Welcome back to Chronicles From College (CFC)! If you missed last week’s episode, you can catch up on the previous part here. New to the story? Read all released episodes in chronological order here.

Chapter 2: The Roommate Debacle (Part G, Final Part)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

In the last two weeks I had avoided all text messages from Julian and made sure to avoid him on campus. I thought if I ignored him enough, he would forget about the two thousand dollars I owed him, an amount I had no plan of paying. I was in line attempting to purchase a Chinese Chicken Salad from one of my favorite spots on campus known as Green Bites, when Julian’s raspy voice startled me.

“So you think you can run,” He whispered over my shoulder.

I swiftly turned around to confirm who was speaking. “Run from what?”

He grew irritated. “You know what,” the skin on his forehead shaped into a frown.

“Oh yeah,” I smiled, then remained silent, innocently staring into his eyes.

He grabbed my right arm and pulled me out of line into a private corner. Mindful of the people in our surroundings.

“I need to eat before my next final. Stop interrupting my day.”

“You owe me money! Melody.”

“NO. You owe me money. Three thousand dollars to be exact,” I whispered.

He drew in a significant amount of air trying to calm himself down. He grabbed my right arm again, this time he dug his fingers into my flesh.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me!”

He cackled. “Listen to me and listen carefully, Melody. You think you would’ve gotten off if it wasn’t for me? You think I’m going to let you get away with not paying me? You’re very funny,” He uttered in a malicious tone.

I broke free of his grasp. “I have met worse bullies than you! I’m not giving you any money. You’re not going to stand here, make empty threats, and think I care. What are you going to do? Huh? Tell the faculty that I paid you? First of all, where is your proof that I ever gave you money? Second, you’ll get expelled if you tell anyone that I bribed you.”

He scoffed. “You are going to pay me. That much I know. In fact, you’re right. You don’t owe me two thousand dollars. You-”

“Now you’re speaking sensibly,” I interjected.

“You owe me ten thousand dollars now.”

“Okay. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but have fun playing with yourself. I already gave you three thousand dollars, that’s way more than what you deserve. So, go chew on ice! I refuse to be bullied!” With that, I started walking away.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” He shouted as I walked off.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you! What a cliché,” I thought as I walked away.

The final week of any semester is always hectic. Students rush from the library to class, class to the library, maybe the dorm to change and shower, while consuming reheated processed meals or food deliveries.

Aside from Julian’s nonsense, I had no worries. Everything was well, so I was not appreciative when I received a call from a strange number.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Melody? Atkins?” An older woman’s voice came through my phone.

“Yes, this is her. Who am I speaking to?”

“Ruby, your building manager.” The irritation was apparent in her voice. I guess she was offended that I hadn’t saved her number.

“Oh hi Ruby. How are you doing?”

“Did Regan call you?” She asked.

“No. I don’t think she has my number. What’s up?”

“You need to come back to your apartment right now. Your roommate was arrested!”

“Regan was arrested?” I asked flatly.

“No Samara.” The line went dead.

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I could not leave campus right away because I had a final I needed to complete for my Behavioral Communication class. I could’ve probably postponed the final and offered my professor an explanation, but I did not want to tempt fate.

It was around 4pm when I arrived at my apartment. I hurried through the lobby, into the elevator and into our unit. By the time I got to the general vicinity of The Mirage, everything had died down so I can only recount what Regan told me upon my arrival.

“Hey.” I greeted when I entered the apartment to find Regan seated at the dining table. Both her elbows rested on the round wooden table. Her fingers were woven together and brought up to her lips. She was looking straight ahead, staring at a vacant white wall.

“Hey,” she said back. Her voice sounded odd, but I couldn’t make out what she was feeling from the sound of it. “Did Ruby call you, I asked her to call you?”

“Yes. Earlier in the afternoon. I had a final so I couldn’t come sooner,” I said with an apologetic tone. “What was Samara arrested for?”

“Stalking,” she said firmly.

“Stalking who? Why?” I took a seat on one of the dining chairs, across from Regan.

“Some guy named Paul”

I giggled. “Oh. This is a mistake. Paul is her boyfriend.”

