My eyes widened as I took in the bottles of Svedka laid out on the table in the centre, and I quickly glanced over at Liam. Only this time, he was carefully avoiding my gaze. Instead, he focused on laying out the shot glasses on the table along with the other boys.

"Svedka?" Greg mused, from behind me, sounding rather surprised, "Unusual choice. They usually do tequila shots."

I inhaled sharply, fingers unconsciously crossing behind my back. Greg wasn't even in Corvus, and already he was questioning the frat's choice in the type of drink. Imagine how many questions were raised when Liam asked for a change in alcohol.

Or was Liam in charge of this whole fiasco?

Either way, I was thoroughly indebted to him, and to Marcel, whom I knew played the key role in this. Without Marcel, Liam would never have agreed to keep Miles in till round seven.

A sudden rousing cheer pulled my attention back on track, and my eyes widened as I saw the seven boys being ushered through the crowd. Once again, they were wearing nothing but tiny polka-dotted trunks, and my eyes immediately zeroed in on the boy in yellow.

Miles was looking thoroughly uncomfortable, as did the others. His head was bent, and the jeering and wolf-whistles from the crowd seemed to embarrass him even further. But then he spotted the bottles of Svedka on the table.

He froze for a brief moment, until the other frat boys pushed him down onto his chair. But a frown had etched itself permanently between his eyebrows. It was too much of a coincidence to be true, and I knew he was beginning to suspect some foul play involved in this.

But his focus was riveted back on track when the boy in charge hollered to get everyone's attention. Marcel had pointed him out once to me some time ago. He was the head of Corvus, called Hank Guilford, pretty notorious ever since his high school days.

A lazy smirk was playing on Hank's lips, and he seemed pleased to have such a crowd around him. "Round five," he began, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Well, let's just say it involves something a little more – intellectual."

He paused, his smirk widening as the other fraternity boys began to laugh in a painfully derisive manner. Greg and some of the others in the crowd let out loud whoops, and I couldn't help but frown. Was this all a joke to them?

It had become so much more serious now that I knew Miles's motive for participating in the Hell Weeks. And more than ever, I wanted him to get through this round.

Straining my ears, I blocked out the raucous sounds from the crowd and listened to Hank's explanations to Miles and the other five boys.

"We've prepared a long list of questions from a wide range of topics. I'll read the question, and if you know the answer, you press the buzzer before anyone else does. Answer it correctly, and the others around you will drink. Answer it wrongly – you drink. Got it?"

The boys nodded, as did Miles, but he seemed somewhat distracted, his eyes periodically scanning the crowd as though looking for something. Or someone, as I soon realised, with a start.

Because when Miles's eyes swivelled towards the area where I stood, I involuntarily found myself raising my hand to get his attention. He spotted me, and the relieved smile that broke across his face was unmistakable. I had to smile back, even if it was at the risk of the other frat boys noticing, because this was working in our favour.

Miles wasn't going to have as huge of a problem with this round's initiation after all. Because if it was a speed quiz round, I had no doubt that he was intelligent enough for this. It was also probably the reason why Liam had assigned that as round five.

The only thing we had to cross our fingers for was that Miles wouldn't get wasted. With the choice in alcohol, the cards had already been played in our favour.

"Feel free to throw up if the alcohol makes you nauseaus," Hank continued, with a gleam in his eye, "This game only stops when one of you throws in the towel. Remember, only five of you can go through to the next round. All clear?"

The boys nodded, and Miles slid his gaze past Hank, meeting my eyes. His eyes were bright, hopeful but apprehensive all at the same time, in which glimmered a semblance of gratitude that only I could see.

And at that moment, I realised that he knew it all – how the Svedka had been put there just for him. I wondered if he was mad about me pulling strings just so he could get in, or indirectly cheating and flouting the rules. But when his lips stretched into a tiny, chewed-off smile, I knew he wasn't.

Holding his gaze, I pointed to him as subtly as I could, then to myself. On the off chance, if he couldn't answer the questions and began to get drunk, then there was only one thing he needed to do to maintain his focus.

"Eyes on me," I mouthed, and his gaze sharpened. "Eyes. On. Me."

Almost imperceptibly, he nodded, and I crossed my fingers tightly behind my back.

He could do this.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

So began the fifth round of initiation.

The glasses, as I soon came to realise, were only a quarter filled with Svedka, diluted to half with water, just so the game could last longer. This was typical of a college drinking game, as Marcel had once told me. The purpose was generally to last as long as possible.

I watched, with bated breath, as Hank fired the first question at a rapid pace. Miles missed the first two questions. The boy in red polka-dotted trunks answered them instead so the rest had to drink.

But Miles continued to answer the next three questions in a row, missed two, answered the next three – such that by the tenth question, he'd only had four shots, which was a distinct advantage compared to the rest.

Then one of the boys began to lose his focus, since he hadn't answered a single question. His face turned an alarming shade of white as he was downing his tenth shot, and behind me, Greg laughed in amusement.

"Well, he's down."

Greg was right. Because not two seconds later, the boy leaned over and threw up, drawing jeers and disgusted noises from the crowd. But the rest of the fraternity were unfazed and watched with unsympathetic, stone-cold faces.

