Tyrel and Ravi now sat side-by-side on the floor like two kids about to open Pokémon booster packs, only what they held were minated profiles, photo prints, and two mysterious folders marked “CONFIDENTIAL: TYREL BOARD” and “CONFIDENTIAL: RAVI BOARD” in Cami’s loopy cursive.

  “Bro,” Tyrel whispered, flipping through glossy printouts. “They really went all out. This one even got a zodiac chart.”

  Ravi fanned his cards like trading pieces. “Yeh kya hai, bhai (what is this bro) - this girl’s favorite movie is Scream and she owns a ferret? What does that even mean?”

  “Means she freaky,” Tyrel grinned.

  Behind them, the girls stood in a line like judgmental Power Rangers.

  “Alright!” Sarah cpped, stepping forward like she was hosting TRL. “Time for Round One of the draft. The Selection Committee has prepared twelve candidate profiles. Six potential matches for each of our eligible bachelors: Tyrel 'Can't Shut Up' Johnson and Ravi 'Manspin' Mehta.”

  “Hey!” Ravi objected.

  “You literally expined gravitational potential energy to a girl in the middle of a party,” Cami shot back. “She was holding a red Solo cup and crying, Ravi.”

  “I was being supportive!”

  “She was crying because her dog died,” Marisol deadpanned.

  Tyrel leaned over to Ravi. “Dawg… you gotta stop expinin’ physics at girls.”

  “I thought she was a science major!”

  “You gotta learn to read the room, macha.”

  Bharath and Jorge were now seated on the couch with popcorn like they were watching Monday Night RAW.

  Jorge nudged Bharath. “You ever seen anything like this in Chennai?”

  Bharath’s voice was soft with wonder. “I have seen aunties arrange marriages... but so far nothing this… entertaining.”

  Sarah clicked her mechanical pencil and raised a clipboard. “The rules are simple. The girls-meaning us-will review each of the candidates and narrow the list to two finalists per guy. Then we deliberate. Then we decide. You”-she looked at the boys-“will sit there and say nothing.”

  “Can we vote?” Ravi asked.

  “No,” all three girls said in unison.

  “Can we trade picks?” Tyrel grinned, holding up a card with Melina’s photo. “’Cause I already know who my MVP is.”

  “Oh God,” Cami muttered. “You picked Melina?”

  Marisol rolled her eyes. “Of course he picked Melina.”

  Melina’s profile photo was a cosmopolitan fever dream: she posed in a spaghetti-strap top, hoop earrings, and a smirk that said I’ve sued my ex-boyfriend and won. Her “Red Fg” box had three stars and a footnote that read, “Once pepper-sprayed a guy for interrupting her during ‘No Scrubs.’”

  “She got a 10 for style, an 11 for danger, and a 13 for confidence,” Tyrel said reverently. “That’s a baddie, bro. I'm tryna get arrested.”

  Ravi leaned over, frowning. “You can’t have Melina. I short-listed her already.”

  Tyrel turned. “Say what?”

  “She’s clearly the smartest one. Law school track, debate team-bro, she could be my Hilry Clinton.”

  “You tryna date or get sued?” Tyrel barked. “Melina would eat you alive, Ravi. She like a hot piranha.”

  “She’d keep me humble.”

  “You’d be a corpse!”

  Cami stepped forward and yanked Melina’s folder from Tyrel’s hands like a schoolteacher catching a kid with contraband. “That’s it. She’s the wildcard.”

  Sarah nodded. “Wildcard candidate Melina now becomes draft-locked. She cannot be cimed, only considered. That means she’s a floating variable.”

  “Like a restricted free agent,” Tyrel offered.

  Marisol smirked. “Exactly. She goes to the final round-maybe. No trades. No swaps. No bribes.”

  “Damn,” Tyrel muttered. “Y’all runnin’ this like the NFL draft, huh?”

  “This is the NFL,” Cami said. “But with better fashion.”

  “Okay,” Sarah continued, flipping pages like a news anchor. “Let’s go through the Round One contenders.”

