Page 4 of Seeds of Friendship (University of Mountain Springs)

“This is depressing as fuck,” Ethan announces, kicking a pebble down the perfectly maintained sidewalk. We've been walking for twenty minutes, trying to get a feel for the neighborhood around Oak Street. Tree-lined streets, well-kept lawns, the occasional mom with a stroller.

It's nice—really nice, actually—but compared to the busyness near campus, it feels like we've moved to the suburbs. “It's peaceful,” Troy offers, though he sounds uncertain. “Good for studying?”

“It's dead,” Ethan complains. “Where are the parties? The people? Any signs of life?”

“Not everyone needs constant noise to survive,” Alfie mutters, though even he looks a bit put off by how residential everything is.

We turn the corner onto what must be the main drag—a few cafes, a used bookstore, an organic grocery that definitely charges twelve dollars for orange juice.

There's even a small park with actual grass and functioning playground equipment.

But there, propped against a pristine white fence next to someone's recycling bins, is this huge framed poster of Einstein sticking his tongue out.

“Holy shit!” Ethan rushes over. “Look at this!”

Troy's right behind him. “This is incredible. It's just... here? Like, free?”

They're examining it like they've discovered buried treasure. The frame's beat to hell and there's water damage on one corner, but Einstein's crazy hair and that ridiculous tongue are still intact. Someone probably put it out, hoping a student would take it.

“That's not art,” Alfie says, his voice dripping with disdain. “It's a mass-produced poster someone probably bought at a college bookstore for ten dollars.”

“It's Einstein, bro,” Ethan argues, already trying to pick it up. “This is going in our living room. This is our new mascot.”

“Absolutely not,” Alfie says.

“Come on, look at his face!” Troy's grinning now. “He's a genius, like you. It's perfect.”

Alfie looks offended by the comparison. “Einstein was a theoretical physicist. I'm studying geological sciences with a focus on planetary geology. Completely different fields.”

“Planetary geology?” I ask, genuinely interested despite myself. “Like, rocks in space?”

Alfie's expression shifts slightly, like he's surprised I'm actually asking. “More like understanding geological formations on other planets. Different planets' oceans, Martian mineral deposits, asteroid composition.”

“That actually sounds fascinating,” I admit.

“Understanding how the universe works, the chemistry of it all, the way elements form and interact...” I catch myself getting too enthusiastic.

“Too bad it's one of those degrees that sounds cool but doesn't actually lead anywhere job-wise. I need to go straight into industry.”

Alfie stops walking and stares at me like I've just said the Earth is flat. “Are you serious right now?”

“What?”

“Do you have any idea what mining companies pay geological consultants? Or what oil and gas companies shell out for people who can analyze formations?” He shakes his head.

“One of my father's friends runs exploration for EcoTech.

Starting salary for geo specialists is six figures.

Starting. By the time you're senior level? You're basically set for life.”

My stomach does something weird. Six figures. Starting.

“Mining companies,” I repeat slowly. “Like, actual mining?”

“Where do you think they find the deposits? Magic?” Alfie's voice is condescending but informative. “They need people who understand mineral formation, extraction viability, environmental impact assessments. It's literally where science meets money.”

Troy and Ethan are still arguing about Einstein, but I'm stuck on Alfie's words. Six figures. Set for life. Mining companies hiring science people, not just business majors.

“You considering it?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “The mining industry?”

Alfie shrugs. “Maybe. The money's insane. I’m more interested in research and the planets though. I’ll probably go down that route.”

I think about Dad's cough, the stack of bills, Mom's tired eyes. For a moment, I consider it. Switch to geological sciences or chemistry. Use what I'm actually good at. Make the kind of money that could fix everything.

But that would mean more years of school to catch up. Business is faster. Broader. I can get internships now, start making connections. I can't afford to spend time on fascinating when my family needs practical.

“Smart,” I say, shoving the thoughts aside. “But I'll stick with business. More flexibility.”

Alfie gives me a look I can't read. “Your loss. Business majors are a dime a dozen. People who understand actual science and can apply it to industry? That's where the real money is.”

“Both involve money though,” Ethan points out, still struggling with the frame. This thing's bigger than he is.

“Everything involves money,” Alfie says darkly.

While they argue, I watch Alfie dust off his jeans—designer, definitely, though he's trying to dress them down with a plain t-shirt.

His watch catches the light when he moves.

