Page 1 of Seeds of Friendship
1
The University of Mountain Springs Housing Services office reeks of desperation and industrial carpet cleaner. I’m sprawled across two chairs—because screw it, no one’s happy to be here at 8:00 AM on move-in day.
I should be unpacking in Crawford Hall with my boy Jake, from my high school Instead, I’m stuck here because I thought he was handling the paperwork for both of us.
Yeah. Dumb assumption.
But ditching admin soundedgreat, so I didn’t question it.
Turns out neither of us submitted my application.
So here I am, homeless on day one of college, sitting with what looks like every other freshman who spectacularly fucked up the one thing we had all summer to figure out.
The door opens again, slowly, deliberately, like whoever's behind it is already annoyed they have to be here. In walks this guy in all black—expensive black, the kind that costs more than my entire wardrobe. He doesn't acknowledge me, just takes a number and sits in the corner, pulling out his phone. Everything about his body language screams 'don't talk to me.' Dark hair, darker expression, moves like he's trying not to touch anything.
Fine by me, buddy. I’ve got my own issues today.
The door bangs open again and this guy walks in looking like he stepped out of a J.Crew catalog—blonde, tan, probably named something like Dan or Brett. He's got that easy confidence that usually means daddy's money or quarterback status.
Maybe both.
“Hello…Darline. I was wondering if you could help me with a little housing emergency?” he asks the exhausted-looking student worker behind the desk, flashing a smile that's way too bright for this hour.
“Take a number and wait,” she drones without looking up.
He grabs a ticket and turns, scanning the room.
His eyes land on me and there's this split-second evaluation—the kind guys do when they're figuring out if you're competition or not. I give him a lazy two-finger salute.
“Rough morning?” he asks, taking the chair across from me.
“Forgot to apply,” I admit. “You?”
He winces. “I was paired with somebody I cannot possibly room with. Guy from my hometown. There was this... incident with his ex-girlfriend.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Total misunderstanding, but try explaining that to someone who already wants to punch you.”
I can't help but laugh. “That's rough, man.”
“Yeah, well. I was so freakin’ pumped I got that dorm too. I spent three months researching the perfect set up. Made spreadsheets with fifteen different factors. Proximity to dining halls, gym access, noise levels, bathroom-to-resident ratio...” He counts on his fingers. “But all that requires actually having a roommate who doesn't want me dead.”
“Jesus.”
“Troy,” he corrects, grinning. “But close. The ladiesdocurse my name.”
What a douche.
The door opens one more time and in stumbles this massive dude who looks like he just rolled out of someone else's bed. Red-blonde hair sticking up everywhere, yesterday's clothes, definitely still drunk or severely hungover.
“Is this housing?” He squints at the fluorescent lights.
“Nah, this is the campus massage parlor,” Troy says. “Happy endings are extra.”
The guy processes this for way too long before laughing. “Fuck, that'd be nice right about now.” He collapses into a chair, immediately putting his head between his knees. “I think I'm dying.”
“What happened to you?” I ask.
He looks up, eyes bloodshot. “Started celebrating getting into UMS. Three months ago. Haven't really stopped?” He grins like this is an accomplishment. “I'm Ethan. I definitely filled out housing forms at some point, but I think I might've been”—he makes a vague gesture—“you know. And maybe sent them to the wrong email. Or didn't send them. I don’t even know.”
Troy and I exchange a look. This guy's a disaster.