“No. He’s not.”

Then Regan proceeded to give me the full rundown. Samara had been to a workshop at a city college in Pasadena. Paul was a teaching assistant who had facilitated the workshop for the professor in charge. Samara approached him after the workshop and after small talk acquired his phone number. Samara had proceeded to ask him out, but he’d turned her down. She then proceeded to send him long texts in the middle of the night. Featuring lines like: I want you, I want you. I love your skin, your hair, your eyes…your teeth, your bones…. You are everything to me honey. You and me, we belong together! Basically what a crazy fan girl would send a boy band celebrity, except Paul was a regular guy and didn’t have a supermodel girlfriend Samara could cyberbully.

More recent texts had included: You’re dead to me! That girl you hang out with is dead to me! C’mon babe, why are you leading me on?

Those were the more tame lines. She had also sent him presents like chocolate, flowers, and all sorts - which he had expressed disturbance over. Stalking laws are difficult to navigate, someone can threaten your life, you know it is a threat, but so long as they don’t break any rules, they can keep at it.

Paul had reported her to the police many times: to his campus police, to his school faculty, but nothing had ever come of it. Until, Samara broke into his apartment yesterday in the afternoon and rummaged through his things. By chance, he’d walked in on her, and in terror started screaming. She lunged for him to try to silence him and slammed him into the wall. Now Samara was being charged with trespassing, larceny, assault, and battery. As Regan explained the whole ordeal to me, I was flabbergasted. Samara was sweet, she was a friend to all, she had the perfect ongoing romance.`

“No no no. I refuse to believe all this. She was so normal.”

“You think crazy people walk around with crazy written on their foreheads?” Regan asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“She sent me a photo of them in bed together,” I said as I began combing through my phone to find the photo. “Here,” I showed it to Regan.

“You can only see his hoodie. Listen, all I know is that’s what she’s being accused of. The cops came by earlier to arrest her. You should’ve seen the commotion. Everyone was watching - can you blame them? It was crazy. All the sirens, the noise. Really intense.”

“Damn.. she literally told me they went hot air ballooning together. He got her that teddy bear she’s been sleeping with. He took her wine tasting.”

A frown formed between Reagan’s eyebrows. “No, I gave her the teddy bear she sleeps with. My boyfriend and I just broke up, and he gave me that bear right before we did. I gave it to Samara.”

Disbelief took a hold of my facial expression. Somehow all of this was surreal to me. If anyone had told me one of my roommates would be a criminal, I would not have guessed Samara.

“If she told you she went wine tasting, she didn’t. I went wine tasting with my boyfriend in Pasadena and told her about it. If she told you she went hot air ballooning, that’s unlikely. I recently wanted to go with my now ex. I told Samara a hot air balloon date would be fun.”

I was stagnant. Somehow I was fooled again. I swear, I wouldn’t recognize it if a good person hit me in the face - of course, a good person would never hit me in the face.

Suddenly it all made sense. Samara was a pathological liar and apparently a stalker. She befriended people, so she could listen to their stories, then repackage them as her own. The plot of other people’s lives fueled her delusions. She knew Regan and I never spoke, so there was no way I would find out about her little fibs. The truth was right under my nose the whole time - again.

That night was the very first time Regan and I had a genuine conversation. It was crazy how someone else’s madness finally brought us together.

After a long four months, she and I were seated together. We bonded over crazy things that had happened in our lives. We bonded over mundane things that had ensued. We bonded over our favorite foods. At that moment I knew, this was what an actual friend felt like.

Following our conversation, Regan wanted to stay up to get some late night studying done.

“Good night! Good luck with your exam tomorrow!” I smiled and put two thumbs up to cheer her on. Then I turned my back to leave.

“I didn’t argue against you.” Regan said and I turned to face her again.

“Huh?”

“I didn’t vote against you. Honestly what you did wasn’t that bad. It happens all the time.”

“Really?” I took my seat again. Then she started telling me real stories she had presided over during her time on the council as a junior. She told me about the student who lifted a whole paper from a New York Times article. The chick who had written all her answers at the bottom of a water bottle. The student who turned in the same paper for two different assignments… and so on. By the end of our conversation, I was ready for the fall semester to end.

