"Pivot!" Bela shouted, grabbing her jacket. "We are going to the dining hall. We will get waffles, we will delete Whitney’s digital footprint, and I will find a way to make Kimberly’s 'Deep Focus' romance into a viral TikTok trend. Essex College isn't ready for our second-act comeback."

The air in the suite was thick with the smell of stale espresso and Whitney’s expensive lavender laundry detergent. Leighton sat at the common room table, her laptop glowing as she aggressively refreshed her grades portal.

"If I get anything less than an A-minus in Microeconomics, I’m transferring to a school where the only requirement is knowing how to breathe," Leighton muttered, not looking up as Kimberly stumbled out of her room, looking like she’d been through a localized tornado.

Leighton finally looked up, her brow arched. "Kimberly, he’s a climate policy nerd. He probably has a reusable straw for every day of the week. Don't get ahead of yourself. Also, Whitney is currently having a crisis in the bathroom because she thinks she accidentally sent a 'u up?' text to her coach."

Right on cue, Whitney emerged, staring at her phone with pure horror. "It wasn't to the coach. It was to the group chat . The soccer group chat. My captain just liked the message."

As the four of them piled out of the room—half-dressed, over-caffeinated, and deeply stressed—the chaos of sophomore year felt exactly like it was supposed to: a total mess that they were somehow winning.

Bela popped her head out from behind her bedroom door, a manic glint in her eye. "Is it the guy from the Foxy’s party? The one who looked like a young, depressed Timothée Chalamet? Because I’ve already written three sketches based on his jawline."