Fenno stepped out of the Hark doors only to be slapped by a sharp flurry of icy wind. “Burr!” Fenno shivered, flipping up the collar of her brand new pea coat. “Thank God for wool and Land’s End,” she thought burying her head and dashing for Pound Hall. Shoving open the door, Fenno almost knocked over Erika Harold. “Pardon me,” Fenno stammered. “Humph,” Erika replied giving Fenno the once over. Then she looked at the door as if expecting Fenno to open it for her. “Get it yourself, Princess,” Fenno grumbled underneath her breath, feeling more than just a bit upset that she hadn’t squashed her with the door.
“Hola, Fenno.” Fenno looked up. It was Gabriel Hernandez Scannapieco, aka Gabe.
“Hi, Gabe,” Fenno said cheerily. Gabe had the best parties with the most liquor, which was always key for hooking up with a Harvard hottie. “When’s the next party?” Fenno asked desperately.
“I’m not sure,” Gabe replied. “We’re still trying to clean up whatever it is that someone left for us in the bathtub last time.”
“Too bad,” Fenno replied with a wave as she headed off down the hall. Fenno faintly remembered something about Gabe’s bathtub and some guy from the Kennedy School of Government. However, Gabe hadn’t asked, and Fenno wasn’t going to tell. Just then, Fenno walked by Lawrence VanDyke and Brock Taylor. They both looked wasted. But Fenno doubted that would ever be true. “Fenno!” Lawrence yelled, grabbing Fenno with his massive man-paws.
“Hey, Lawrence,” Fenno replied tentatively. “What’s going on?”
“We just had some root beer floats upstairs. They sure were swell! So much sugarrrrrrrr!” Brock answered, looking like a three-year-old the day after Halloween. Fenno would have sworn she heard Brock hiccup. “Root beer?” Lawrence said in that confused voice of his. Lawrence always sounded confused, but Fenno thought it was just a ploy he used to make his controversial viewpoints appear excusable. “I didn’t know we was supposed to be a usin’ root beer?!?” Fenno squiggled out of his grip and crept off down the hall. Glancing over her shoulder, Fenno could see Lawrence fall to the stairs as Brock slapped him over and over with what appeared to be a Bible. “I can’t wait to get the hell out of here,” Fenno thought. “This place just kept getting weirder and weirder.”
Then, as if on cue, Pierre-Luc Arsenault brushed by Fenno. “Sowwy, Fenno. I muss get too Wassing-ton,” he screeched as he fled by. Fenno stumbled, but was caught on the way down by yet another lumbering law student.
“I must apologize for Pierre, Fenno.” It was Kevin Plummer. Fenno’s favorite Federalist, and current President of the Harvard Federalist Society.
“Geez, what’s his problem?” Fenno asked, more amused than angry. “We’re off to the Federalist Society’s National Lawyers Convention. Pierre, wants to be at the airport at least three hours early. You know, because of his accent he gets hassled pretty bad by airport security.”
“Sure, I could see that,” Fenno stated. “What will you be doing at this convention?” Fenno was always curious as to the going-ons of the Federalists, especially now that Bush had bought himself another four years in the Whitehouse. Kevin seemed surprised.
“Why we’ll be praising the Dark Lord for delivering our king his victory over Kerry, of course!” He almost sounded offended.
“Satan?” Fenno whispered in a nervous conspiratorial tone. Kevin begin to laugh uncontrollably.
“No, Fenno” he replied as if speaking to an ignorant child. He strode off to catch-up with Pierre, who was bouncing up and down at the end of the hall as if he’d had too much to drink and was going to wet his pants. “Clarence Thomas, of course.” Then he was gone. Fenno just shook her head. Justice Thomas couldn’t write his way out of a third grade essay contest on the bald eagle. The Federalists were losing ground fast with Fenno.
Today was really not going to be good. Fenno just knew it. As Fenno began to climb the stairs of Austin Hall, she noticed a Marine in full regalia, including the sword, standing at the top of the stairs. What was this? Had President Bush declared marshal law?!? Fenno froze and gasped as the Marine turned towards her. It was too late! He had spotted Fenno. Fenno almost lost her lunch when she noticed it was just Scott Smith, the Law School’s best-known Marine. “Fenno!” Scott’s voice boomed. He always seemed glad to see people.
“Hi,” Fenno said, doing a bladder check. Now might be the time to visit the Mental Health Services and talk about getting that little purple pill, or was that for acid-reflux disease? Fenno was way too wound up. “Scott, why are you in uniform?” Fenno inquired, still in shock.
“Lest we forget,” he said seriously. Fenno once again saddened. Fenno was disgusted to realize that in all the election hype, she’d forgotten today was Veteran’s Day.
“Of course,” Fenno said. Fenno stepped outside, and began to dial her Dad’s number on her cell. Fenno just wanted to thank him for his service to this country. Fenno attempted to sound cheery when he answered despite her sorrow for all the servicemen currently on duty in Iraq.
“Thank you,” Fenno managed despite the lump in her throat.
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