The food court had been rearranged into what could charitably be called a "ceremonial space," which mostly meant someone had kicked the stray trays into a corner. A sad, wrinkled orange bedsheet was draped over a folding table. On it sat four neon pstic pumpkin pails that looked like they’d been won at a carnival by a very unlucky child.

  Each pumpkin had a name scrawled in what was definitely Marisol’s liquid eyeliner:

  TYREL

  RAVI

  UNDECIDED / PLATONIC STUDY BUDDY

  ABSOLUTELY NOT (SYMBOLIC)

  Sarah tapped the spoon against her palm like a warden. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AND VICTIMS OF OUR EXPERIMENT! Welcome to the BOO-CHELOR PUMPKIN CEREMONY!”

  Marisol leaned into the collective mic-space. “Some of our contestants will leave with a date. Some will leave with a story to tell their actual therapists. The ‘Absolutely Not’ pumpkin is for anyone who wants to make a statement. We encourage statements.”

  The crowd, now consisting of dozens of students who had heard the word “spectacur,” buzzed. A guy in the back was openly selling bags of chips at a markup.

  At the Commentary Bunker, the mood was tense.

  “This is… profoundly stressful,” Bharath noted, his posture unnervingly perfect. “It is like watching a public execution, but with more pid and worse music.”

  Jorge nodded, pale. “The stakes are imaginary, but the humiliation is forever. My money’s on the colpse.”

  Cami swooped in, her camera lens foggy with excitement. “This is the moment! The crucible! Where social contracts are burned for the sake of CONTENT!”

  Sarah’s grin was unhinged. “Ladies! The choice is yours! When I call your name, you will approach this altar of poor decisions…” She gestured to the sticky table. “…select your pumpkin of destiny, and present it to the bachelor you believe is least likely to ruin your Halloween.”

  Marisol added, “Remember, ‘Undecided’ means ‘I might tutor you if you pay me.’ ‘Absolutely Not’ means ‘I am visually recording your face for my burn book.’ Choose wisely.”

  Tyrel was vibrating. “This is it! The big leagues! The moment of truth!”

  Ravi looked like he was about to be sick on his shoes. “I feel like I’m awaiting a verdict for a crime I definitely committed.”

  From the lineup, Priya called out, “The crime is being yourself, Ravi. The sentence is… pending.”

  Sarah dragged each girl in front of Cami’s camera for a five-second verdict.

  LaTasha: (Arms crossed, one hip cocked)

  “Based on the st hour, Tyrel’s entire personality is a sound effect. But the sound effect is occasionally… loyal. I’m 60% sure he’d take a bullet for a friend. The other 40% is sure he’d yell ‘I’M HIT!’ and make it about him. It’s a gamble.”

  Dani: (Holding her notebook like a shield)

  “My preliminary data suggests Ravi’s nervous system is a proof against perpetual motion. However, his response to stress - apologizing to furniture - indicates a deep-seated, if mispced, empathy. He is a fascinating, high-maintenance specimen. I do not have the b space.”

  Priya: (A smirk that could cut gss)

  “Observing Ravi is like watching a Wikipedia article read itself aloud during a panic attack. It’s informative, overwhelming, and you’re not sure why you’re still listening. High entertainment value, questionable boyfriend material.”

  Nandita: (Twisting her nyard into a noose)

  “He’s… a lot. But when he tried to help me with my cards, he was so… earnest. It was like watching a golden retriever try to do calculus. The effort was… touching. And he hasn’t mentioned his GPA once, which is a shockingly low bar he has somehow cleared.”

  “First decision!” Sarah boomed. “Dani Cruz!”

  Dani marched to the table with the purpose of a quality control inspector. She eyed the pumpkins, her gaze lingering on “ABSOLUTELY NOT” with what looked like professional curiosity. Then, she picked up “UNDECIDED / PLATONIC STUDY BUDDY.”

  She turned to face the bachelors. “Tyrel.”

  Tyrel stood up straight. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Your five-year pn is a cry for help. Your understanding of basic economics is a liability. You refer to yourself as ‘Big Ty,’ which is a red fg the size of a parade float.”

  Tyrel defted. “I feel seen. And attacked.”

  “However,” Dani continued, “you possess a baffling, un-data-supported optimism. And you did not once, in this entire process, try to expin something to me I already knew. That is a rare and valuable trait.”

  A flicker of hope crossed Tyrel’s face.

  Dani pced the pumpkin back on the table with a definitive cck. “Therefore, I am categorizing you as ‘Not a Romantic Partner,’ but potentially ‘Adequate Group Project Member.’ My offer stands. Read the Roth IRA pamphlet. We can reconvene in six months for a progress review.” She gave a curt nod and exited the selection pool.

  Sarah stared after her. “She eliminated him… with a performance improvement pn.”

  “Next! The woman who knows your secrets… Priya Singh!”

  Priya ambled to the table, picked up the “RAVI” pumpkin, and weighed it in her hand as if judging its density. She then meandered over to Ravi’s booth, where he was sweating through his shirt.

  “Ravi,” she began, and he flinched. “Your entire existence is an over-correction. You are a human excmation point in a world of periods.”

  “I… I know,” he whispered.

  “You apologized to a chair. You tried to use physics to justify your fear of the punch bowl. You have the social grace of a startled horse.”

  Ravi looked ready to melt into the floor. “Is there a ‘but’ coming? I feel like there should be a ‘but’.”

