Chapter Six: The Friday Shift

By eight o'clock, the quiet, structural order of Vance Hall had completely disintegrated. A Friday night on a college dorm floor has its own distinct soundtrack—the muffled, low vibration of bass echoing through heavy wooden doors, the sharp clink of glasses against cheap laminate desks, and the chaotic chorus of girls laughing and calling out down the hallway as they traded makeup palettes.

​Inside Room 304, the pastel pink accents and light blue velvet pillows were completely buried under a sea of discarded hangers, leather jackets, and half-empty bottles of setting spray.

​"If we miss the window for the surge pricing, we are walking, and I am not navigating three blocks of broken campus brick in these heels," Talia declared. She was standing in front of our full-length mirror, adjusting a sleek, backless black mini dress that hugged every curve perfectly. She'd left her hair down, her laid edges transitioning into a voluminous, glossy blowout that bounced every time she moved. She looked effortlessly striking, carrying that precise, high-maintenance energy of a girl who knew exactly how attractive she was and didn't care who felt intimidated by it.

​Bianca was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking completely unbothered as she clipped a heavy silver hoop into her ear. Thanks to a childhood spent running through her dads' boutique shopping mall in Connecticut, her wardrobe execution was always devastatingly precise. She'd gone for an olive green leather corset top paired with low-rise black cargo pants and pristine thick-soled sneakers—a look that perfectly balanced high fashion with practical party survival. Her dark hair was slicked back into a sharp, structural high ponytail that looked like it belonged on a runway.

​"The Uber is four minutes away, calm down," Bianca murmured, her eyes sliding over to me. "Kelsey, stop staring at the lip glosses and pick one. We need to move."

​I took one last look in the mirror. I'd settled on a cropped, ribbed cream tank top that showed just a hint of waist, paired with high-waisted, wide-leg dark denim that pooled perfectly over my white platform sneakers. To tie it together, I threw an oversized vintage leather bomber jacket over my shoulders, letting it hang slightly off one arm. My deep brown curls were out in full force—wild, hydrated, and tumbling over my shoulders with a life of their own, held back just at the temples by two simple silver clips.

​Before we could even step toward the door, I snatched my phone off the desk, my screen already open to the camera. "Wait, wait, do not move! We are not wasting this lighting."

​Talia instantly pivoted, her internal radar locking onto the lens as she struck a pose that looked ready for an editorial spread. Bianca rolled her eyes but stepped into the frame anyway, tossing her arm around my shoulder. I held the phone up high, tilting my head to let my curls fall perfectly over the leather jacket, snapping three rapid-fire 0.5x selfies. Then, I flipped it to the main camera, leaning back against the closet door for a quick full-body outfit check video, making sure the pastel pink and blue aesthetics of the room hit the background just right. I posted the best one to my close friends' story with a simple digital clock widget. If it wasn't on the grid, did the night even actually happen?

​"Locked in," I said, slipping the phone into my back pocket. "Let's go."

​The off-campus student street was pure, unfiltered chaos. Rows of historic, slightly dilapidated colonial-style houses stretched down the dark avenue, their front porches glowing with cheap neon beer signs and red strobe lights. The air out here was thick with the scent of cheap vape smoke, burnt cannabis, and the distinct, crisp autumn chill. Groups of students were stumbling along the cracked sidewalks, holding plastic cups, while the heavy, thumping bass from three different house parties blurred together into one massive, vibrating wall of sound.

​When our Uber pulled up outside the basketball team's house, the scene on the front lawn looked like a festival gate. The porch was packed to maximum capacity, people leaning over the wooden railings with red cups in hand, while a dense, frustrating line of freshmen clogged the steps, waiting for the house residents to check student IDs.

​My phone buzzed in my palm. It was a Snapchat notification from malik_thompson.

Don't bother with the front steps. Come through the side gate by the driveway, kitchen door is open.

​"Follow me," I told the girls, shifting my leather jacket as we bypassed the massive crowd on the lawn, walking down the dark gravel driveway.

​We slipped through the wooden side gate, pushing open the heavy screen door to the kitchen. The transition was instant. The interior of the house was warm, humid, and completely alive. The kitchen smelled like spilled vodka, cranberry juice, and modern cologne. A group of upperclassmen were crowded around a large kitchen island, aggressively arguing over a speaker playlist, while a guy in a varsity jacket was trying to crush ice with the butt of a silver cocktail shaker.

​We cut straight through the kitchen drift into the main living room, and the bass hit me right in the chest. The furniture had been pushed entirely against the walls, creating a dark, crowded, sweat-slicked dance floor lit only by a rotating blue strobe light.

​"Oh, absolutely," Talia murmured, her eyes lifestyle-locking onto a tall, sharp-jawed guy standing near the hallway—the same athlete she'd been tracking with her eyes in the cafeteria two days ago. She didn't even look back at us, her charm clicking into overdrive as she smoothed down her black dress. "I see my target. I'll find you guys later."

​"And then there were two," Bianca said deadpan, turning her head toward the makeshift bar set up on a dining table. "Shots first?"

​"Tequila," I agreed, a surge of adrenaline hitting my veins.

​We pushed through the dense crowd, downing two burning shots of gold liquid from plastic cups, the heat spreading instantly through my throat. Before we hit the floor, I pulled Bianca into the neon blue glow of a hallway sign, holding my phone up for a quick Snapchat video of us clinking our plastic cups, yelling over the bass. I slapped a quick filter on it and hit upload.

