I was thrilled to start the school year, a drastic change from the last few years as a junior and senior in high school. Not only was I able to leave the rivalries with drama queens and kings back at home, I could choose my classes (I knocked out all my general eds), decide what time they would be at, and live in an area with a predictable weather forecast… 75 degrees with an ocean breeze. Ah, the good life! Much better than the cold, spontaneous weather over by my parent’s house.

I was lucky to receive a full ride scholarship from the University of Riceford. After I would receive my Bachelor’s, they’d stop paying for my schooling, but I’d eventually try working towards a Master’s or a Doctorate’s. I was excited to figure out what majors and minors I would follow over the next few years. I was also recruited as a soccer player on the Division One Women’s Team and eager to bring my skill to the Athletic aspects of Riceford.

One of the only things I was worried about was the dorm mates. The university required that the freshmen live on campus for the first year, then their tuition can pay for housing outside the other three years. I heard that the sophomore, junior, and senior players can be roommates, while the freshmen stay in the regular, on-campus dorms. That meant my roomie could be literally anybody, from a rock-and-roll-all-night party girl to socially awkward person who wouldn’t speak a word to me. The anticipation was killing me.

The day I moved into my dorm, my parents helped me transfer my belongings into my new room. My heart skipped multiple beats as I pulled up the elevator with my dad. He noticed my uncharacteristic silence and beamed reassuringly.

“Kiddo, you’re going to be great. It’s the first month that it’s all new, then you get used to it. You are going to make lots of new friends and you’ll have a great time with your teammates, I just know it!”

I smiled back, “Thanks, Dad. I’m going to miss you and Mom a lot.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll probably forget all about us in a month,” he winked.

I shouldered him playfully, “Then you’d better call me!”

We laughed as the elevator opened and set off for our search of a door labeled “Dorm B-27.” The lobby was MASSIVE, it almost reminded me of a large public library. They had windows that looked out on the campus on one side, and the groups of dorms were on the other, splitting into different halls. We only got lost once after asking a kid if he knew where the B dorms were. He pointed us towards the E hall instead, but we gave him the benefit of the doubt because he was on his phone.

When I first entered B-27, nobody was there. The dorm consisted of three little bedrooms, a restroom, and a kitchen/TV room big enough to stretch out on the carpetted floor. Dad and I transferred all my belongings into the room that had my name marked with a piece of paper and sharpie. I put aside looking at the other names until I’d finished putting everything away in its proper place. It was good motivation, but a big mistake.

Dad helped me move the last brown box into the dorm, then gave me a hug goodbye. He had to fly back to Mom, who was home sick in bed. I watched him leave through the window and felt a ping of sadness through the flowing adrenaline. I was officially on my own.

As I spread my sheet on the dorm mattress, I heard the door to the living room open. Looking back on this moment from later years, I now realize I probably should have greeted and introduced myself to them, but, instead, I continued sorting through my covers. My back was to the door, so I didn’t get to see which room they had entered into.

I opened a small box of gouache paints, painting tape, brushes, and a few thick, backup sketchbooks (HUGE stress relievers for me, I call gouache painting my “therapy medium”). I stood up to put the box of happiness on my new desk when I saw a young lady with wavy black hair and the prettiest eyes of jade outside my door. We made eye contact for a second and I smiled shyly.

“Hey! I’m Calista, but you can call me Cali! What’s your name?”

All the stress I had about dorm mates momentarily vanished: this girl was super nice!

“I’m Jazzlyn, I go by Jazzi. Where are you from?”

Just as Cali was about to reply, another person opened the door. Her trendy, blond hair stuck out from her hot pink beanie. I could recognize that “do” from a mile away. I glanced at the paper on the unoccupied room door to triple check that my worst nightmares had come true.

There it was, in permanent ink:

Georgina Barlow, the prom and drama queen of Leland High.

Well, at least I had one good roommate