CertifiedGoy
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The bass from Delta Epsilon’s house could be felt two blocks away. Red and blue lights flickered across the front lawn, turning the night into a haze of sweat and noise. ASU weekends always burned like this—too loud, too bright, too easy to lose yourself.
I wasn’t there to party. I was there for Shaniqua.
Inside, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. The air reeked of beer and vape clouds. A half-collapsed pong table sat in the corner. On the makeshift stage, Pajeet the frat president and my arch enemy was hyping the crowd like he owned it.
“ASU, make some noise!” he shouted. The house obeyed.
I spotted her by the bar. Shaniqua. Gold hoops, white dress contrasting her hairy black arms, eyes sharp even in the strobe light. When she saw me, her expression froze. Then she looked toward him.
Pajeet saw it too. His grin tightened.
He jumped off the stage, walking straight toward me. People cleared a path without being asked. That’s how it was with him—command built into every movement.
“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said. “This is my house tonight.”
“I’m not here for the house.”
He leaned closer. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”
The song changed—bass heavier, faster. He turned back to the crowd and raised a bottle. “Let’s turn it up!”
While everyone screamed, I grabbed Shaniqua’s hand. “We need to talk.”
She hesitated. “Not here.”
“Now.”
Before we could move, two frat guys stepped in front of the door. Pajeet’s crew. His eyes flicked toward me, a silent warning.
The next seconds blurred. One of them shoved me. I swung back. Bottles crashed. Someone yelled. Music kept pounding, almost in rhythm with the fight.
Shaniqua ducked behind the counter as I caught a punch to the ribs. I countered, felt the crack of knuckles on bone. Adrenaline drowned everything else.
Then Pajeet was there, dragging me off his guy, slamming me against the wall.
“You don’t get it,” he said through his teeth. “You lost her when you stopped showing up.”
His words hit harder than his fists.
For a moment, everything froze—the strobe lights, the chanting crowd, the sweat dripping from the ceiling. Shaniqua stood between us, eyes wide.
“Enough!” she shouted.
Pajeet stepped back. His chest heaved. He looked at her and gestured for her to go with him to his dorm room which had that distinct Indian stench.
I was intrigued as to what was going on in there so I listened through the door and heard Shaniqua saying over and over “Oh Pajeet it’s so big, I love it Pajeet”.
I’m not sure what was going on but I’m pretty sure I have lost shaniqua forever.
I wasn’t there to party. I was there for Shaniqua.
Inside, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. The air reeked of beer and vape clouds. A half-collapsed pong table sat in the corner. On the makeshift stage, Pajeet the frat president and my arch enemy was hyping the crowd like he owned it.
“ASU, make some noise!” he shouted. The house obeyed.
I spotted her by the bar. Shaniqua. Gold hoops, white dress contrasting her hairy black arms, eyes sharp even in the strobe light. When she saw me, her expression froze. Then she looked toward him.
Pajeet saw it too. His grin tightened.
He jumped off the stage, walking straight toward me. People cleared a path without being asked. That’s how it was with him—command built into every movement.
“Didn’t think you’d show,” he said. “This is my house tonight.”
“I’m not here for the house.”
He leaned closer. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”
The song changed—bass heavier, faster. He turned back to the crowd and raised a bottle. “Let’s turn it up!”
While everyone screamed, I grabbed Shaniqua’s hand. “We need to talk.”
She hesitated. “Not here.”
“Now.”
Before we could move, two frat guys stepped in front of the door. Pajeet’s crew. His eyes flicked toward me, a silent warning.
The next seconds blurred. One of them shoved me. I swung back. Bottles crashed. Someone yelled. Music kept pounding, almost in rhythm with the fight.
Shaniqua ducked behind the counter as I caught a punch to the ribs. I countered, felt the crack of knuckles on bone. Adrenaline drowned everything else.
Then Pajeet was there, dragging me off his guy, slamming me against the wall.
“You don’t get it,” he said through his teeth. “You lost her when you stopped showing up.”
His words hit harder than his fists.
For a moment, everything froze—the strobe lights, the chanting crowd, the sweat dripping from the ceiling. Shaniqua stood between us, eyes wide.
“Enough!” she shouted.
Pajeet stepped back. His chest heaved. He looked at her and gestured for her to go with him to his dorm room which had that distinct Indian stench.
I was intrigued as to what was going on in there so I listened through the door and heard Shaniqua saying over and over “Oh Pajeet it’s so big, I love it Pajeet”.
I’m not sure what was going on but I’m pretty sure I have lost shaniqua forever.
