A Reputation Ch. 10 - The Vehicle

If you are a new reader to this series, where have you been? This is the final chapter! You can certainly enjoy it on its own, but it will make a lot more sense (I think), if you were to start with A Reputation 1: Cleaning Up. Regardless, as always, do not hold your breath for realism in my work. I aim to be plausibly ridiculous.

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A REPUTATION 10: THE VEHICLE

Saturday morning, my 7:30 alarm went off as usual.

The problem was, it shouldn't have. Dale and I had finished our vehicle and already had it locked up at the Mechanical Engineering building for Sunday's demonstration competition. Dale was planning on catching up on some of his other classes this morning, and I was supposed to be sleeping in. But I had forgotten, when I had finally stumbled back to Mitch's and my room in an exhausted, ball-drained state, to turn off the alarm.

Rachel and I had played in her bed for almost an hour in what we had both intended to be a gentle, relaxed 'after party'. And it was gentle, and soft, and slow, and above all quiet. Until it wasn't.

We had ended up only gathering a small crowd. I was almost insulted by the turn-out, but hey, it was Friday night. People had social lives.

I smacked my lips as I flopped back on the bed. In addition to not changing my alarm, I had also forgotten to brush my teeth.

Ew.

I flopped back to return to slumber. I'd deal with the teeth situation later. Much later.

Across the room, Mitch sat up in bed, looked over at me and asked, "So, how was your night last night?" His voice was horrifyingly awake and chipper.

Bastard had trained himself to sleep right through my early morning weekend alarms. Never stirred. The one time, I try going back to sleep... that is what wakes him up. He had gotten home after I was already asleep. I'd had the good grace to sleep through his return, and he goes and chooses this morning to disclose some evil, mutant, morning person gene.

"It was good," I said. Ugh. Talking made the teeth situation more noticeable. Beer and pussy are two flavors, especially in combination, that do not improve with a night fermenting in your mouth.

"Good? Just good? I heard that you and Rachel had another encounter, in her room, instead of the shower this time."

I sighed. He was going to get the overall story from some strand of the grapevine as soon as he got up anyway. I might as well ruin the surprise for him. "That was just the afterparty. The main event was over at Tau Beta." I groaned at my stiff joints. On the plus side, fresh air entering my mouth was actually helping things.

"You and Rachel did it at a frat party?"

"Their awful Grunge Rock cover band went on break right at the height of the festivities." I groaned again. "They put up a plaque before we were even finished."

"A Plaque?!?"

"Oh, all right. A hand-calligraphed sign. Whatever. It says, 'Shower Guy Was Here'."

It was very hard to go back to sleep with Mitch laughing his ass off, but I managed eventually.

*

I mostly hung around in or near La Floridita most of the day, doing some studying, playing a little Ultimate Frisbee in the field nearby, and brushing my teeth repeatedly.

Usually these days, my dorm-mates ignored me to my face, but whispered me about behind my back whenever I showed up. But that Saturday was different. Most people took the time to say hi when they saw me. Almost all of them wished me good luck in Sunday's vehicle demonstrations, and many told me that they planned on going with the dorm to cheer on my two-foot, paper and wood, rubber band-powered, robot car.

And a bunch had shit-eating grins on their faces when they said so.

I did not know what these wiseacres were up to, but they were up to it. And I'd find out in their good time.

As far as I was concerned, Jimmy Banks, the RA on my floor was a prime suspect as ringleader, and went to search him out. His room was locked.

"Heyyyy Will!" Came two female voices from behind me. Clementine and Helena, the two Junior room-mates who lived across from Jimmy were leaning out their door and giving me the eye.

Hoo boy.

I was honestly feeling just a little fucked out at the moment. The moment would pass, I knew, but for the moment, the moment was here. Fortunately I was saved from a definite dilemma by the fact that both had truly excellent, long-standing boyfriends. Because otherwise, I'd have been sorely tempted by either of them. And since they usually did everything together...

But just because they were spoken for, did not mean they couldn't and wouldn't vamp at me a little bit for their own amusement. Helena, for instance, did not habitually wear so many buttons undone. So very many buttons...