  TYREL’S CANDIDATES

  LaTasha Williams – ATL native, DJ on WREK Radio, Scorpio, fluent in gangsta and sarcasm.Red Fg: Will punch if disrespected.Costume Potential?: "Janet Jackson in Poetic Justice" - 10/10.Tonya Delmar – Visual Arts, Taurus, reads tarot.Red Fg: Might hex you.Costume Potential?: Witchcore Queen.Melina Vega – Law school hopeful, Libra.Red Fg: All of them.Costume Potential?: Dangerously high.Danielle “Dani” Cruz – Chemical Engineering, Capricorn.Red Fg: Hates people that are not smart.Costume Potential?: Lara Croft with b goggles.Tiffany Banks – Cheerleader, undecided major, Aries.Red Fg: Owns a beeper and a stalker.Costume Potential?: Spice Girl #6.Amber Riley – Sociology, Cancer, DJ’s intern.Red Fg: Will emotionally dismantle you with a mixtape.Costume Potential?: House party princess.RAVI’S CANDIDATES

  Nandita Rao – Library tech, CompSci minor, Virgo.Red Fg: Will correct your syntax mid-date.Costume Potential?: Desi Hermione.Ami Banerjee – Biology major, Sagittarius.Red Fg: Has a frog sanctuary in her dorm.Costume Potential?: Miss Frizzle meets X-Files.Melina Vega – See above.Red Fg: Ravi might die.Priya Singh – Psych major, Gemini, fluent in sarcasm and Bollywood references.Red Fg: Will psychoanalyze your mom.Costume Potential?: 90s Rani Mukherjee.Leslie Mendez – Art history, Leo.Red Fg: Collects perfume samples like they’re Pokémon.Costume Potential?: Mona Lisa with attitude.Meghan Roberts – Journalism major, Pisces.Red Fg: Owns fifteen Trapper Keepers beled “Chaos.”Costume Potential?: Carmen Sandiego’s messy cousin.Tyrel rubbed his hands together. “A’ight. I want LaTasha or Melina. Lock it in.”

  “No,” Marisol said.

  “I request Melina,” implored Ravi

  “No.”

  “Can I petition for Melina?” begged Tyrel

  “No.”

  Ravi raised a finger. “I object to being denied access to Melina. This is discrimination based on testosterone levels.”

  “Ravi,” Sarah said, leaning down, “she’s on your list too.”

  “So you’re saying there’s still a chance?”

  Bharath snorted. “You are digging your own grave with a broken spoon, macha.”

  The girls regrouped near the board.

  “We will now commence the Shortlist Debate,” Sarah said.

  The boys leaned forward in anticipation.

  “Behind closed doors.”

  The boys groaned in unison.

  “You may talk amongst yourselves,” Cami said. “But remember. Your opinions are decorative.”

  The girls stood shoulder-to-shoulder like news anchors ready to cover election night. Cami had a stack of Poroids and a clipboard thick with notes. Sarah wielded a mechanical pencil like it was a sword. Marisol adjusted the projector with the slow, lethal calm of someone setting up a live dissection.

  The boys-Tyrel, Ravi, Bharath, and Jorge-sat in a row on the couch with half-eaten pizza, their Tekken controllers abandoned and useless.

  “You boys may speak,” Sarah announced. “But no one is listening.”

  Tyrel raised his hand. “Quick question. Is this… legally binding?”

  “Yes,” Cami said without looking up.

  “No,” Sarah added.

  “Emotionally? Definitely,” Marisol finished, smirking.

  Ravi leaned toward Bharath. “Yaar, I haven’t been this nervous since my JEE exams.”

  Tyrel clutched his heart. “I feel like this is The Bachelor, but we the ones gettin’ eliminated.”

  The lights dimmed. The popcorn was gone. The projector whirred like a low-flying aircraft. Cami popped the cap off her purple glitter pen with a snap that echoed like a gavel.

  “We now enter,” Sarah intoned, “the Deliberation Phase.”

  “Bck Jesus save me,” Tyrel whispered. “They got phases.”