I nodded along. Took notes in my phone. Packed my pepper spray next to my extra-long twin sheets.
Because the real rule of college isn’t about avoiding trouble. College Rules - Lucky Fucking Freshman
I met him at the “Welcome Back” house party during syllabus week. I was nursing a truly disgusting hard seltzer, wearing a sundress that was probably too short for September, and trying to remember the name of the girl from my Psych 101 lecture. I nodded along
Let’s get one thing straight: I didn’t believe the hype. Because the real rule of college isn’t about
“I look sober,” I said. “There’s a difference.”
But nobody warned me about him . His name is Cole. Junior. Rugby player. Has that effortless messy hair that looks like he just rolled out of someone else’s bed. He was my RA’s friend—which should have been my first red flag. RAs are supposed to be the fun police, not the pimps of the third floor.
If you have to hide it, you already know it’s a bad idea. The Night The party was at an off-campus house with a broken step and a disco ball in the kitchen. Cheap vodka. Loud rap. Someone’s sad attempt at a beer pong table.