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The next two weeks confirmed everything Samara had done. The police took our statements, I of course didn’t have anything truly bad to say. Samara’s parents came by to pack her things from the apartment, as they apologized to us profusely for any inconveniences caused by their daughter. Ruby changed all the main apartment locks, and the lock to our room and that chapter was closed - for now.

Ugh…now we had to find a replacement for Samara’s bed spot for the Spring Semester. Good thing Sadie was done with her Italian study abroad program and might need a place to stay.

On December 15th, I was at the airport ready to catch my flight home when I received a phone call from Julian. Naturally, I ignored it. Then another one, and again and again until I had declined ten of his calls. He didn’t call again after ten - all was quiet, all was calm.

Then I received a phone call from my father. I answered.

“You cheated on your exam and lied about it?!” That was the first thing he said. The rest of that conversation would go on to be the culprit of my unhappiness during the holidays. That conversation laid the groundwork for my Spring semester.

To be continued next week in Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm).

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Welcome back to Chronicles From College (CFC)! If you missed last week’s episode, you can catch up on the previous part here. New to the story? Read all released episodes in chronological order here.

Chapter 2: The Roommate Debacle (Part F)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

I returned to my dorm to grab some clothes and spend the night at Nadine’s. When I walked through the door, I noticed Samara’s suitcase in the living room. She was nowhere to be seen. Regan was sitting in the dining area consuming a bowl of instant noodles as she scrolled on her phone. Before walking past her to enter the bedroom, I stopped and stared her in the eyes. She stared back.

“Hello,” she said with an innocent smile.

“Is Samara around?”

Regan shook her head to signal no.

“I thought you were a theater major or something.”

She shook her head again. “Philosophy. I’m going into law”

“So you just enjoy musicals?”

She nodded.

I couldn’t think of a new line to utter. I didn’t know if she wanted to talk about it. I didn’t know if they had voted. I didn’t know if I should make small talk as that would come off hypocritical.

I simply said, “have a good night!” Then walked away.

I already had a key to Nadine’s house, so when I arrived, there was no reason to knock. I let myself in to find Nadine crouched over her father’s lifeless body. He had drunk himself unconscious and she was trying desperately to revive him. Their house was empty, cold, an unhappy family - unhappy in their own way.

I rushed over to her to assess the situation.

“Help!” she cried. It was obvious she was overwhelmed. I took charge.

“Nadine, call 9-1-1!” I ordered then rolled her father onto his side. I headed straight for their in-house bar. I grabbed a vodka and a piece of paper towel. I wet the towel with vodka as Nadine rushed to her phone. I hovered the paper towel beneath Michel’s nostrils, he did not awake. When I thought of it later, I was slightly repulsed, but in that moment, I fell to my knees near Mr. Dubois and did my best to recall everything I could remember from my CPR training from health class, I blew air into his lungs. The last thing I remember was the deafening sound of the sirens along with the flashing neon blue lights. We spent the entire night in the hospital until we received news - good news!

I didn’t go to my apartment for the next few days, but I attended my classes. Nadine didn’t go to class, her professors naturally gave her a pass on that. Nadine’s father had checked himself into a rehabilitation facility in Malibu. On his first day, Nadine, her brother, step-mother, and I had dropped him off. He seemed to be in a better place now that Mrs. Dubois and Charlie had come down to Santa Monica to see him. Her step mother explained to her that Charlie would be homeschooled while he stayed with her in Santa Barbara. She extended Nadine an invitation to Santa Barbara for the summer once school was out. The storm in Nadine’s home had calmed down, but it was not over. It seemed to me that what Nadine feared was being alone in a big house, now it looked like that was exactly what was going to happen.

The day after Mr. Dubois went to rehab, I received an email first thing in the morning: STUDENT INTEGRITY CASE 4736 - VERDICT.