  “But,” Priya said, her voice dropping, “you are genuinely, bizarrely, without a single maniputive bone in your body. What we see is what we get. And what we get is a lot, but it’s… real.”

  She held the pumpkin just out of reach. “I could handle you. But I’d break you. And I’m not in the mood for repairs.” She leaned in, kissed his cheek with the finality of a judge’s gavel, and walked back to the table, pcing the pumpkin back down. “I recuse myself. It’s more fun from the sidelines.”

  The crowd gasped. It was the most elegant murder they’d ever witnessed.

  The tension was thick enough to spread on a cracker.

  “Nandita Rao!” Sarah called, her voice softening a fraction.

  Nandita crept forward as if the linoleum was mined. She stared at the pumpkins, her eyes wide.

  Her hand darted out, retracted, then finally snatched the “RAVI” pumpkin like she was stealing a sacred artifact.

  She shuffled over to Ravi, who was now pale and trembling.

  “You… you talk so fast,” she stammered.

  “I know! I’m sorry!” he yelped.

  “And you get very loud about… public transit logistics.”

  “THE EFFICIENCY IS IMPORTANT!”

  “But…” she said, and the whole food court leaned in. “When you thought no one was looking, you shared your chicken nuggets with Jorge. And you helped Tyrel up even though he caused the problem. And you remembered I liked DDLJ.”

  Ravi blinked. “It’s a cssic! The train sequence is cinematic history!”

  A tiny, brave smile broke through Nandita’s nervousness. “So… if you promise not to expin the plot to me during the movie… I would… maybe… like to try? The date? Not the train expnation.”

  Ravi’s brain short-circuited. He just stared, mouth agape.

  “The pumpkin, Ravi,” Sarah hissed from across the room. “Take the pumpkin!”

  He snatched it from her hands like a lifeline. “YES! Yes! No expnations! Just… vibes! I can do vibes!”

  The crowd erupted in relieved appuse. Tyrel screamed, “MY BOY’S GOT A DATE! WE’RE EATING ZIMA TONIGHT, FAM!”

  From the bunker, Bharath let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “A triumph of hope over reason.”

  All eyes turned to the final boss.

  “LaTasha Williams!” Sarah announced, with the gravity of a royal procmation.

  LaTasha took her time, strolling to the table as if she owned the concept of time itself. She looked at the two remaining pumpkins. “TYREL.” And “ABSOLUTELY NOT.” She picked up the “TYREL” pumpkin, then immediately put it down and picked up “ABSOLUTELY NOT,” holding it up for the crowd to see.

  Tyrel’s face fell into a tragedy mask.

  Then she winked, put the “ABSOLUTELY NOT” back, and picked up the “TYREL” pumpkin for real. The emotional whipsh was audible.

  She sauntered over to Tyrel, who was now sweating profusely.

  “Tyrel,” she said, her voice ft.

  “Your Honor?” he squeaked.

  “You are, and I say this with clinical precision, a lot.”

  “I am! I’m a whole lot!”

  “You perform your personality like it’s a paying gig. You got more catchphrases than sense.”

  He nodded, miserable. “It’s my brand.”

  “But,” she said, and the room froze. “When homeboy over there …” she jerked a thumb at Ravi “ … was having a full-system failure, you got quiet. You got real. For like, ten seconds. I saw a glimmer of a person who isn’t just a walking jukebox.”

  She held the pumpkin out, but didn’t let go when he grabbed it.

  “One date,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “Club Zero. You get one ‘yeah, baby!’ for the whole night. You use it on the bouncer, you got nothin’ for me. You understand the terms of this probationary period?”

  Tyrel, gripping the pstic stem for dear life, nodded frantically. “One ‘yeah, baby!’ Got it. Conservation of catchphrases. I can do that.”

  She released the pumpkin. “Then you have my permission to be my problem. For one night.”

  The food court exploded. The Chick-fil-A crew high-fived; the guy with the 3-1 bet on Tyrel did a victory p.

  EPILOGUE: THE AFTERMATH

  Sarah climbed onto a chair, spoon raised to the heavens. “AND THUS, WITH BAD MUSIC AND WORSE JUDGMENT, WE CONCLUDE THE INAUGURAL SEASON OF THE BOO-CHELOR!”

  Jorge turned to Bharath. “Well, they did it. They somehow navigated the gauntlet of shame and came out the other side with… pns.”

  Bharath watched as Ravi showed Nandita his pumpkin with the reverence of a museum curator, while Tyrel attempted to dap up LaTasha, who simply stared at his outstretched hand until he put it away.

  “It is… a very American success story,” Bharath decided.

  Cami finally lowered her camera, a single tear of artistic joy rolling down her cheek. “It’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful, beautiful mess.”

  As the crowd began to disperse, a single, clear voice cut through the chatter. Melina, who had been observing from the shadows near the exit, walked calmly up to the commentary table. She ignored everyone else and pced a small, folded piece of paper next to Bharath’s elbow.

  It was a phone number. Written in the same liquid eyeliner as the pumpkins.

  She didn’t say a word. Just turned and left, her work done.

  Bharath looked at the number, then at Jorge, his face a perfect canvas of polite confusion.

  Jorge just shook his head, ughing. “The game is never over, man. The game is never over.”

  And somewhere, the Tekken theme music pyed on, a perfect, chaotic anthem for a perfect, chaotic night.