Word: bobbed
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...executive director of MACR (whose name, like all others mentioned, has been altered) rode up in the elevator with us. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Bob,” he answered. “Where do you go to school?” “Brandeis,” he informed us. The Harvard contingent responded with nods, yes, people knew about Brandeis. “What’s your position?” Everyone had been introducing themselves as president of this or that Republican...
...Upon reaching the fourth floor, Bob ran ahead to orchestrate a massive cheer in honor of Conor—the low-brow candidate for chair of MACR, whose only competition was a Harvardian—as we entered. Our arrival invited some hissing too. Hostility hung heavy in the air. What a fantastic way to start an evening...
...Mingling was a challenge. The extraordinarily male-heavy room wasn’t opening up to us, especially after Bob decided to climb atop a coffee table and speak extemporaneously of the imperative nature of electing Conor. “What about freedom?!” I cheekily shouted out. Bob had no response, nor did the remainder of the room...
...discovered had been voted best looking on the UMass College Council had been chatting me up for quite a while (the one positive piece of gossip his friends shared), and we were standing around with a bunch of his pals from school. Bob appeared suddenly. I felt him before I saw him. His right arm had found its way around my waist, and it refused to budge...
...single?” Bob queried. “We should go out. When’s good? How about Sunday? Yes, Sunday night...