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I breathed in and out. I was so terror-struck I waited an hour before I ripped the band aid off by opening the email without hesitation. When I received the verdict, I was at the humanities library studying for the final exam in my Communication in Business class. I had continued my assignments in my physical science class so I would not fall behind. The lectures were awkward. As a college student, sometimes you’re unsure if your professor likes you, or even knows who you are. But whenever I attended my Astronomy lectures, I knew definitively that the professor knew who I was and there was bad blood between us. I tried my best to look like a studious student in his eyes. Afterall, when my case went to faculty, it would be him, and the six tenured professors on the judicial board that were deciding my fate. He would have to sit in on the decisions because he was the professor directly involved in the case.

I opened the email and tears ricocheted down my cheeks, I shut my eyes and shrugged. There it was, in many words I was told I was going to be punished for my first offense. I was being ordered to rewrite the paper with a ‘C’ as my highest grade possible. The paper needed to be perfect, it needed to be immaculate, but I could live to fight another day in college!

December

The last weeks of November had sent me home to my parents to celebrate Thanksgiving. My parents were delighted to see me, and I was thrilled to get some rest in my own bed, and consume my mother’s delicious pumpkin pie. I went ice skating with my high school friend Mary. Olivia had spent Thanksgiving out of town that year.

While at home, I was preoccupied with studying for my final exams in all my classes, trying to turn in all my papers for the semester - with faultless citations, and rewriting my first paper of the semester for my Astronomy class. Finally seeing the verdict and speaking to professor Shine had been freeing for me. It was clear to me that he saw himself as a strict man; I did not see any glory in living one’s life like that, but he did. I was going to survive his class, albeit with a ‘B’ for my highest grade. Given my current ‘A’ in his class and the fact that I was only allowed to get a ‘C’ maximum on the rewritten paper, my final grade would probably tally up to a ‘B’. I was fine with it. My astronomy class would be my lowest grade this semester, but it was better than expulsion.

The last month had felt like I was slowly dying from ruminating over my problems, but now I was lighter than a feather. I was focusing on getting everything done to wrap up the semester. The fall semester had not been what I’d anticipated, but I lived through it. In Spring, I hoped the birth of new life would allow me to live a semester free of challenges.

On the day of the verdict, Nadine had driven me to a flower shop in the area to purchase an arrangement along with a scented candle for Regan. I did not know how the deliberation went. I was unsure if Regan had said anything in my favor, but if I made it through then two things were possible: either she put in a good word for me, in that case the bouquet of daisies and candle would be perfect. If she had negative things to say, then she had been unsuccessful in convincing the other council members - In which case, the gift would be a symbol of me getting the last laugh. Either way it was a good decision to get her the gift.

I left the present on her bed with a small note that said: I heard back and it was good news. I don’t know how much you did to help, but I wanted to give you this. I’m open to a clean slate if you are. That night Regan got back late, probably from a grind of studying. I tried to stay awake until she got back, but I fell asleep. In Regan’s absence Samara and I were the only ones at the apartment, cozied up in our blankets as we rested on our beds.

“You went on a hot air balloon? That’s insanely cool!!” I said, unable to contain my excitement.

“I know. It was so so romantic.”

“I can imagine! Ugh - I wish I had a boyfriend like that. “Does he have any friends?” I said playfully.

Samara laughed nervously. “He does, but they’re not very cute,” she giggled.

“Ugh – I swear. I just want a boyfriend who is kind, and romantic, and sweet, and–”

“You’ll find him! Don’t worry”

I shook my head. “I highly doubt that.” There was a pause. “You know what? You should invite him to dinner or something! I feel like that would be fun!”

“Um–no. He’s always busy and stuff. You know he has school like us. Right??”

“Oh. I wasn’t trying to be..” I started waving my hands to maintain peace. “I wasn’t trying to impose myself on your boyfriend or anything.”

“No,” She said with a hint of anger in her tone. “I’m not offended. Why do you think you can offend me?”

“No I wasn’t, I didn’t - I feel like the energy has changed,” I laughed nervously.

“Lol…no! No worries. I’m just in my head or whatever,” she wrapped her arm around her sizable teddy bear Paul had given her on their romantic getaway, and started pulling her comforter over her head. “Goodnight.”

