Hatred to Loved ( A Why Don't We Fan-fiction)

Chapter 3: UCLA

Chapter 3:  UCLA

Three Years Later....

"Oh man," I complain. 

"What?" Ray says, clearly confused of the situation of our dorm.

"Don't you see its worse than the other one we were at," I notify him. 

"Sure it might be smaller but we can manage," he shrugs. "You best be thankful that we are roommates."

"All the dorms are mostly the same size here at UCLA, and you should be lucky you got a room with me anyways. This room has walls that are stained red and yellow! Like what even man?" I roll my eyes.

"Just unpack, and we'll walk around Los Angeles and the campus. We have a month before classes start anyways."

"We came that early?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"So we can meet some hot dudes," Ray winks.

"Seriously dude. You shouldn't be excited for the second year of college anyways," I roll my eyes. 

"Eh whatever. My classes aren't that bad. Besides, you're hot, who wouldn't want you?"

"Who would like me? I play basketball and wear the most edgy clothes," I say as I remember what I put on this morning. I wore a slightly cropped black t-shirt that had a small Japanese flag in the center. I put on some black ripped jeans and dark brown combat boots. I paired with a light brown leather jacket. 

I changed so much in the past three years. My hair went from blond to solid, long, black. I changed hobbies and started basketball and quit drooling over guys all the time. Also, who even gives a shit about makeup on anymore?

"That's god damn attractive. Do you not see that?" he asks, looking at me in every way.

"I guess not," I sigh as I plop myself on the bed in the corner of the room. On the bed I find a box in it. 

I take it in my hand to Ray's bed and I open it. 

"Oooooohh who's that from," a smirk planted on his face.

"Uhhmm UCLA," I smile as I watch his face contort into a frown. 

Ripping open the package, I hold up the basketball uniform. The jersey and shorts are blue, outlines with white and yellow, the number 24 in the middle. At the corner of the shorts were UCLA etched in cursive. Underneath that uniform is a white one, lined in blue and the number 24 plastered int the center, blue as well. Behind each of the jersey's is my last name, Kahlua. 

Damn, I feel accomplished. 

"Wow, it's awesome," Ray says as he pulls me into a tight embrace. 

"I know, thank you for training me so hard," I thank Ray for his help.

"Oh it was really nothing."

"Yes it was. Being on the team, at college, for two years, makes me two years closer to making it to the WNBA."

"Well should we go around Los Angeles for the night?"