I'm Your Wreck

5- You Can Sit

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."