“You’re sleeping already?”

“I’m tired,” she murmured.

“Oh, you still haven’t shown me the photos from Ojai yet.”

“Another time,” she said drifting off.

To be continued next week in Part G, the final part to The Roommate Debacle.

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Welcome back to Chronicles From College (CFC)! If you missed last week’s episode, you can catch up on the previous part here. New to the story? Read all released episodes in chronological order here.

Chapter 2: The Roommate Debacle (Part E)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

November

“The past two weeks have just been hell on earth. My future will come to an end. If I don’t come up with five thousand dollars. I only have three,” I thought as I laid wrapped in my comforter on my bed watching Regan. She was humming as she put up a wooden plaque on her side of the wall right above her desk table. I didn’t know Regan, so I could only make assumptions about her life from the outside. “Maybe she doesn’t like decor,” I thought. She did not have any decorations on her side of the room. It looked exactly as the spot came: her desk and bed. Only that her bed was completed with marigold and white bedding; her desk held her stationary, some books, and a water bottle. From where I laid, across from here in the corner, I could make out two glass figurines with inscriptions on them, they could be awards, I couldn’t tell, but either way - good for her.

Julian wanted five thousand, I had given him three thousand last Wednesday. I scraped a thousand from my personal savings. I asked my parents for an extra thousand under false pretenses of needing extra money to pay for PBA activities; luckily they did not ask for a receipt. Nadine gave me an extra thousand because she felt guilty for moving the situation from frying pan to fire by recommending I meet with an acquaintance of hers she’d met at random in the French lab at school. Nadine’s family was financially like mine, well off, but not enough for her to have thousands ready to give. I knew I could easily get the extra thousands from Sadie or Astrid. Of my friends they were the ones who had the means to give away thousands of dollars, but I didn’t want to tell them - I didn’t. I was also hoping that Julian would take the three thousand, talk me up in the deliberations, and once the verdict was out, I just wouldn’t pay him.

I had told him explicitly. “Here. Take this three thousand. I’ll give you the other two after you’ve done your part.” I paid him in cash to avoid a paper trail. A small part of me hoped he would be mugged on his way home with that kind of money - the little weasel. But if he was attacked, there would be no one to vouch for me.

Samara was gone for the past two weeks. She told me before that it was something she did every semester, take two weeks off, just like that. Most professors only allow up to four absences in the classes and Samara used them all at a go. Kind of genius, but what if she woke up on a random school day and she just couldn’t drag herself out of bed to go to class? I guess her two week vacation motivated her through the other weeks. She was going on a mini road trip to Ojai, California with her boyfriend Paul. She had sent me a photo of herself with him in bed. I mean, I couldn’t make him out in the photo as it was just a selfie of her face, but there was someone in a black hoodie with an arm wrapped around her, so I assumed it was Paul’s. I asked her to send me some of the photos she took in Ojai but she hadn’t sent any yet. I guess she was too preoccupied with her own life to remember my secondary demands.

The weekend had been tough for me; tomorrow, I was to appear before the JJC to plead my case. Monday was approaching with the count of every hour. Before I buried myself in my bed, I had used the weekend to look up extensive information and details regarding academic integrity. It was difficult to find anything online since most cases like that stayed within the school. The JJC did not have a database for me to comb through. With how sleazy Julian turned out to be, I knew I could not trust his words, so any previous stories he had told me, I had now surmised was to foster his own agenda.

I thought of reaching out to someone else on the council, but I knew that could hurt my case rather than help it. Although I was not explicitly told, I would bet speaking to any of the members in private would be frowned upon. The whole reason Nadine connected me with Julian was for us to use a backdoor; but he wanted us to use a back alley instead and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I knew I could be damned if I gave him the money, but I was surely doomed if I didn’t. It was a shake down. If I gave him the money, he would talk me up, and my chances of a positive outcome would be higher. If I didn’t give him the money, he would certainly bad-mouth me out of spite and ensure I was punished.

