The week after midterms floated by like the reward they all felt they’d earned. No stress, no drama - just quiet satisfaction and the occasional cramming hangover.
Lectures were lighter now. Professors smiled a little more. Even Jorge’s Calculus TA said “nice work” without sarcasm for once.
At Sarah’s house, life blurred into a rhythm that felt strangely like home. The couch always had a pair of mismatched socks draped on the armrest, someone’s textbooks were always left open on the kitchen counter, and Bharath had all but given up trying to remember whose shampoo was in the guest bathroom. Every morning, he woke up with both Marisol and Sarah tucked into him like limpets after long love making sessions.
He wasn’t compining.
The whole group felt more synced now. The chaos had congealed into comfort. Tyrel and Ravi, to everyone’s relief, had bounced back from their heartbreak in cssic te-90s fashion: by doubling down on snacks, Sega Genesis, and communal roasting.
Their recovery started with a legendary night of board games and karaoke.
Sarah had suggested Scrabble, which turned into a one-hour debate over whether "MMMBop" was in any officially published dictionary.
Cami smmed her fist on the table. "It’s obviously a word! It’s onomatopoeia—like ‘buzz’ or ‘vroom’!"
Ravi retaliated by belting out the chorus of "MMMBop" in a dramatic, off-key warble, complete with imaginary drum fills. Cami threw a handful of popcorn at him, which he caught in his mouth mid-note.
"You’re avoiding the issue!" Cami yelled. "If ‘za’ is sng for pizza, then ‘MMMBop’ is sng for… for…"
Sarah nodded sagely. "The exact moment you realize your crush likes your best friend instead."
Ravi gasped. "Cruel. And that’s way too specific for Scrabble!"
Sarah smirked and pyed "HANSONIC" on a double-word score. "Adjective. Describes anything excessively cheerful yet vaguely irritating."
Ravi, now standing on his chair, challenged them both. "Fine. But if we’re allowing emotional trauma as vocabury, then ‘WHYHIMNOTME’ is absolutely valid!"
The game ended when Sarah spelled "MACARENA" vertically, using all seven letters, while Ravi slow-cpped and Cami flipped the board over in defeat.
As tiles skittered across the floor, they all agreed on one thing: Scrabble was a contact sport, and Hanson had ruined their lives.
Later that week, they moved on to Monopoly. It didn’t go well.
“I swear this game was invented to end friendships,” Jorge muttered as he mortgaged Boardwalk to pay Tyrel’s fake rent.
“That’s capitalism, baby,” Tyrel said, leaning back and sipping from his Coke like he was in Wall Street.
“Cami and I made a pact,” Jorge said. “If I go bankrupt, she’s taking me to Vegas to count cards.”
Cami popped a grape in his mouth.
“PDA alert,” Ravi muttered over his Uno cards.
“Jealousy’s a bad look,” Jorge shot back. “Your turn.”
By Friday night, the group had established a new tradition: Karaoke Chaos.
They dragged out Sarah’s ancient CD pyer and a folder of lyric booklets. There was no microphone, just a wooden spoon and a whole lot of mispced confidence.
Tyrel opened with a heartfelt rendition of “End of the Road” by Boyz II Men, dedicating it to his “past self, who thought he stood a chance with Sarah.”
Ravi followed with “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which he sang in a high falsetto while doing a suspiciously accurate Baby Spice twirl.
At some point, Marisol performed “No Scrubs” with so much sass that Ravi dramatically fell off the couch and procimed he had been “spiritually annihited.”
Even Bharath joined in—reluctantly, but under threat of peer pressure—and crooned his way through Savage Garden’s “Truly Madly Deeply.” He turned beet red when Sarah and Marisol sang backup, complete with synchronized hand motions.
But it wasn’t just the games and songs. It was the way they started to move like a tribe. Ravi and Tyrel were around more, not as the guys who once pined for Sarah, but as friends who belonged. Tyrel helped Jorge fix the broken leg on Sarah’s coffee table with a power drill he “borrowed” from the dorm supply closet. Ravi started teaching Cami basic chess moves, insisting it was to “elevate her trash talk with tactical substance.”
They all started showing up earlier, staying ter, and slowly blurring the line between hangout and home.
Cami, once fiercely independent, now leaned her head on Jorge’s shoulder during movies. Jorge kissed her forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Tyrel and Ravi invented a game where they narrated each other’s actions like wrestling commentators from WWF Monday Night Raw.