​Then, the DJ dropped a heavy, rhythmic trap beat with a bassline so deep it made the floorboards shake.

​Dancing was my absolute element. The second that rhythm hit, my bubbly energy completely took the wheel. I didn't do the awkward, self-conscious college sway. Bianca and I stepped straight into the center of the dark floor, completely turning our backs on the room as we locked into the beat. I dropped low, my wide-leg denim moving with me, my hips catching every single syncopated drop of the bass as I started twerking, my curls bouncing wildly around my face. Bianca was laughing, matching my energy with her smooth, unbothered rhythm, the two of us completely clearing a small radius around us purely on vibe alone.

​After three songs straight, the heat under the strobe lights became suffocating. My throat was completely dry.

​"I need water," I yelled over the music, leaning into Bianca's ear. "Stay here, I'll be right back."

​"Don't get lost," she called back, already turning to keep dancing with a group of girls who had joined our circle.

​I wove my way back through the packed living room, slipping through the threshold into the kitchen. It was significantly cooler out here, the air from the open side door cutting through the humidity. The crowd had thinned out to just a few couples whispering in the corner and a guy passed out on a stool. I walked over to the counter, hunting through a stack of plastic cups to pour myself a cold cup of water from a large dispenser.

​"Didn't picture you as the type to completely clear a dance floor," a deep, smooth voice murmured behind me.

​I turned around slowly, setting my cup down on the laminate counter.

​Malik was leaning against the frame of the pantry, looking devastatingly fine in the low kitchen light. He'd swapped his athletic gear for a simple, heavyweight black vintage tee that clung to his chest, dark grey distressed denim, and a thick silver chain around his neck. His fade was perfectly sharp, his dark skin throwing back the soft golden glow of the overhead bulb. He had a red cup dangling lazily from two fingers, his heavy-lidded, sleepy dark eyes fixing onto mine with that absolute, unbothered confidence of a boy who knew exactly what his presence did to a room.

​"That's because you don't know me at all," I said, tilting my head back against the edge of the counter, my hazel eyes flashing with that unbothered, playful Brookhaven charm.

​Malik let out a low, rumbling chuckle, taking a slow step forward. The casual, lazy smirk played at the corner of his lips, but his gaze was intense, tracking the way my curls fell over the leather of my jacket. "I'm starting to think that's a problem I need to fix. Because you look incredible tonight, Kelsey. Seriously."

​The flirting energy in the space instantly spiked, thick and heavy enough to drown out the bass vibrating through the drywall.

​"Is that your standard line for the freshmen, Thompson?" I teased, my voice dropping into a quiet, confident register as he stepped directly into my personal space. He was so tall I had to fully look up, and the scent of expensive amber cologne and fresh cedar radiated off him.

​"Nah," Malik murmured, setting his red cup down on the counter behind me without ever breaking eye contact. He moved in closer, his large frame completely blocking out the rest of the kitchen, his dark eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second. "Just for the ones who catch my attention in a room of four hundred people."

​Before I could deliver a witty comeback, he leaned down.

​His lips met mine—warm, firm, and completely smooth.

​I had never been the girl with a long list of guys or a casual history of party hookups; I was the girl who secretly read romance novels under the blankets and genuinely believed in that full-body, cinematic type of love. And the second Malik's mouth pressed against mine, it felt exactly like the books promised. It was a dizzying, breathless rush that made the floor beneath my sneakers feel like it was tilting. My hands automatically found his broad shoulders, my fingers tangling into the short, crisp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as a sudden, dramatic warmth flooded my entire chest.

​Malik let out a low groan against my mouth. His large, warm hands slid firmly under the leather of my jacket, gripping my waist with a sudden, possessive strength that lifted me completely off my feet. He placed me backwards onto the edge of the laminate counter, stepping in between my knees as the kiss deepened, becoming completely intense. It felt like everything else in the house—the loud music, the sticky kitchen, the crowd—had faded into absolute static, leaving nothing but the heavy, rhythmic thud of my heart matching his.

​"Yo, Malik, have you seen the extra—"

​The screen door slammed open, and Marcus—the shorter guy with the buzz cut from our psychology class—stumbled into the kitchen holding an empty ice bucket. He froze mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of Malik completely locked at the mouth with me on the counter.

​Marcus didn't even blink. A massive, mocking grin broke across his face. "Oh, my fault. Didn't realize you were doing advanced cognitive research in here, bro. Carry on."

​The sheer, ridiculous timing broke the spell. Malik pulled back his head, a bright, genuine laugh breaking from his chest as his forehead rested against mine for a second. I let out a breathless, slightly frantic giggle, my face burning with a mix of shock and pure excitement, my hands still resting on his shoulders as Marcus casually filled his bucket from the fridge and sauntered back out toward the living room.

​Malik looked down at me, his sleepy eyes dark, full of amusement, and utterly captivated. He ran a thumb gently over my lower lip, smoothing out the ruined vanilla gloss. "You're dangerous, Kelsey."

​I sat on the counter, my chest rising and falling as I tried to regain my breath, looking at the faint smudge of my lip gloss on his lips. My first real college party, a verified basketball player with half the campus watching him, and he was currently looking at me like I was the only person in the entire house. A wild, dramatic flutter erupted in my stomach, and as I let out a small, breathless smile, I realized nineteen was officially turning out to be a completely different universe.