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There had been a lack of conversation in the apartment for the past two weeks because Samara was gone and I had nothing to say to Regan. Regan’s uncalled for melodies were what filled the apartment. There was one night when I got back, she was watching TV on the couch and I greeted her. She made an effort at small talk by asking how I was doing, and how my day was. I found that to be out of character, but I had more pressing things to occupy my thoughts. Regan didn’t go home the past two weeks, maybe that was her thing. She went home every weekend at the start of the semester and now that it was drawing to a close, she was probably staying behind to get a lot of studying done. I was quiet in thought when Regan spoke.

“How are you doing?,” she asked.

I had been watching her hang her plaque, but only half my attention was with her. She drew my full attention when she ended the conversational drought. “I’m doing good,” I said.

She examined my demeanor. “Wow, that’s good. I would not be fine if I was being accused of plagiarism”.

I was sure my hearing had deceived me. “What?”

“Is your last name not Atkins? I saw it on your mail. Melody Atkins. You’re being accused of academic fraud.”

“You read my mail?”

“No. I just saw your last name on there.”

“Who is telling you I’m being accused of anything?” I asked defensively.

She bobbed her head slowly, then slipped a strand of hair behind an ear. “We’re meeting about your case tomorrow.”

I was silent for a moment. Actually, I was silent for a long time as I processed what she was implying. “You’re on the JJC?” I finally asked.

“Mhmm,”

I saw the look of power in her eyes. She looked vengeful. Like ‘you had ignored me all semester, it’s time for payback’. Fuck!

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I sighed, then began a rant detailing it all from how I wrote the paper with careful research, Professor Shine’s adamance at giving me any chance to rectify the mistake at all, how the whole debacle was weighing on me. Everything came gushing out of me, with the exception of ever speaking to Julian. I knew it was not in my favor to reveal that to who could be the person that teams up with him to preside over my case unjustly. But I spilled everything else, as I was speaking I knew what I was looking for was sympathy. I had not done anything malicious to Regan, but I had not given her a reason to remotely want to help me.

“And now I feel like everything, EVERYTHING I’ve worked so hard for - since high school might be down the drain. If I get expelled, oh my God, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. My parents won’t know what to do with me!”

As my rant came to an end, Regan simply grabbed an overnight bag of hers from the closet, stuffed it with some clothes and hygiene essentials, a few books, and headed out the door. She didn’t utter a word. Tears were cascading down my cheeks, she had to know what a power trip that was for her. I didn’t see her again till Monday after school, at five in the evening to be specific.

It was all so official. I walked into the Student government wing of the General Building hoping and praying the student body president and her goons did not spot me. I dashed into the meeting room to find a giant screen mounted on the wall which had “Junior Judicial Council” printed onto a marigold and white background. There was an oval table with six chairs arranged around it. The room also housed a podium that looked like the kind professors use in the classroom. They were all seated. They all wore a white top and marigold pants, accompanied by black shoes. I was petrified. I was shaking. I couldn’t catch my breath.

“Hello,” I said solemnly after walking in.

“Hi,” they said in unison.

“Present your case.” a female I did not recognize said flatly.

In an unsteady voice I began sharing my case. There was a lot riding on this for me. Once I got a hold of myself, I not only shared exactly what happened while avoiding any eye contact with Julian and Regan; I shared stories of potential situations that could’ve been graver than my actions. I talked about Professor Shine’s teaching style. I pleaded for them to use this as a teachable moment, not expel me, but punish me as they see fit.

“I’m not saying I take no responsibility for my errors. I do. It was always on me to double check everything. But as you can very well see -” I gestured toward my paper which was on display on the screen behind them. “All the citations were there. Both in text and the references page. It is not that I believe I shouldn’t be punished, but I already regret my actions. I don’t believe there is anything left to teach me on plagiarism. This ordeal is in itself enough. If I’m made to rewrite the paper, and ensure everything is in place, I would learn more from this experience than having my entire future come to a stop.” As I ended my sentence I knew who I was pleading to were not the two most likely to rule against me. I was employing the remaining four. Those who I hoped had never interacted with me before in their lives.