“AND RAVI GOES FOR THE REFRIED BEANS—WILL HE MAKE IT TO THE MICROWAVE IN TIME?”
“TYREL COUNTERS WITH A BLOCK! OH NO! WE HAVE A CHEESE SPILL!”
Sarah nearly died ughing. Marisol recorded it on the camcorder and promised to use it for bckmail.
And somehow, in between all the nonsense and Nerf fights and microwave disasters, something beautiful settled in.
Trust.
Real, simple, chosen family trust.
Not because they were blood. Not because they’d been friends for years. But because, somewhere between heartbreak and hummus, they’d started showing up—for each other. Every dumb joke, every te-night walk, every apology half-wrapped in sarcasm... it mattered.
Meanwhile, Bharath and Jorge had taken their midterm confidence into the gym with new swagger. Five days a week, rain or shine, they hit the weights like men on a mission - sweaty, sore, and no longer ashamed to step into the community showers with the older frat guys and the pre-med monsters who grunted with every rep.
“You think the girls are noticing yet?” Jorge asked one afternoon, adjusting his towel as they left the locker room.
“I know they are,” Bharath said, trying to hide his grin. “Marisol told me yesterday she likes the way my shirts fit now. Especially when I lift things. Sarah, well I can’t tell you what she did yesterday when I was topless.”
Jorge smirked. “Cami ran her hand down my arm and said, ‘Huh. You’ve got some definition.’ That’s basically poetry.”
Back at the house, the living room looked like someone had lost a battle with a Blockbuster clearance sale—cushions on the floor, soda cans under the coffee table, Tekken 3 bsting from the TV.
Tyrel’s thumbs moved like weapons of divine chaos as Eddy Gordo breakdanced across the screen. “Y’all can’t stop the rhythm, baby!”
Ravi shrieked from the floor. “You’re cheating! That’s not fighting—that’s choreography!”
“I fight with fvor,” Tyrel said, completely unrepentant.
“Bro, you’re spamming kicks like you’re coding with your feet!” Ravi wailed.
“Strategy, my dude,” Tyrel grinned. “It’s called foot-based dominance.”
On the other side of the room, Jorge lounged with Fmin’ Hot Cheetos on his chest like sacred offerings. “You’re fighting like my abues over bingo night.”
Bharath leaned in, blinking. “Is Ravi… sweating?”
“I have high emotional investment in King,” Ravi huffed, jamming buttons.
Meanwhile, in the kitchen alcove, a very different game was afoot.
Sarah sat on the floor with a red notebook banced on her knees, pages filled with names, stats, and specutive astrology. Marisol leaned over the coffee table with a pen stuck in her bun like a dagger. Cami was perched backward on a chair, tearing into a bag of Cheetos like she was feeding off their chaos.
“Alright,” Sarah said, cracking her knuckles. “Boys are dumb. But lovable. And tragically single.”
“Exceptionally single,” Marisol corrected. “Ravi said ‘chaotic good’ was his ideal retionship dynamic.”
Cami snorted. “Tyrel tried to flirt with the RA st week by reciting Tupac lyrics and then asked if she wanted to watch Bde.”
“We’re doing the Lord’s work,” Sarah sighed. “Which means… matchmaking.”
Cami grinned and flipped open a folder beled OPERATION: TRICK OR TREAT HEARTS in glitter gel pen. “Draft prep is officially underway.”
Marisol paused. “Should we even list Melina?”
Cami: “She’s inevitable. Like taxes.”
“Melina is both their dream and nightmare,” Marisol said, circling her name twice.
“They’re gonna fight over her,” Cami smirked. “And she’s gonna destroy both.”
From the living room, Tyrel suddenly yelled, “BRO! You can’t roundhouse kick a grieving man!”
“That’s Eddy’s default move!” Ravi screamed. “It’s canon!”
Jorge: “You idiots are so loud, I think I heard my blood pressure go up.”
Bharath, calmly, “I believe Ravi’s pying style is… erratic.”
Marisol peeked down the hallway. “They have no idea what we’re pnning, do they?”
“Not a clue,” Sarah said sweetly. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Cami spped the folder shut with the drama of a wyer on her closing statement. “Tomorrow, we begin the draft.”
Marisol grinned. “Let the matchmaking games commence.”
Sarah looked toward the noise spilling from the TV and the ughter that followed it. Her smile curled.
“They’re gonna regret trusting us.”