"Hey guys," I said casually. "Know where Jimmy is lurking this afternoon?"

"Who knows with him?" Helena said, leaning forward more than the shrug she was doing strictly needed.

"Don't worry though, Will. He's got everybody coming tomorrow," added Clemmie. "You know, to watch you make your machine do its thing..." She at least wasn't making any overt come-on gestures to me, beyond the double-entendre... unless you count pretty much openly eye-fucking me up and down. As our exchange continued, I began to worry that, boyfriends or no, these girls were working themselves up to some version of my favorite phrase, 'So, how about it?'

Thus far, I had managed to resist those words when spoken by girls who were already spoken for. I was certain I could resist either of these girls if they spoke the magic words.

But if they spoke those words together? Two tongues on my cock at the same time was a proven, exceptional experience. I was not at all sure that I could resist them both.

I punched out. "Well, shit. I really have to find him," I growled, trying to hide the deep regret that was teasing at the back of my mind. Helena's tits really were just about hanging out there in the open. "I owe him something he might need."

What Jimmy needed was a piece of my mind for whatever the entitled preppie prick had cooked up for the next morning. Meanwhile, I got out of there with the girls' suddenly dubious virtue intact.

Clemmie and Helena's harmonious good-byes sounded more amused that regretful, which I was happy to hear. Hopefully they really were just teasing me, flirting with me. Being a notorious man slut was a mildly embarrassing thing with side-effects that were often ludicrously awesome... but having other guys' girls hitting on me was not among the good ones.

I considered looking for Jimmy at the library, but then laughed at myself. Dudes like Jimmy did not study. They coasted through college in the liberal arts, getting their easy B+'s, graduating, then using their connections to bypass HR and personal assistants to go right to the CEO and get the job of their choice, because they are 'James's boy. We know him.'

The, admittedly charming and helpful, asshat was probably off hang-gliding, or yachting, or playing golf...

My feet found themselves on the stairs to the third floor before I realized what I was doing. I made the turn at the top of the stairs and poked my head into the open door of Shawn's room. She had two people in there with her, a guy and a girl I did not recognize. They were lounging around, shooting the breeze.

"Hello, Will! How are you this afternoon?" Shawn asked. Then, before I could open my mouth, she added, "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Yes, Shawn," I smirked. Then I turned other guests, who looked to be about our age, and I stuck out my hand to the guy. "I'm Will Are You Ready For Tomorrow. At least I think so. It's all Shawn has been calling me for a month..." I frowned slightly as the words left my mouth. The joke didn't quite work, but the two strangers seemed to get it, and Shawn definitely did, so I put it up on the scoreboard.

The two guests heard my name without reaction. I was pretty sure the whole university knew about Shower Guy by now, but only the actively interested ones knew unimportant details like who I was, or my actual name. These visitors appeared to be the type to blessedly not give a shit, and therefore did not put two and two together. The guy leaned forward from the bag chair he occupied and shook my hand firmly. "I'm Phil, this is my colleague Harriet."

Oh. Grad students. The 'this is my colleague' was always a give-away.

"These guys are helping me with my thesis, and we are talking about potential graduate work for me after I get my BS," Shawn said, by way of introduction.

"Mathematicians? Impressive," I said, meaning it. "I just like to make sure I manage to add and subtract correctly."

Phil liked amused, and Harriet started to give me a look like I was some kind of insectival History major or something.

"Don't let Will pull your leg," Shawn said, unexpectedly coming to my aid, bless her. "That 'tomorrow' I've been pestering him about is the ME department's Vehicle Demonstration Challenge."

Harriet's sneer turned instantly into enthusiasm. It did wonders for her appearance, making her dark eyes flash. "I did that when I was a freshman. My vehicle got third," she added smugly.

"Nice," was all I said. Third is a big deal. Especially for a frosh. Third almost always meant the machine actually worked.

"Will seems to believe that his team will do pretty well, too. He told me earlier that he hopes to place in the top three as well. That still your call?" Shawn asked. It should have been annoying that she always was questioning my confidence, but from her, I just knew that she was concerned for my ego.

Like my ego needed any support whatsoever these days...

