And then he texted: “Had fun. Let’s keep this low-key though? You know how it is.”
By week three, I’d stopped telling my roommate where I was going. She’d just see me grab my keys and say, “Cole?” And I’d blush.
I nodded along. Took notes in my phone. Packed my pepper spray next to my extra-long twin sheets.
“No.” He kissed my shoulder. “Just makes me feel special.” College Rules - Lucky Fucking Freshman
I did know how it was. I was the lucky fucking freshman. The one who got to learn, up close, that “low-key” means “don’t expect a text back,” and “see you around” means “I’ll call you when my other plans fall through.” Do I regret it? No.
Cole found me by the keg. “You look nervous.”
I should have said no. I should have remembered every TikTok about “situationships” and every article about freshman girls being prey. And then he texted: “Had fun
He poured me a cup of something that tasted like fruit punch and regret. We stood close—close enough that I could smell his detergent, something clean and expensive. His hand found the small of my back. Mine found his chest.
“Second door on the left,” he said. “But come find me after.”
You know the hype. The summer before freshman year, every older sibling, every cousin who “barely survived” State, and every Reddit thread warns you about the same thing. Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t leave your drink down. Don’t trust the upperclassmen who smile too wide at orientation. She’d just see me grab my keys and say, “Cole
And yeah. I also learned that rugby players smell incredible and lie even better.
I met him at the “Welcome Back” house party during syllabus week. I was nursing a truly disgusting hard seltzer, wearing a sundress that was probably too short for September, and trying to remember the name of the girl from my Psych 101 lecture.
I learned more about my own worth in that one messy month with Cole than in four years of high school assemblies. I learned that I am not a prize to be won. I learned that the “college rules” aren’t about curfews or party safety—they’re about deciding what you want before someone else decides for you.
If you have to hide it, you already know it’s a bad idea. The Night The party was at an off-campus house with a broken step and a disco ball in the kitchen. Cheap vodka. Loud rap. Someone’s sad attempt at a beer pong table.