It's subtle, nothing flashy, but I know enough to recognize expensive when I see it.

The kind of expensive that doesn't need to announce itself.

They’re debating if the poster is art, but my mind's elsewhere. On possibilities I can't afford to explore. On the irony that the thing I'm actually good at could lead to the money I need, but I'm too locked into the “practical” choice to change course.

Later, maybe. After I get the business degree, get a job, get my family stable. Then I can think about what's fascinating.

For now, practical has to be enough.

“We're taking it,” Troy declares, grabbing one end of the frame. “Freddie, you agree, right?”

I look at Einstein's ridiculous face, tongue out, hair everywhere. “I mean... It's free art.”

“It's not art!” Alfie protests, but Troy and Ethan are already moving.

“You need help?” I ask, mostly to avoid walking next to Alfie. Guy still scares the shit out of me with those cold stares and that way he has of making everyone feel like idiots.

“Nah, we got it.” Ethan grunts, immediately banging the corner into a stop sign.

Alfie pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is how you all ended up without housing, isn't it? Terrible decision-making skills.”

“Says the guy who also ended up without housing,” Troy shoots back.

“That was different. My situation was... complicated.”

I wonder what 'complicated' means in rich-person speak. Parents forgot to donate a building? Butler didn't submit the forms?

We're halfway back, Einstein tucked under Troy and Ethan's arms like the world's most awkward battering ram, when Troy stops so suddenly that Ethan nearly drops his end.

“Oh, shit!”

“What?” I follow his gaze. Four guys are walking toward us, and even from here I can tell they're not freshmen.

They've got that upperclassman swagger, the kind that comes from knowing exactly where you fit in the social hierarchy.

They're all built like they live at the gym.

“What oh shit what?” Ethan asks, still struggling with Einstein.

“That's Connor Matthews,” Troy says, voice tight. “The guy I was supposed to room with. The one who wants to murder me.”

I assess the situation quickly. Four of them, four of us.

But while we might have numbers, these guys have about fifty pounds of muscle on each of us.

Troy's fit, Ethan's got an ex-quarterback build that's going soft, I'm decent from work at the gym, and Alfie.

.. well, Alfie looks like he's never thrown a punch in his life.

If this gets ugly, we're fucked.

“Don't worry, boys,” Ethan says, setting down his end of Einstein with misplaced confidence. “My charm and charisma will work like a charm.”

“Did you just use 'charm' twice in the same sentence?” Alfie mutters.

But Ethan's already stepping forward, hands up in that universal 'we come in peace' gesture. “Hey guys, beautiful day for a—”

“Hawkins.” Connor's voice cuts through Ethan's attempt at diplomacy. His eyes are locked on Troy, and the look on his face suggests that murder is still very much on the table. “Thought I smelled shit.”

His friends laugh like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.

“Connor,” Troy says, trying for casual but missing by a mile. “Hey, man.”

“Don't 'hey man' me.” Connor takes a step closer. His friends fan out slightly, boxing us in. “You've got some balls showing your face around here.”

“It's a public sidewalk,” Alfie observes, unhelpfully.

Connor's eyes snap to him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Someone who understands property law, apparently.”

Jesus Christ. The rich kid's going to get us killed with his mouth.

“Look”—I step forward, trying to salvage this—“we don't want any trouble. We're just trying to get home.”

Connor looks at me like I'm something he stepped in. “And you are?”

“His roommate,” I say, nodding at Troy. “We all are.”

“All four of you?” Connor laughs, but there's no humor in it. “What? Did the housing department put all the rejects together?”

“Actually, that's kinda accurate,” Ethan pipes up.

I want to strangle him.

“Here's what's going to happen,” Connor says, focusing back on Troy. His voice drops, all pretense of civility gone. “You're going to stay the fuck away from me. Away from my friends. Away from any party I'm at. You see me coming, you turn around and walk the other way. Got it?”

Troy's jaw clenches. For a second, I think he might actually swing—suicide, considering the four guys at Connor’s back.

“You weren’t even together with Rachel when—” Troy starts.

“Don't.” Connor's in his face now, spitting the word like venom. “Don't say her name. Don't even think it.”

The air’s thick. His boys are ready to pounce, and we’re armed with… a giant Einstein poster. World’s worst weapon.

Then Alfie moves. He steps between Troy and Connor like he’s bored of the whole thing.

Oh fuck. He’s about to get us all killed.