I looked at her with a grin, but I told myself inside, do not call your shot.

Do not call your shot.

Never call your shot.

I called my shot.

"I'm feeling pretty good that we will win," I said, as matter of factly as I could. After all her coddling of my emotions, I was sure that the only way I'd be able to impress her was not just winning, but predicting it.

"Oh ho! That's pretty ballsy," Phil chortled.

"I'll bet you can multiply and divide too," Harriet added drily. She was less impressed by my bravado. Or was pissed off by it.

"I," I said archly, "am even reliably able to operate the square root button on my calculator!" On that high note, I waved goodbye and turned from the door, more light laughter behind me.

"I hope you're ready for tomorrow," Shawn called after me.

Shit. I could not go back now and interrogate her about Jimmy's nefarious plot. I'd dropped the mike and left. You don't turn around after that, go back and say, 'um, and I have a few questions, if you don't mind.'

And why, I asked myself as I bounced back down the stairs, was she so focused on whether I was ready for tomorrow? Or was she wondering if I was prepared for whatever Jimmy had cooked up?

*

Sunday, when my alarm went off, I was out of bed like a shot, ready for the day. I was clear-headed, with no hangover from booze or sex. I'd been a good boy the night before. It had been agony... There had been not one, but two opportunities, neither with any downsides, and both unlikely to present themselves a second time. A month ago, I'd have viewed either of those girls as a once in a lifetime opportunity worth chewing my leg off for, but I had held firm and went to bed by myself.

Mitch slept through my awakening, dressing and departure. Bastard.

The dining hall does not open on Sundays until 9:30, because why would it? The only people up at 7:15 on a Sunday are zealots, and people under the thumbs of the evil anti-vampires of the engineering faculty, who all explode into a cloud of dust unless they are up, having shit, showered, and shaved, by the crack of dawn. I went through our common room, used the machine there to brew a double cup of French Roast, and toasted a couple of Pop-Tarts I brought down from my desk drawer.

I met Dale at the engineering building right at eight on the dot. Most of the other competitors arrived also within plus or minus two minutes of our official start time. Precision's kind of our thing.

Ever since about 10-15 years ago, when the faculty had discovered that normal people would show up for the Vehicle Demonstration, the competition mercifully had been moved to 10:30. But we participants still were required to be there early to go over the rules and endure other last minute discussions... every single element of which we had all been over collectively, 25 times before.

The meeting was done with more than an hour before the actual start of the competition, and we all wandered off in our teams. Most pairs were feverishly having last-minute discussions, making plans or still, amazingly, working on their machines. Dale dismissed any of that last group as potential contenders, and I agreed. I looked around and there were maybe five other teams that were just sitting around like us, waiting. They were our competition.

The only tense moment for everyone was when we got the signal and everyone picked up our vehicles and carefully, oh, so carefully, carried them out in a group to the courtyard garden in front of the Mechanical Engineering building. Professor Thalmann, who thinks he is as funny as he actually is brilliant, had the idea to play the Olympic Fanfare on the portable karaoke machine he had brought to announce the teams and narrate the event to the ignorant masses who came to watch. We, to a man and woman, all felt ridiculous walking out there. But I swear to God, everybody stopped slouching.

And there was approaching an actual mass of spectators lining the garden, leaning on railings. Small clots of kids waved or called out encouragement when one team or another appeared through the doorway. It was anything but crowded, but it was a heady amount of attention for most of us. When Dale and I came through, I saw no one from my dorm, and heard no reaction other than a scattered, 'Oooh' here and there as someone recognized me as a participant. My Reputation held everywhere.

The lack of my 'supporters' did not disappoint me. It made me nervous. I was quite sure that whatever Shawn wanted me to be 'ready' for, it was not nobody showing up. I shook my head and concentrated on not dropping the vehicle. I knew of no other dorm groups that were coming to this, and I was sure someone had made mine late. Or they were doing it intentionally, to make me stew.

