, probably even some administration were in on it. When they heard about the current group getting disbanded, they stepped up, reaching out to the strongest Devil, and suggested he lead the remaining members a new direction—or really, an old direction. They showed him the bunker under the tower, gave him the book of Devil’s history, and ultimately gave him permission to restart the group.