Page 3 of Seeds of Friendship (University of Mountain Springs)

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.”

“Must be fun.” She's got this smile that suggests she's thinking about exactly what kind of fun. “I bet you have a nice room.”

I'm about to respond with something that'll definitely lead to showing her that room when there's a crash from the living room, followed by retching sounds.

“Shit.” I spot Ethan on his hands and knees by the coffee table. “Hold that thought.”

I push through to find Ethan looking green, Troy already there with paper towels.

“I need pizza.” Ethan moans. “Please. Fast. I'm dying.”

“You're not dying,” Troy says, but he's already pulling out his phone. “Same order as earlier?”

“Extra cheese,” Ethan pleads. “And those breadsticks. The ones with garlic.”

Alfie appears, surveying the damage. “He needs air. And water. And probably a bucket.”

Somehow, we end up manoeuvring Ethan outside to the front steps. Troy's ordered pizza to be delivered ASAP, Alfie's forced two bottles of water on Ethan, and I'm sitting there making sure he doesn't fall over.

“You guys are good people,” Ethan slurs suddenly.

“You're drunk,” Alfie points out.

“No, I mean it.” Ethan looks at each of us with drunk sincerity.

“I was gonna be a football star, you know? Full ride. Then I fucked up my shoulder sophomore year of high school and...” He waves vaguely.

“Now I don't know what I'm doing. My dad thinks I'm a failure. Maybe I am. But you guys took me in.”

The silence is awkward as hell.

“You literally had no other housing option,” Alfie says.

“Still.” Ethan nods sagely. “I think I'm in love.”

Troy laughs. “With who? Jessica already?”

“Nah.” Ethan grins sloppily. “With you guys. You're my boys now.”

“Jesus, he's really drunk,” I mutter, but there's something weirdly touching about his drunken confession.

“I mean it,” Ethan continues. “Troy, you're like... organized and shit. And Alfie, you're scary but I think you care deep down—deep, deep down. And Freddie...” He points at me. “You left a hot girl to help me. That's brother behavior.”

“The pizza's almost here,” Troy says, clearly uncomfortable with the emotion. “Just... try not to puke again.”

“No promises.” Ethan leans back against the steps. “This is nice though. Sitting here. With my boys.”

“We're not your boys,” Alfie says, but there's less bite to it than usual.

“You will be,” Ethan says confidently. “Give it time.”

The pizza arrives and we sit on our front steps, four strangers sharing breadsticks while the party continues inside without us. Ethan demolishes three slices and immediately looks better.

“Shit,” I say, remembering. “I left Mia inside.”

“The hot girl?” Troy asks. “She left like ten minutes ago. Said to tell you nice party, though.”

“Fuck.”

“Plenty more where she came from,” Troy assures me. “College is just starting.”

“Besides,” Ethan adds, mouth full of pizza, “bros before hoes.”

“Never say that again. It's so outdated,” Alfie says with genuine disgust.

“Bros before... ladies?”

“Stop talking.”

But we're all kind of smiling now, even Alfie. There's something about sitting on these steps, eating pizza with these idiots while our party rages inside, that feels like the actual beginning of something.

“We should probably get back in there,” Troy says eventually. “Make sure no one's destroying our house.”

“Five more minutes,” Ethan pleads. “This is nice.”

And weirdly, it kind of is.

“Fine,” Troy agrees. “But if the cops show up, I'm blaming all of you.”

“Deal,” we all say in unison, then look at each other, surprised.

Maybe Ethan's right. Maybe we will be boys. Eventually.