Page 1 of Seeds of Friendship (University of Mountain Springs)

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 sounded great, 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 ladies do curse 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.

“Friendly,” Troy nods his head towards the guy dressed in black.

“Maybe he's mute,” Ethan suggests, too loud.

The guy's eyes flick up, cold as fuck. “Maybe I just don't feel like making friends with idiots who can't handle basic paperwork.”

“Whoa.” Ethan holds up his hands. “Harsh, but fair. The same applies to you too bro.”

He scowls at Ethan.

“I'm Troy.” Troy tries again, because apparently, he's immune to social cues. “That's Freddie, and the dying one is Ian.”

“It’s Ethan,” the red-haired boy corrects, sounding exactly like he is, in fact, dying.

“Right.”

The guy stares at Troy for a long moment. “Alfie,” he finally says.

An awkward silence settles over the room. Ethan's head is back between his knees. Troy's tapping his foot. Alfie's aggressively reading something on his phone. And I'm wondering how the fuck I ended up here.

“So,” Troy says, because he obviously can't handle silence, “anyone else's parents freaking out about the housing situation?”

“My dad doesn't know yet,” Ethan mumbles from between his knees. “Gonna be a fun conversation. 'Hey Dad, remember that football scholarship I gave up? Well, I also can't figure out housing. But I'm doing great at college!’”

There's something in his voice—a crack that suggests this goes deeper. But before anyone can respond, Alfie snorts.

“My parents don’t even realize it’s move-in day.”

It comes out bitter, loaded. Troy and I exchange another glance.

“Number fifteen?” The housing worker calls out, sounding dead inside.

That's me. I stand, and she waves me over to her desk, which is covered in empty coffee cups and what looks like a shrine to caffeine addiction.

“Name?”

“Freddie Donovan.”

She types, frowns, types more. “You're not in the system.”

“Right, that's why I'm here.”

She sighs like I've personally ruined her life. “Freshman?”

“Yeah.”

“Late application?”

“Didn't actually apply.”

She stops typing and looks at me. Really looks at me. “You didn't apply for housing? At all?”

“It's been a weird summer.”

Another sigh. She goes back to typing. “We have one option. There's a house—usually for upperclassmen, but we had a group withdraw last minute.”

“Perfect—”

“It's a four-bedroom. You'd need to fill all four spots.”

I look back at the three guys in the waiting room. Troy's attempting to make conversation with a stone-faced Alfie. Ethan appears to be asleep sitting up.

“What if I don't know three other people?”

She looks at me over her glasses. “Then you find off-campus housing. Good luck with that on move-in day.”

Fuck.

I head back to the waiting room. “So, uh, weird question...”

Twenty minutes later, we're all standing in the housing office while the worker—Kelly, according to her name tag—explains our options with the enthusiasm of someone describing their own funeral.

“It's a four-bedroom house on Oak Street. Full kitchen, two bathrooms, and a living room. Usually reserved for seniors, but”—she shrugs—“I guess you guys are lucky.”

“We'll take it,” Troy says immediately.

“We will?” Alfie looks horrified.

“You got a better option?” Troy shoots back.

“Living alone. Literally anywhere else. A cardboard box.”

“Look,” I interrupt, “none of us are thrilled about this. But it's this or sleeping in our cars.”

“I don't have a car,” Ethan pipes up, slightly more conscious now. “Took an Uber here. Cost me a fortune.”

We all stare at him.

“It seemed like a good idea earlier,” he defends.

Kelly slides papers across the desk. “If you're doing this, I need signatures now.”

“We won’t be staying in it,” I reply. “We just need somewhere to live this year. Then next year, we’ll find somewhere else that’s more…suitable.” The idea of staying in a house with these three guys any longer than necessary is enough motivation to sort out housing early.

Troy grabs a pen first. “Fuck it. Can't be worse than the guy who wants my head.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alfie mutters, but he signs too.

Ethan signs without even reading it.

“Thank you,” Kelly murmurs to us all.

I stare at the paper. A year with these three strangers. A guy who compares himself to Jesus. A walking hangover. And someone who looks like he might murder us in our sleep.

“The house comes furnished,” Kelly adds. “The house is yours for the full year, renewable too if you want to stay in it. You’ll get first dibs.”

“We definitely won't need that,” Alfie says quickly.

“God no,” Ethan agrees.

Troy nods. “Obviously.”

I sign the paper.

Kelly hands Troy the keys. “Oak Street. Big white house. Try your best to look after it, ok?”

We walk out together, awkward as fuck. Four strangers who just agreed to live together because we're all too incompetent to handle basic adult tasks. Literally, the first challenge since flying the nest and becoming adults.

“So,” Troy says, jingling the keys, “who’s up for seeing the bone zone?”

“I need to throw up first,” Ethan announces.

“Charming,” Alfie says.

This is going to be a long fucking year.