He's perched on the edge of a surprisingly swank leather couch for a fraternity common room. I get annoyed every time I look at it and all the other furniture, games, and equipment that Dad bought for us last year. I thought the brothers elected me president because they believed I'd do a good job. I wasn't so sure the next day, when Dad's congratulations gifts started rolling in. "Guys," says Caspar, taking a big gulp of his favorite hoppy microbrew, "I want this pledge year to be epic, and I had this amazing idea in the shower this morning. It's un-fucking-believable. Trust me, It's going to blow your mind." Hoover, a hockey player from North Dakota with a gut that flops over his belt, emits a long, beery belch. "So tell us what it is already." Caspar's eyes shine with manic glee. "World War II. This year, the pledges can be, like, prisoners and the brothers can be Nazis. Hell night can be, like, one big death camp!" Teo Rabinowicz, the product of a Portuguese mother and a Jewish father, rolls his eyes so far back into his head that I worry they'll get stuck.