The boy still didn't give up, even though he was retching terribly, and I knew he was doing his best to stay in the game.

"Poor boy," I murmured, feeling sorry as I watched him hunched over, clutching his stomach like he was really in pain.

As much as I wanted to step forward, however, I found myself rooted to the spot. I couldn't help him, I couldn't. Because if Miles was going through, then this boy needed to be out, no matter how sorry I felt for him.

"Poor nothing," Greg scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "The sucker couldn't hold his liquor, imagine what a tough time he'd have if he actually got into the fraternity. Fraternities have drinking games all the time, it's practically the norm."

"How do you know so much about it?"

Greg smiled hugely and bent down so he could whisper in my ear. "I'll let you in on a secret – this fraternity's already begun to contact potential members from Denver, and I'm one of them."

He acted like it was the biggest news on earth. With a frown, I turned to face him. "I'm sorry, would you like an award for joining fraternity alpha-gamma-beta?"

Behind me, Callum let out a bark of laughter as he heard my reply, but Greg scowled like I'd just said something thoroughly offensive.

"It's Corvus."

"It's ridiculous. Oh, hey, look, that rhymed," I shot back sardonically, then grinned as Greg glared at me with daggers with his eyes.

I was gratified when Callum let out another amused chuckle – clearly, he was just amused by the whole thing. I had no doubt that Corvus had contacted him too (probably him before Greg, if we were looking potential-wise, since Callum was practically notorious at his school) but knowing Callum, he was probably going to reject the offer anyway.

These sort of things just didn't matter to him.

Pushing all thoughts of Riverton aside, I turned back to face the centre of action. The game was dragging on. By the eighteenth question, the crowd had begun to disperse as two more boys began retching. Even Miles was beginning to have a glazed look in his eyes after his seventh glass.

My fingers had been locked so tightly behind my back that they were beginning to ache. But still, I kept my eyes on him, and I notice him trying to focus on me every now and then, frowning and trying to keep his vision clear.

Then came the twentieth question, and after drinking his final shot, one of the boys immediately stood up, pushed his way through and left the arena. He'd given up. He'd thrown in the towel. Hank ended the game and as the rest of the frat boys began to clear up the place, I felt this insane urge to just run up to Miles and engulf him in a huge hug.

Of course, I couldn't. Flashing him a quick thumbs-up, I watched as he and the remaining boys left with the rest of Corvus. But even as I was heading back to the shack with Greg and Callum, I was still beyond ecstatic.

And the smile on my face was simply too wide, such that Greg soon noticed and frowned, slinging a lazy arm over my shoulder. "What're you so happy about?"

"Nothing."

"Who was that guy you were smiling at?"

"What guy?" I returned, innocently, eyes wide as I tried my best to keep a straight face.

"The guy in the yellow polka-dotted trunks."

"Who?"

"You're terrible at lying," Callum remarked, with an amused laugh. He pulled his sunglasses back over his eyes. I hated when he did that, it seemed like he was staring at the world behind a visor, and I could never tell what he was thinking.

With a scowl, I shrugged Greg's arm off my shoulder. "Fine. That's Miles, and he's just a friend."

"We didn't imply that he could be anything else." Callum didn't miss a beat.

I frowned and was just about to say something cutting when someone hollered my name from behind me. The voice was familiar, and even before I turned, I knew whom to expect.

My smile widened as I saw Miles jogging towards me. He was now fully dressed in a grey shirt and cargo shorts, and I was grateful that he was dressed, because it was a little awkward having to look at him wearing nothing but his trunks. Besides, I had no doubt that Greg and Callum were going to make fun of him if he was still wearing that.

Leaving Greg and Callum behind me, I went forward to meet him. For some unknown reason, the smile that was on his face made my heart beat erratically, like I'd been running for some distance then stopped abruptly. I had to catch my breath even though I wasn't breathless at all.

"Hi again," I greeted, playfully, when he stepped up to me. I could feel Greg and Callum's eyes boring holes into my back, but I ignored them and focused on Miles instead.

"I have to go in a minute," Miles said in a rush, his words tumbling over each other as he spoke, "But I just wanted to thank you for – for everything. I knew you had something to do with it – I don't know what exactly – but it just fell into place, and I – "

It was then that I decided to give in to my earlier impulse. Maybe it was his uncharacteristically boyish grin, or his awkward, shy mannerisms. But whatever the case was, I found myself closing the gap between us and winding my arms around his waist.

He trailed off then, froze like he could hardly believe what I was doing. It was his hesitance that made me realise this didn't happen to him often. His heart was racing against my cheek; his breath seemed to hitch in his throat.

I'd hugged a lot of boys before, since it was the norm with friends and I was generally an affectionate sort of person. But this was different. Miles, unlike other boys, didn't reciprocate my hug. His arms were limp by his sides; he didn't make any attempt to return my hug whatsoever.

He didn't seem confident; he just didn't know what to do. Obviously, my actions had taken him by surprise, and the thought of that made me recoil automatically. The last thing I wanted to do was to make him feel uncomfortable around me.

