The first week of class went by quick. I got the hang of my schedule pretty easily and started organizing my syllabuses on my desk to keep track of the work that would need to be done for each class.

I was absolutely dreading my Intro into Corporate Finance class, but it was required for my major. Maybe Ollie, who was studying business, would be able to help me through the tough parts. And then together, we would help each other through the Viewing the Arts class we shared on Tuesday and Thursdays. Banks was in that class with us too, so at least we wouldn't be suffering alone.

It seemed like an easy, yet boring, class to take that would satisfy the inter-cultural general requirement that we needed to graduate. How hard could it be to view art?

We celebrated the end of our first week with another house party, this one much larger than the small gathering we had the weekend before.

Banks brought in two kegs, Ollie set up a meticulously curated playlist. Walker and Kenji brought out the beer pong table again while I maneuvered the small bits of furniture in the living room to sit against the far wall to open up the space more.

Kenji was only three shots deep when he decided that setting up a Tinder account was actually a really good idea. Against his protests from earlier in the week, it was Beth and her friends who sat with him on the floor of the kitchen to help him get it set up.

Ollie was running back and forth from his room to where Morgan stood in the living room with her friends, showing her all of his favorite records. It was hard to tell from where I stood if she was actually interested, or just being nice.

I leaned against the wall of the living room with my fifth rum and Coke, swaying my body subtly to the beat of the song as I argued with one of Ollie's business friends about the upcoming NHL season. He said the Bruins were going to take home the cup this year and I told him he was a very stupid boy.

I was only halfway through my explanation of why it was going to be the Lightning or the Rangers this year when the blur of a snake tattoo caught my vision.

Banks took a drink from his cup and I waited for him to say something, because he'd clearly joined the conversation for a reason. He looked between me and the other guy for a minute before saying, "Uh... the Hurricanes?"

"Objectively wrong," I said with a scoff, but then added, "But I'm honestly just impressed that you could name an NHL team."

"Don't give me too much credit. I only know it because I grew up ten minutes from the stadium."

"Still counts."

"Please don't tell anybody. If they found out I know a sports team, it'll totally wreck the tortured artist vibe I'm going for," he complained before taking another sip from his cup.

"Tortured?" I tilted my head to the side. I'd only known the guy a week, but he still didn't really give off that vibe. The third guy in the conversation excused himself to go refill his drink.

Banks stretched each of his arms out to his sides, making a T with his body. "Like Jesus on the cross. Where's Sam?"

I shrugged. "Not keeping tabs."

When he lifted his left arm to tilt his cup to his lips again, I spotted more bits of dark ink that peaked from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Another tattoo, this one on his bicep, but this one was mostly hidden by his shirt and I couldn't even begin to guess what it was supposed to be.

"We got a match!" Beth screeched so loud from the kitchen that the entire house heard and then erupted into cheers for Kenji's first Tinder match.

"Good for him," Banks said with an amused half-smile. "Tinder fucking sucks though, he should be careful."

"Haven't had any luck with it?" I wondered curiously, leaning further into the wall because the room was starting to spin.

His jaw twitched and his eyes got real narrow, the same way they did when I asked him why he transferred to Tate. "Guess you could say that."

It was clearly a sore subject, maybe a bad breakup that led to him wanting to get out of town and he came here because he knew he could stay with Ollie. I didn't really know the guy, it wasn't any of my business.

My alcohol-soaked brain kept flicking my eyes back at the hidden tattoo, trying to figure out what exactly it was supposed to be.

"Another match!" Beth cheered from the kitchen.

"I think Kenji's going to feel embarrassed about her making a big deal out of this if he remembers it in the morning," I said with a light chuckle. Everybody was clearly very excited for him, but with the way he was acting so shy about it on Monday, I knew he'd probably be mortified. However, I could hear his laughter through the crowd and knew that right now, he was having a good time.

I blinked away from Banks's arm, not realizing I'd been staring until the song changed and Walker started dancing on our newly upcycled coffee table. Ollie spotted it by a dumpster on Wednesday and it took all five of us to haul it back to the house. It still smelled vaguely of rotten eggs and would most definitely give anybody a splinter who dared to touch it. But it was still a table and now, we knew that it could hold the weight of Walker, who weighed no more than 140 pounds.

It wasn't long before Ollie joined him, both of them screaming the words to the song, swaying on the table. I'd be worried if the living room wasn't so crowded. If either one of them fell in any direction, there was somebody there to catch them.

"I don't think I've ever seen Ollie this drunk before," Banks remarked with an amused smile on his face.

I couldn't help but scoff. "This is nothing. Last year, he got so drunk that he streaked through campus wearing nothing but a clown nose on his junk."

"Okay, I'm very glad I missed that," he said with a wince.

After the party died down, I seemed to be the least drunk out of the remaining people in the house. Meaning: I had to hobble my way into the bathroom with Morgan and hold her hair while she threw up. To stop myself from following in her example, I focused on breathing through my mouth and kept my eyes closed.

I didn't know where her roommates were, or Ollie, who I knew would probably jump at the chance to be her knight in shining armor.

"Here, drink some water." I handed her a plastic cup that she took with one shaking hand, gargling some of it before spitting it out into the toilet and then taking another drink.

