When my sister and I graduated from high school, we left for separate universities. She headed to a large public university with 30,000 students while I headed for a private, Jesuit university with 3,500 students. I quickly chafed under the small class sizes, conservative philosophies and the wealthy private-school mentality of the student body however, and decided late into the year to transfer to the same university as my sister and brother.

As a prospective athlete, I was able to get my application submitted and accepted despite missing the early deadlines.  Housing, on the other hand was a different matter. Though my sister was moving into an apartment with friends, I wanted to live in the residence halls for a few months to meet people and make friends unconnected to her. But I had missed all the deadlines. Because my sister, however, lived in the dorms as a first year student, she was able to sign up for a second year automatically.

Without much thought or discussion, we agreed that I would live in the dorms for the first quarter of school under her name.  When the new fall term started, I moved into the dorms and memorized my sister’s social security number, required for everything from meal plans to key rentals. Each floor was overseen by a student Resident Assistant, an RA, and each building was supervised by a Resident Director who was older and likely a graduate student.

As luck would have it, the RA on my floor, Ben, was a good friend of my sister’s, and I had met him and socialized with him several times in the previous year. He pretended not to know that I was an imposter, even though it was common knowledge among the students.

The first quarter progressed without incident until the keg party. I honestly don’t know why or how we did it, but my roommate and I hid a keg of beer in our closet and let students from our floor come in and out to refill their cups. Ben left the dorm to avoid any conflict, but somehow word made it to the Director who knocked on the door just as it was being opened by someone leaving with a full cup.

She put an immediate end to the party and let us know that if we could get the keg off of university grounds, we would not face further consequences. We quickly made arrangements to get the keg to my sister’s apartment and take the party there, which is what we did. The party lost steam, however, without the steady stream of students to liven it up, so while I was partied out and stayed at my sister’s apartment for the rest of the night, a few other students took possession of the keg and moved it back to the dorms.

The following day, when I returned to the dorms, I received a notice to appear in front of the Resident Director. Heart pounding, I reminded myself that I was my sister. We met in her office, and she asked if I knew that the keg had been seized from a student’s room on my floor. I hadn’t but wasn’t surprised. 

She then reminded me that I had assured her that the keg would leave the university. Well it had, I began, but she cut me off.

Well, it came back. Whether you were involved or not, you promised that the keg would leave the university. I’m afraid that this will have to go on your permanent record.

I nodded slowly, considering what it would say. Can’t control her liquor? Minor consuming and furnishing alcohol to other minors? Doesn’t keep her promises?

We concluded our meeting with an assurance that I would refrain from further keg parties or other infractions. I doubted that this mark on my sister’s record would ever affect her, so I didn’t feel too guilty. I didn’t feel shame or sadness. I felt only relief that I had not been discovered.

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