4

Friday night came faster than I expected, and with it, the sinking realization that I had no idea how to *do* parties.

“You’re overthinking this,” Jake said as he rummaged through his dresser. “Just wear something decent and don’t act like a serial killer. You’ll be fine.”

“Wow, excellent advice,” I deadpanned. “Truly inspiring.”

He tossed a shirt at me. “Put this on. You can’t show up in a Stanford hoodie like you’re going to a study group.”

I sighed but complied. A plain black t-shirt. Simple. Safe.

The party was at a house just off campus, and by the time we got there, it was already packed. Music blasted through the open windows, people spilled out onto the lawn, and the smell of beer and cheap cologne lingered in the air.

Jake greeted people left and right as we pushed through the crowd. Meanwhile, I stuck close to him, feeling completely out of place.

“You good?” he asked, glancing at me.

“Define ‘good,’” I muttered.

He laughed. “Relax. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

That was… actually reassuring.

Somehow, I ended up at a beer pong table.

“This is Brendan,” Jake introduced, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “He’s new to this.”

“Perfect,” a guy across the table grinned. “Fresh blood.”

“I really don’t—”

But before I could finish, a red plastic cup was shoved into my hand.

“Just take a shot when the other team scores,” someone explained.

It sounded like a terrible idea. But at this point, refusing would probably make me stand out more.

So I played. Or rather, I *attempted* to play. I sucked, and the opposing team scored… a lot. By the time the game ended, I was lightheaded and laughing way more than usual.

“See?” Jake said, nudging me. “Told you it wouldn’t kill you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I feel like it *might* tomorrow morning.”

I wandered away from the beer pong table, still a little tipsy, and found myself outside, taking in the cooler air.

“You look like someone questioning their life choices,” a voice said beside me.

I turned to see Maya, my classmate from CS 106A, holding a soda.

“That obvious?” I asked.

She smirked. “A little.”

“You don’t drink?”

“Nah. I like watching people make fools of themselves more.”

I chuckled. “Well, I’m glad I could provide entertainment.”

We ended up talking for a while—about classes, the ridiculous workload, and how neither of us had expected college to feel *this* chaotic so soon.

Somehow, I felt more comfortable here than I had inside.