Page 8 of Seeds of Friendship
By 9 PM, I'm convinced Troy might actually be a wizard.
Our empty house has transformed into something resembling an actual party setup. He's borrowed speakers from someone (“Don't ask,” he said), turned our sketchy living room lighting into something “atmospheric” with a few lamps and Christmas lights he found in the basement, and somehow manifested three cases of beer, plus a handle of vodka.
“Where did you even get all this?” I ask, watching him arrange solo cups in perfect formations.
“I know people.” He adjusts a lamp. “Also, Venmo exists and freshmen are eager to contribute to the party fund when hot girls are confirmed.”
“You charged people?”
“Investment opportunity. They pay twenty bucks, they get unlimited drinks and social connectivity.” He grins. “It's basically networking.”
Ethan stumbles down the stairs, looking marginally human after his three-hour recovery nap. He's changed into jeans and a UMS shirt, hair still damp from the shower.
“I might survive this,” he announces.
“That's the spirit we're looking for,” Troy says, handing him a beer. “Hair of the dog, my friend.”
“If I die, I'm haunting this house.”
“Get in line,” Alfie calls from upstairs.
The doorbell rings at 9:47, which seems weirdly early until Troy opens it to reveal Jessica and Brittany with about six other girls.
“We brought friends!” Jessica announces, like this is a gift.
“Perfect,” Troy says, ushering them in. “Mi casa es su casa. Drinks in the kitchen, music wherever, don't go in the bedrooms unless invited.”
The girls scatter, exploring the house with that freshman excitement about being at their first college party. Brittany makes a beeline for me.
“Your house is so cool,” she says. “Way better than the dorms.”
“We lucked out.” I hand her a drink. “You guys settling in okay?”
She launches into a story about her roommate situation that I'm half-listening to because more people are arriving. Word travels fast, apparently—within an hour, our house is actually full.
Troy's in his element, somehow knowing everyone's name instantly, making introductions, keeping drinks flowing. Ethan's rallied remarkably, holding court in the corner with some story about his Uber ride from Connecticut that has people crying with laughter.
Even Alfie's made an appearance, leaning against the kitchen doorway with a beer, observing everything with that expression that makes him look like he's conducting a social experiment.
“Your roommate's intense,” some guy says to me, nodding at Alfie.
“Which one?”
I'm getting another beer when I overhear two girls by the kitchen doorway.
“The dark-haired one's actually kind of sexy,” one says. “In like a mysterious, might-murder-you way.”
I glance over at Alfie, still leaning against the wall, observing everything. Yeah, I can see it. The whole brooding intensity thing works for some people.
“You're Freddie, right?”
I turn to find this girl—short, curves in all the right places, wearing a crop top that's doing its job.
“Yeah, you?”
“Mia.” She moves closer, that universal signal of interest. “This your house?”
“Me and three other guys, yeah.”
