My College Life

The first thing I noticed about Crestview Dorm was the noise that didn’t feel like it belonged to any one person. It rolled down the hallway in layers - someone’s music leaking through a doorframe, the scrape of furniture being dragged too fast, the sharp clack of hangers against a closet rod. I stood with a few bags biting into my shoulders and my phone in my hand, reading the same room number over and over like it might change if I stared hard enough. 214. Crestview. First-year floor.

My plan for the day was shaky even before I got there. I’d told myself I’d get my bed made first, then figure out the bathroom situation, then unpack the basics - clothes, toiletries, the one folder with my paperwork that I’d been afraid of losing since orientation. When my group chat had gone quiet the night before, I’d convinced myself it was normal. People get busy. People are stressed. I’d come anyway, because that’s what I did: show up, even when my stomach felt like it had swallowed pennies.

By the time I reached the second-floor hallway, the air smelled like a mix of new carpet and someone’s laundry detergent that was too sweet. The overhead lights flickered every few seconds, making the pale blue paint look tired. Door numbers were taped on like afterthoughts. I found 214 by following the scuffed patch on the floor where more than one cart had turned too sharply. My knuckles tightened around the strap of my smallest bag. I let myself breathe in through my nose, steadying for the moment I’d be inside and safe, even if “safe” only meant I could shut a door behind me.

Someone laughed down the hall - loud, quick, and careless. It made my shoulders lift. I walked anyway.

Room 214 felt smaller than the pictures I’d seen online, and the bedspread had a faint pattern that reminded me of something you’d use in an elementary school classroom. One bed faced the window, the other sat closer to the door. A desk sat between them, with a chair pushed slightly back as if someone had stood up and left in the middle of a thought. On the wall above the desk, a dorm-issued bulletin board had been decorated with a few magnets and a strip of photos taped in a way that looked practiced.

I checked the closet door with my toe - hinges were stiff, not broken - and then pulled my keys from my pocket. The keyring was heavier than it should’ve been, like it wanted to remind me I was holding responsibility. I slid the key into the lock and turned. The click sounded too loud in the quiet I’d been hoping for.

When I stepped inside, a voice from the other side of the room said, “You’re early.”

I froze with one bag half in my hands. A girl sat on the edge of the bed near the desk, tying a shoelace that had come undone. Her hair was pulled back with a clip and her sweatshirt sleeves were pushed up, like she’d already been there long enough for her body to settle into the space. She looked up at me without surprise, like I’d been expected.

“I’m… I’m moving in,” I said. My voice sounded smaller than I wanted, like it had learned to avoid attention. “Maya.”

“Jordan.” She stood, and her movements were quick but not frantic. She had a tangle of cords on her desk already - charging cables, a small lamp, something that looked like a speaker. Her room organization gave off the kind of confidence I didn’t have yet.

I set my bags down carefully, as if the floor might judge me for where I placed them. “My roommate told me to come whenever I could get here.”

Jordan’s mouth tilted. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s… flexible.”

The way she said it made “flexible” sound like an excuse. I tried to keep my face neutral. I’d learned, over the past year, that if you showed your nerves too clearly, people decided you were easy to control. I didn’t want to be easy.

“Do you want me to put my stuff over here?” I asked, nodding toward the bed near the window. It was mostly empty except for a folded blanket and a laundry basket stacked with towels.

Jordan glanced toward it, then back at me. “That bed’s mine.”

My throat tightened. I’d imagined myself grabbing the window side because it looked brighter. I could feel my hope rearranging itself like a deck of cards being shuffled. I forced my next breath out slowly.

“Okay,” I said. “Then I’ll take the other one.”

Jordan walked toward the desk, dragging her hand across it as if smoothing invisible dust. “You can put your stuff wherever there’s space. Just - don’t block the closet. I need to get my stuff out.”

I looked at the closet door. Half of it was hidden behind my biggest bag, and the other half was already packed with hangers and folded items. The closet had the feeling of someone else’s momentum already built into it. I pulled my bag a little to the side. “I won’t.”

Jordan’s phone buzzed on her desk. She ignored it at first, then glanced at the screen and let out a short breath. “My group’s coming. People keep getting lost.”

“Lost?” I repeated, because the word landed wrong in my chest....