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Nothing. So I took the coin, trying to act casual. But I’m sure I was shaking like a vibrator while trying to keep my ass cheeks together so I wouldn’t start farting again.
    No question that these guys were serious. I had no choice. So I flipped the goddamn coin. It bounced up and down on the hardwood floor like a guy jumping on a trampoline. As the bounces became shorter and shorter, even in the dim candlelight, I saw it was going to land on tails. I was going to lose! Hurriedly, I stomped my right Puma down on the coin like a Mexican crushing a cockroach. I grabbed the coin before either guy could clearly see that tails was facing upward and tried to twist it upside down as inconspicuously as possible.
    I stood up, holding the coin in the open palm of my hand. “It’s heads,” I said matter-of-factly, praying like hell that my nervous voice wouldn’t crack.
    Each of them exchanged quick glances but said nothing.
    Bookie looked at me and snickered before turning to Christianson. “I’m almost sure it was tails.” He walked across the room to the door and opened it before he turned around and looked at Christianson. “Let me think about it,” he said, before he closed the door and left.
    None of the finalists on
American Idol
could’ve been more nervous than me right then. My throat felt like I was gargling with sand and my heartbeat reverberated like Flea’s bass playing a Red Hot Chili Peppers song.
    Bookie was gone for less than a minute when another guy came in. It was the little guy with the red bandana on his head who was sipping a cup of beer. From five feet away he smelled like he fell into a vat of cheap cologne. I noticed a small, gold-loop earring in his left ear like mine.
    â€œBookie’s still thinking of blackballing this guy but said you should call it,” he told Christianson.
    The room was silent as I stared at Christianson’s expressionless face that hadn’t felt a razor for a couple of days. It was the longest ten seconds in history.
    Finally he spoke. “OK, you can pledge. But it was tails wasn’t it?”
    I shook my head and tried to deny it but no words came out.
    His tone got sharper. “Tell me the truth or you’re out of here. It was tails, wasn’t it?”
    I took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah,” I mumbled in a scratchy voice.
    He persisted. “Then you lost the flip, didn’t you?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”
    â€œFucking-A,” the guy with the bandana said angrily. “Then you’re out of here. We thought you won until you admitted it. You dumb shit!”
    Oh fuck! Now what? I could feel a nuclear fart coming on so I sat down on one of the chairs to try to silence the explosive bomb that was almost ready to be launched. My body felt paralyzed sitting there. My vision was glazed. I started gasping.
    â€œJesus Christ, he’s passing out!” the guy with the bandana yelled, grabbing hold of my right arm and yanking me out of the chair. He shoved the beer cup to my lips. “Drink this! Don’t have a goddamn stroke! Not here! I want to graduate!”
    â€œJust what we need,” Christianson muttered. “Another pledge casualty.”
    Maybe from the putrid smell of the guy’s cologne, my strength returned a little. And my hazy vision slowly began clearing up.
    The guy with the bandana asked, “You OK?”
    I nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”
    He smiled a little and held out his right hand. “Gyp Adams. The Pledge Father.”
    I didn’t move. I looked at his outstretched right hand for a second like he expected a free palm reading. Finally he lowered it. “So what?” I asked.
    â€œSo you’ve already been voted in as a pledge. The last one. And you’ve got nineteen pledge brothers.”
    I flinched like I got shocked by a jolt of electricity. “No shit?” I still didn’t believe