Page 7 of Seeds of Friendship (University of Mountain Springs)

“No fucking way.”

“Come on, man!” Ethan's practically on his knees in our living room, hands clasped like he's praying to the patron saint of bad decisions.

Alfie groans, not looking up from his geology textbook.

“Dude, it has to be you,” Troy insists.

Let me explain. Since our strategy meeting at CC's, we've been brainstorming how to get girls to come to our party. Turns out, we have to use ourselves. Like meat. Premium grade-A freshman meat.

The revelation came yesterday when we were walking back from lunch. Alfie had split off to go to the geology building, and we watched three girls literally stop mid-conversation to stare at him crossing the quad.

“Holy shit, that's Alfie Spencer,” one had whispered, not quietly enough.

“He's so freaking hot,” her friend had added. “Like, murderously hot.”

“I heard he's completely antisocial though. Never hooks up with anyone.”

“That just makes him hotter.”

“I bet you could win him over, Bri.”

“Ugh, I wish.”

Troy, Ethan and I had exchanged looks.

“These girls are crazy. How do they already know so much about him?”

Ethan shrugged. “It’s normal; the hot people always get singled out and gossiped about.”

That's when we knew—Alfie was our secret weapon. Mysterious, brooding, looks-like-he-could-murder-you-but-in-a-hot-way Alfie Spencer.

The plan is simple: Troy's got that all-American golden boy thing, Ethan's got the loveable goofball energy, I've got my whole charming bastard routine down.

But Alfie? All he has to do is let a couple of strategic gossips know he'll be at the party and—this is the crucial part—that he's apparently “looking for a girlfriend.”

“I would never,” Alfie says now, his voice dripping with disgust. “I don't hook up with people like that. It's not my style.”

“Please, man,” Ethan begs, and fuck me, he actually looks desperate. “Look, I need this. I was the king at my high school. Please don't let me fall down the social ladder. This is the only favor I'll ever ask.”

Alfie stares at him for a long moment. Ethan's basically prostrating himself on our questionable carpet.

“Fucking hell, fine!” Alfie snaps. “I'll help. But I'm not hooking up with any of these vapid girls.”

“You don't have to actually—” Troy starts.

“This whole thing is stupid,” Alfie interrupts. “We can still go to parties. It's not like we're actually banned from campus.”

Troy winces. “About that...”

We all turn to look at him.

“Connor's brother Roland is actually kind of a huge deal on campus.

He's in Alpha Pi alumni leadership or some shit. And apparently...” Troy pulls out his phone, showing us something that makes my blood boil.

“He's got pictures of all our faces. He's telling all the frats not to let us into their parties.”

“Fuck sake, Troy!” Alfie explodes. “Keep it in your pants!”

“It wasn't my fault!” Troy protests. “Rachel said they were broken up! How was I supposed to know Connor was planning some grand gesture to win her back?”

“By not sleeping with her immediately?” Alfie suggests.

“She came onto me!”

“And you just couldn't say no?”

“Have you seen Rachel?” Troy asks. “She's basically a Victoria's Secret model mixed with a PhD student.”

“I don't care if she's Aphrodite herself,” Alfie says. “Your inability to keep your dick to yourself has fucked all of us.”

“Okay, okay,” I intervene before this gets uglier. “What's done is done. We can't unfuck Rachel—”

“Gross,” Ethan mutters.

“—so we need to focus on the solution. Alfie, you just have to mention, to like two people, that you'll be at our party. That's it. Let the rumor mill do the rest.”

“This is beneath me,” Alfie says.

“Your entire existence is beneath you, according to you,” Ethan points out.

Alfie glares at him, but there's less venom than usual. “Fine. But I choose who I tell, and if anyone asks, I'm not 'looking for a girlfriend.' That's pathetic.”

“What should we say instead?” Troy asks, already strategizing.

“That I'll be there,” Alfie says simply. “That should be enough.”

The arrogance would be annoying if he wasn't probably right. I've already heard three different girls in my business class discussing whether Alfie's “dangerous or just damaged.”

“So we're really doing this,” Troy says. “Operation Save Our Social Lives.”

“We need a better name,” Ethan insists.

“We need alcohol,” I correct. “Lots of it. And good music. And food that doesn't suck.”

“I can cook,” Troy offers.

“I can get speakers,” Ethan adds. “My cousin's a DJ. Well, he thinks he is. But he has equipment.”

“I'll handle the alcohol,” I say. “Made some connections at the gym with seniors.”

We all look at Alfie.

“What?” he asks.

“What's your contribution?” Troy prompts.

Alfie sighs deeply, like we're asking him to donate a kidney. “I'll mention the party to Jessica Chen and Miranda Walsh. They're the biggest gossips in my Advanced Calculus class. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Ethan says, grinning.

“If this doesn't work,” Alfie warns, “I'm transferring. To a different school. Possibly a different country.”

“If this doesn't work,” I counter, “we'll all be transferring. Because four years as social pariahs? That's not happening.”

“Not on my watch,” Troy agrees.

“Bros before banishment,” Ethan adds solemnly.

We all stare at him.

“I'm working on the catchphrase,” he defends.

But despite the banter, there's real desperation underneath. We all know what's at stake. This party isn't just a party—it's our shot at having an actual college experience.

No pressure or anything.