The Panty Raid Read Online Free Page A

matched to the university’s colors, and the team’s wily mascot adorned the walls. The place was busy, noisy, hectic. But there was an exuberance that was pure optimism. Perhaps because all of the customers were college kids, relaxing among friends.
    Since all the tables were filled, he led her to the long marble counter and helped her up on one of the dark green vinyl stools. The soda jerk came over with a rag and wiped the area in front of them.
    “What’ll ya have?” the guy asked Brantly
    Her escort turned to look at Dot, his eyes narrowing. “Hmm, should I try to guess?” he asked.
    Dot laughed lightly. “You can try,” she told him. “Well, an ordinary girl would probably go for vanilla malted,” he said. “But you, Miss Wilbur, have never impressed me as an ordinary girl.”
    He hesitated. She gave no hints.
    “Cherry-pineapple shake?” he suggested.
    “Not even close,” she answered. “Chocolate-coconut malt,” she told the soda jerk.
    He nodded and turned to Brantly “You?”
    “Just bring me an extra straw,” he said, laying his shiny quarter on the counter. “I think I’ve got a lot to learn about Miss Wilbur. Do I have to keep calling you that? Miss Wilbur.”
    “That’s my name,” she said. “You don’t like it?”
    “It doesn’t suit you,” he said. “It sounds like some dried-up old maid.”
    “Ah...well, we among the dried-up prefer the term spinster," she said.
    “I prefer the term sweetheart ,” he told her. “But I’m not sure you’d be willing to let me call you that.”
    “No, not hardly,” she stated flatly. “You can call me Dot.”
    “Okay, Dot,” he said, “you can call me Hank, as long as you call me.”
    His mischievous grin made the words seem charming rather than bluster. She chose to ignore them.
    “So, how did your session go with the dean?” she asked him. “I suppose that bringing me here means you weren’t restricted to your dorm.”
    “No, that would have been cruel and unusual punishment,” he said. “I requested a firing squad at dawn. They give you a last cigarette, you know. It’s the only time we get to smoke on campus.”
    The solemnity feigned in his explanation brought a burst of laughter from her throat.
    “No seriously, what happened?”
    “Well, the truth is, it’s worse than execution. We’re being punished by party making.”
    “What?”
    “The dean wants the men of Baldridge to learn how to interact with ladies in a more socially acceptable manner,” Hank explained. “So we’re required to hold a formal dance and invite the ladies of Compton to attend.”
    “Oh, my gosh!” Dot said.
    “And it gets worse.”
    “How?”
    “Because some snitch, under torture no doubt, revealed that I was the ringleader of the panty raid,” he said. “I’ve now been drafted as dance committee chairman.”
    “Oh, no!”
    “Oh, yes,” Hank said.
    Dot was really laughing now. The image in her mind of the loud, clumsy, boisterous residents of Baldridge
    Hall sedately sipping punch and passing plates of petits fours was too funny to keep a straight face.
    “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” he said. “To me it’s similar to the feeling of having cold water doused on my head.”
    Dot put her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stifle the hooting that threatened to break out.
    “I’m sorry,” she managed. “Not for defending my dorm, but for imagining your punishment to be a great joke. I’m sure you guys will give a lovely party.”
    He nodded with a sham of solemnity. “Yes, it will be charming, no doubt. What do you think, gardenias or chrysanthemums for the table decoration?”
    “It depends on what time of year you plan it for.” “It’s got to be before Thanksgiving break,” he said. “Then autumn leaves would be your best bet.”
    “See, that’s just one of those basic things that a guy doesn’t think about,” Hank said. “I told the dean I thought it would be impossible.”
    “What did he