Dale's and my turn for our main run would come about two-thirds of the way through the morning, so we had a while to wait. I scanned the area. The garden that was the venue has two levels. There is a pond down below in the center, surrounded by a sidewalk that also allows access to doors leading into the building's basement. That level is surrounded by a circular embankment, thick with low flowers and other foliage, and there is a second walkway with hand rails circling the ridge of that slope. There is a sweeping, semi-circular ramp that curves up from the sidewalk across the pond from the building, along the left embankment, reaching the ground level sidewalk just at the entrance on the main floor.

Our little wood and paper cars had to drive themselves across the lower level sidewalk, then up the ramp, and then across the straight sidewalk up top. The idea was for it to do that without being touched more than twice by the makers after the start. Yes, it is not an easy thing to make such a vehicle, and power it with a single rubber band.

The order of participants was supposedly random, but if the first two groups were not deliberately picked by Professor Thalmann, I'll eat my hat.

The first group were two girls from my section, who were both competent but uninspired engineering prospects. They followed the basic, provided design example, built the machine well, did everything you are suggested to do... and failed gently. They ran out of power on the ramp twice, which cost them big points for each re-wind. At the top, when they took the second of their two allowed 'adjustment time-outs' to straighten out their wheels for the final, flat straightway, they broke the axel. Once they had fixed it, their vehicle crossed the finish line almost a minute and forty-five seconds beyond the allowed window.

It was a perfect example of a workman-like failure, just as most others would be.

At the start of the run, I had been scanning the assembled onlookers, waiting for my 'cheering section' to arrive. Most spectators were arrayed along the railing atop the bluff, leaning casually and looking down. Many had just been walking by and had stopped to see what was going on. Across the way, I saw a girl that I did not recognize. She stood out in the crowd, in part because parts of her stood out on her body... outstandingly, and in part because she clearly recognized my face, and knew about me. She wasn't watching the crowd, she was watching me, an openly speculative look on her plain but pretty enough face.

The second run was what many people were here for.

Caden and Kyle were also in my section, and the sooner they realized that Mechanical Engineering was not their calling, the safer it would be for all humanity. They still labored under delusions, however.

Their vehicle was decorated ridiculously, with flames and racing stripes painted all over it (quite expertly), and two cool little flags waving overhead. Maybe one or both of them should transfer to the Art department.

"They must have 300 grams of paint and accessories on that thing," Dale marveled. We had allowed ourselves 35 grams of paint for some restrained racing stripes. And we had argued about budgeting that much mass.

Caden and Kyle's little car, in all its glory, shot off far too fast across the lower flat at the start and smacked into the concrete wall at the base of the ramp. I suppose that that was one way to avoid having to figure out how to stop your car before reconfiguring it for the ramp...

The crowd oohed. I looked up for the busty chick who had been checking out Shower Guy, but she had moved on. Oh, well.

Caden and Kyle ran over to their car, which had miraculously not shattered, and carefully adjusted the steering to a marked point. They set it down, thoroughly rewound, at the bottom of the ramp, and let it go. They of course had the turn radius miscalculated, and it ran into the curb on the outside of the curb, bouncing into the air and letting all the power left in the rubber band unwind uselessly. As they sprinted up the ramp after it, having to use their second allowed touch of the vehicle too soon, I rolled my eyes upward.

And found that my boobalicious stalker had not left, but had repositioned herself along the upper level railing right over my head. In tight jeans, and a pink teeshirt tucked into the waistband, straining over her bust, she looked quite nice from the angle below. She wasn't looking at me right now, but she had to have chosen the new vantage on purpose.

The competitors had rewound, and adjusted the steering again. They let the car go.

Of course they had over-corrected the turn radius. And over-wound the rubber band.

The car shot off, turning too hard toward the right. It missed any of the vertical supports of the metal rail and shot out into the air at high speed. It curved gently through the air, like every junker car from every bad 70's TV cop show, and proved that as an aircraft, it was even worse than as a car. It plummeted down and into the pond, shattering on impact and sinking the two feet to the bottom, still visible through the murky water. Bits that came loose bobbed to the surface.

The cheers were deafening. Even Caden and Kyle laughed and high-fived sheepishly. Idiots.

I shook my head and looked upward. The girl was still there, laughing and pointing at the additional pieces of half a semester's wasted opportunity, as they bobbed to the surface.