"Congratulations," I murmured quickly against his chest, before pulling away and stepping back from him. "And don't thank me, I'm very happy for you."

His cheeks were tinted with a faint blush and he looked thoroughly taken aback. But then he smiled warmly, and murmured, "Thanks, Darcy."

"You've said that a dozen times already," I mused, dismissively, "Now go. They're probably waiting for you."

He threw a quick glance over his shoulder to where the boys from Corvus were at. They were still fooling around, laughing and making lots of noise, but the chairs and table had been packed and they looked ready to leave.

Reluctantly, Miles fell a step back. "I'll see you, um – "

"Another day," I promised, with a reassuring nod. "You still owe me a tutoring lesson, remember?"

He seemed relieved that I hadn't forgotten. "Yes, sure, just tell me when."

I assured him that I would, and he headed back to his fraternity. Or almost­­-fraternity, since he was only halfway in and still had five more rounds to go. We needed to remember that. Even though he'd passed this round with flying colours, I knew we couldn't let our guard down.

Corvus wasn't a fraternity to underestimate.

When I turned back to retrace my steps to Greg and Callum, I realised they were waiting for me some distance off. They shot me amused grins when I came up, and I automatically scowled at their knowing looks.

"What?"

"Our Darcy's got a crush," Greg exclaimed, in a very proud manner, "This is unexpected, I never would've expected – "

"I don't have a crush. I'm just helping Miles to get into Corvus, that's all," I returned simply, ignoring their disbelieving looks, and slung my arms around their shoulders, pulling them down to my height so I could speak to them. "So listen. Now that you know who Miles is, I need your help to get him through the Hell Weeks."

Greg abruptly pulled away from my grip and frowned down at me. "What?" he seemed completely bewildered. "How are we supposed to help?"

"Oh, come on, you guys will be future frat members. You've got to know about initiations and hazings and stuff like these. Callum?" I turned to the boy, hoping that he was the one with better sense and a kinder heart.

But Callum stared at me stoically, his expression unchanging. "I don't know, actually."

"How come?"

"Because I don't care."

I glared at him and turned to Greg instead. "What about you?"

"Darcy, I have a vague idea of how Corvus is run, but you know I'm not allowed to divulge these sort of information."

This wasn't working. Callum simply couldn't bring himself to care, as always, and Greg was being terribly cryptic. But I wasn't fooling around when I said I needed their help. Liam was only going to hold up his end of the deal until round seven.

After that, Miles and I were going to be on our own, with only Marcel to offer advice. But Marcel was not joining a fraternity and didn't know a lot of things. We needed more help than that.

We needed Callum, who, back at Denver High, was the instigator when it came to these sorts of things. We needed Greg, who was the one who led all the initiations. We needed Vince and Keith, who were the ones who actually carried out the hazings back at Denver.

So with the most threatening look I could muster, I looked up at both Callum and Greg. "Let's look at it this way, boys. If you don't help me out, Wavelength isn't going to sell you anything."

Callum's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and Greg looked utterly appalled. "That's blackmail."

With a shrug, I stared back at them evenly. "I learnt from the best."

Greg and Callum exchanged looks. And while Greg still looked annoyed, Callum seemed more amused than anything, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Fine," Greg said, at last, with a resigned sigh, and we resumed our pace. "This is ridiculous, Darcy. You barely met Miles. I don't know what kind of stranger offers to help another stranger get into a fraternity without asking for anything in return."

I mulled over his words silently. Put like that, it did seem rather fishy. I knew that if my mother knew about this, she was going to add in her own word of caution. She'd tell me that I couldn't trust strangers. That this world was full of people who had hidden intentions and had the potential to stab you in the back.

But I couldn't help it. The situation with Miles was like seeing a baby bird fall out of its nest and break its wing in the process. You knew it was going to die soon anyway, but what did you do?

You picked it up anyway and tried to nurse it back to health. Only you couldn't, and you knew it was going to die in your palm of your hands someday, and you'd watch it die. Right in front of you.

It was the same with Miles. He wasn't going to be happy in Corvus. He was going to suffer. And I was going to have to watch him get pushed around by the other frat boys, watch it all with my eyes wide open.

The thought of that was sickening, but the thought of having Miles disappoint his own father was even more painful. And maybe I didn't know Miles well enough, maybe by doing this I was giving him the opportunity to stab me in the back someday.

But it didn't matter, because no matter how bad the world was sometimes, we needed to trust, blindly, and hand a stranger the knife. And trust that they would drop it and not hurt us.

So it was with these thoughts that I turned to Greg and said, simply, "I'd still help him even if he didn't offer anything in return. Besides, he did. Miles is going to teach me."

"Teach you what?"

"Science, probably – " I began, but Greg cut off with an amused chuckle.

"The art of love," he chimed in, a wide smirk on his face, and I swatted him, because this answer was just so predictable coming from him that I was hardly surprised at all.

"Shut up."

"The history of sex."

"Greg, I am one second away from slapping you." But even I couldn't keep a straight face anymore, and beside me, Callum was laughing, something he didn't do very often.

"The science of baby-making."

"Screw you."

"No – that's what you'd do to Miles."