When she felt confident that she was done puking, I hoisted her to her legs and we stumbled together across the lawn to her house. Her three roommates were already asleep in the quiet home, so I laid her on the couch. She wasn't coherent enough to tell me where her room was and I wasn't about to go snooping through their house to find the right bed.

By the time I was tripping back into my own living room, Banks was sitting on the couch watching TV.

"I thought everybody went to bed," I said as I disappeared into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of water to calm my stomach.

"I was upstairs helping Walker find his phone. It was in his pants. Not his pants pocket, but like in his pants," he answered me with a cringe. He spoke with clear words, no hint of a slur in his voice at all.

"You sober?" I asked dumbly.

He shrugged. "Watching my cousin dry humping a cantaloupe was a very sobering experience. Is Sam here?"

I shook my head. "She left with Beth."

"You can sit, if you want."

The room was still spinning, but it was slowing down. I really wasn't all that tired, so if I went up to my room now, I'd just end up drunk texting Sam and undoubtedly embarrassing myself. So I took him up on his offer and dropped myself onto the other side of the couch.

He flicked through the streaming services until he found Parks and Rec.

"You're a stubborn fucker," I muttered under my breath.

Banks let out a bright laugh and said, "Like I said, I'm not claiming that it's the greatest show ever made. But everybody should go through their Parks and Rec phase. It makes me sad that nobody in your life has had this intervention with you before now. It's a cultural phenomenon."

"If you're going to talk through the entire show, how am I supposed to follow what's going on?"

"It's meant to be talked over," he said with another chuckle of laughter. "It's like background noise, but then every once in a while you overhear a funny joke. Except for the really good episodes, those will need more attention."

A short silence lulled between us before I blurted out, "Your name isn't really Banks, is it?"

He flashed me a quizzical look across the couch. "Sure it is."

"That's the name your parents gave you when you popped out? They named you after the buildings with the money?" I asked skeptically. I didn't know why the thought just crossed my mind, but I blamed it on the remaining edge of rum.

"Well, okay, smart ass, it's my last name."

"I'm the smart ass?" I said with disbelief. "Ollie's last name isn't Banks."

"Our mothers are sisters, I got my name from my dad."

"So then what's your first name?"

His face twisted up in a displeased look, like he just smelled something nasty. "Can't say."

"It can't be that bad."

"It is that bad." He took a drink from his water bottle. "Anything going on with Morgan?"

"What, you mean with me?" I wondered with my brow knitted together in confusion. He gave me a slight nod and I started to shake my head. "No, I just ran into her about to get sick and got her to the bathroom."

"Nice of you." He still didn't seem convinced, like I was helping Morgan home just to win my way into her pants. Not because it was just the obvious and right thing to do.

"I'm really not that sleezy," I assured him. Last weekend, he said he didn't judge me for hooking up with Sam but maybe he was using that to form misconceptions about how often I thought with my dick. "And I know Ollie has a thing for her. Even if I was that sleezy, I'm not a shit friend."

His laugh seemed unbothered by my defensiveness. "Alright, alright. I'm probably just bitter that I haven't had a date in God knows how long."

"Beth and Sam seemed to have some mild success at getting something set up with Kenji, I'm sure they'd love to help you too," I offered him slowly. Maybe the hidden tattoo on his bicep was a compass? There was a sharp point visible when he lifted his water to his lips, but it was gone before I could tell what it was.

His jaw twitched again. "I don't do that kind of shit anymore, the online dating," he said with a hardly noticeable edge to his voice.

I knew he didn't want me to ask any further questions on the subject, even though I was curious, so I didn't. Instead, I blurted out, "What's the tattoo you have there?"

The question caught both of us off guard, because it was a weird question to ask and it was weird that it was bothering me so much that I didn't know.

Banks didn't let the shock linger too long as he easily lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt to reveal that the pointed shape by his elbow wasn't the point of a compass, but a tentacle. "An octopus," he said as he revealed the bulbous head of the animal etched into the skin by his shoulder.

"Never would have guessed that," I said without thinking, because the rum lubed my throat too much and words just slipped out before I could realize how dumb they were.

His head tilted curiously to the side as an amused smile started playing at his lips. Holy fucking mother of god why would I say any of that out loud? This entire conversation was a disaster. I quickly averted my gaze back to the TV where Amy Poehler's character was saying something and I had no idea what was going on.

"You have any?" Banks finally broke the silence after pushing his sleeve back into place.

I shook my head. "I don't like needles."

"They're not so bad. Ollie let me tattoo him once and... okay, yeah, he did cry. But he's such a baby."

Why did I ask about the tattoo? And why did I care so much about the fucking octopus. Did he think I was trying to come on to him or something? Fuck. I was stuck rooming with this guy for the entire year and after the first week, he probably already thought that I was an awkward freak.

"My dad has a billion tattoos, I bet he'd be thrilled if I grew the balls," I finally said, because if I stopped talking or ran up to my room, it would only make me seem more weird.

"My parents hate them, but it isn't nearly the worst of the things I've done to disappoint them," he said with a dry laugh. "They hardly even complain about them anymore."

I couldn't help but think of the way my dad's face fell when the doctor told him I wouldn't be able to play soccer, probably forever but definitely for a couple of years. Just before I accepted a full ride soccer scholarship to a really good school. I wasn't a stranger to disappointing my parents.