The Rule of Four

For a moment there's silence. It's Charlie who starts to unbutton his shirt first.

Get me out of here, he says, choking out a laugh as he pulls it off,

I yank off my jeans; Gil and Paul follow. We begin stuffing our clothes into one of the packs until it's bulging at the seams.

Can you carry all that? Charlie asks, offering to take both packs again.

I hesitate. You know there'll be proctors out there, right?

But by now Gil is beyond doubt. He begins to climb the rungs.

Three hundred naked sophomores, Tom. If you can't make it home with that kind of diversion, you deserve to be caught.

And with that, he forces open the cover, letting a gust of freezing air cascade into the tunnel. It rejuvenates Paul like a balm.

Okay, boys, Gil calls down, looking back one more time. Let's get this meat to market.

My first memory of leaving that tunnel is how bright it suddenly became. Overhead lamps lit the courtyard. Security lights fanned the white earth. Camera flashes pulsed across the sky like fireflies.

Then comes the rush of cold: the howl of the wind, even louder than the feet stomping and the voices roaring. Flakes melt on my skin like dewdrops.

Finally I see it. A wall of arms and legs, spinning around us like an endless snake. Faces pop in and out of view-classmates, football players, women who caught my eye crossing campus-but they fade into the abstraction like clips in a collage. Here and there I see strange outfits-top hats and superhero capes, artwork painted across chests of every description-but it all recedes into the great, rolling animal, the Chinatown dragon, moving to hoots and shouts and flashbulb firecrackers. Come on! Gil shouts.

Paul and I follow, mesmerized. I've forgotten what Holder is like on the night of the first snowfall.

The great conga line swallows us and for a second I'm lost even to myself, pressed tight against bodies in all directions, trying to keep my balance with a pack on my shoulders and snow underfoot. Someone pushes me from behind and I feel the zipper burst. Before I can shut it, our clothes have spilled out the top. In an instant all of them are gone, trampled in the mud. I look around, hoping Charlie's behind me to catch what's left, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Breasts and buttocks, buttocks and breasts, a young man somewhere is chanting in a cockney accent, as if he were selling flowers on the set of My Fair Lady. Across the way I see a fat junior from my lit seminar sneaking into the crowd of sophomores, belly rocking. He's wearing nothing but a sandwich board that reads free test drive on the front and inquire within on the back. Finally I spot Charlie. He's already made his way to the other side of the circle, where Will Clay, another member of the EMT squad, is wearing a pith helmet flanked with beer cans. Charlie snags it off the top of his head and the two begin chasing each other through the courtyard until I can't see them anymore.

Laughter fades in and out. In the commotion, I feel a hand grab my forearm. Let's go.

Gil yanks me toward the outside of the circle. What now? Paul says.

Gil looks around, spotting proctors at every exit. This way, I tell them.

We near one of the dorm entrances and duck into Holder Hall. A drunk sophomore opens the door to her room and stands there, confused, as if we're the ones who are supposed to greet her. She sizes us up, then raises a bottle of Corona in her hand.

Cheers. She belches, then shuts the door just in time for me to see one of her roommates warming up by the fireplace, wearing nothing but a towel.

Come on, I say.

They follow me up a flight of stairs, where I bang loudly on one of the doors.

What are you doi- Gil begins.

But before he can finish, the door opens and I'm greeted by a pair of great green eyes. The lips below them open faintly at the sight of me. Katie is dressed in a tight Navy T-shirt and a pair of weathered jeans; her auburn hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. Before letting us in, she bursts out laughing.

I knew you'd be here, I say, rubbing my hands. When I step in and hug her, the embrace is warm and welcome.

A birthday suit for my birthday, she says, looking me up and down. Her eyes are glowing. So this is why you didn't call.

As Katie backs into the room I see Paul fixated on the camera in her hand, a Pentax with a telephoto lens almost as long as her forearm.

What's that for? Gil asks when Katie turns to put the camera on a bookshelf.

Taking shots for the Prince she says. Maybe they'll print one this time.

This must be why she's not running. Katie has been trying all year to get a photo on the front page of the Daily Princetonian but the seniority system has worked against her. Now she's turned the tables. Only freshmen and sophomores have rooms in Holder, and hers overlooks the entire courtyard.

Where's Charlie? she asks.

Gil shrugs, staring down through the window. Out there playing grab-ass with Will Clay.

Katie returns to me, still smiling. How long did it take you to plan this?

I falter.

Days, Gil improvises, when I can't think of a way to explain that this whole performance wasn't for her. Maybe a week.

Impressive, Katie says. The weathermen didn't know it would start snowing until this morning.

Hours, Gil revises. Maybe a day.

Her eyes never leave me. So let me guess. You need a change of clothes.

We need three.

Katie retreats to her closet and says, Must be pretty chilly out there. Looks like the cold was starting to get to you guys.

Paul looks at her as if she can't possibly mean what he thinks. Is there a phone I could use? he asks, gathering his wits.

Katie points at a cordless on the desk. I move across the room and press up against her, pushing her into the closet. She tries to shake me off, but when I press too hard, both of us fall onto the rows of shoes, high heels in all the wrong places. It takes a second to untangle ourselves, and I stand up expecting moans from Paul and Gil. But their focus is elsewhere. Paul is in the corner, whispering into the phone, while Gil peers out the window. At first I think Gil's looking for Charlie. Then I see the proctor in his line of sight, speaking into his radio as he approaches.

Hey, Katie, Gil says, we don't need matching outfits here. Anything works.

Relax, she says, coming back with handfuls of clothing on hangers. She lays out three pairs of sweatpants, two T-shirts, and a blue dress shirt I've been missing since March. It's the best I can do on short notice.

We throw ourselves into them. Suddenly, from the entryway downstairs, the hiss of a hand radio cuts the air. The outside door to the building thuds shut.

Paul hangs up the phone. I have to get to the library.

You guys go out the back, Katie says, voice quickening. I'll deal with it.

I take her hand as Gil thanks her for the clothes.

I'll see you later? she says to me, conjuring something in her eyes. It's a look that always comes with a smile now, because she can't believe I still fall for it.

Gil groans and drags me out the door by my arm. As we duck out of the building, I can hear Katie's voice calling down to the proctor.

Officer! Officer! I need your help…

Gil turns back, eyes trained on her room. When he sees the proctor arrive in the crosshairs of Katie's leaded window, his expression lightens. Before long, as we head into the piercing wind, Holder vanishes behind a curtain of snow. Campus is nearly empty as we descend toward Dod, and any residue of the tunnels' heat seems to