In the blink of an eye, the meeting was over. I had thought they would decide right after deliberation and let me know. They informed me that the teachers would need time to pass judgment, they would meet a week from today to decide, so I was going to receive the verdict in a week. If the students decided I was guilty, the teachers would most likely expel me. If I was not guilty, I would likely have to rewrite the paper. Either way I was going to live the next week in anguish.

To be continued next week in Part F.

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Welcome back to Chronicles From College (CFC)! If you missed last week’s episode, you can catch up on the previous part here. New to the story? Read all released episodes in chronological order here.

Chapter 2: The Roommate Debacle (Part D)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

October

Experiencing August and September was like watching a brimmed glass jar balancing on an edge, hoping it doesn’t lose its balance and rupture, so I wouldn’t have to clean up the mess it left behind. Living through October was a wave of uncertainty constantly burning within me.

Blueberry Farm: the trendy café in school most people frequented. It was a landmark student used in descriptions, a place where people bumped into familiar faces and completed college papers. The place to be at all times.

At that moment, I was seated in Blueberry Farm at a four person table with Nadine in the chair next to me. Julian, Nadine’s friend, was seated across from her. Nadine had a purple smoothie in front of her and the Green smoothie Julian had ordered was currently being placed in front of him by an employee. I simply got a Coke.

The employee looked about our age, he was dark-skinned with beautiful curly hair, and a slight mustache above his lips which I found to be a bit odd.

Julian took a long drag of his smoothie. “The six members on the council are split into two. Three juniors and three seniors.”

Nadine was nodding.

“Since I just got on the council, I still have pretty much all of my two years to go.” He continued.

“How do you get on the council?” I tried to sound as polite as possible.

“You apply and then - there’s a bunch of interviews.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “Honestly, what’s happening to you is not that bad. And most students usually face the JJC for blatant cheating, so I don’t particularly think the situation is that big of a deal.” Julian shared.

“So you think things might go in my favor?”

“Have you tried speaking with the professor?” He asked and I nodded to indicate ‘yes’.

One glance at Julian and I could tell he was a stiff-necked individual. He was not a particularly good looking guy, but his blazer and general put-together demeanor made him attractive in some ways. I’m not particularly a type B person, but I know a strong type A when I see one - what I mean to say is, Julian was an intense uptight person, I could tell from the get go.

“Have you really tried speaking with your professor? Really Really?” He continued, stressing the word really.

“I mean, I pleaded and cried and everything. I don’t know what more I could’ve done.” I said.

He probed me with his eyes settling on my chest, then scoffed lightly. I think, to him, the solution to my problem was right under my nose.

The rest of the conversation entailed him sharing countless stories of what he had heard from the senior council members about cases from last year. This semester had only just begun and my case was looking like one of the larger ones they would need to preside over.

After Nadine had facilitated my meeting with Julian, she went home. I went to my apartment. Regan was resting comfortably on the couch watching a TV show - there was a hot air balloon being launched. She usually went home on the weekends, but this time she had stayed behind, I didn’t know why and I didn’t make an effort to find out why.

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“Hey,” I said, waving at Samara to grab her attention. She was in the kitchen, right next to the living room making a taco. She was blasting music too loud in her headphones to notice my arrival.

“Hey, what’s up? How was your thing with Nadine and, and -”

“Julian. Pretty good. You didn’t go up to visit Paul this weekend?”

“No. He’s busy with - school work.”

I said. “Okay. I’m kind of tired to I’m gonna go and lay down for a bit”

“Cool. Do you want me to leave you some of the taco filling?”

I nodded to signal yes, then headed straight for the bedroom.

“Regan, do you want some tacos?” Samara asked, lifting the frying pan to show Regan. Samara stretched her neck enough to see the TV.

“Yes,” she responded. “Hello!” Regan said while looking in my direction.

“Hello,” I replied without a beat, then made my way into the room.

Later that day, Nadine informed me that Julian really liked me and he would love to help me by trying to guide the other council members’ decision in my favor when the case would be brought before them the following Thursday. At night, Samara and I streamed a movie together. I barely remember what we watched since I was preoccupied with my own thoughts: reflections on my plagiarism case, and planning on how to complete my assignments for my other classes. When something bad is happening to you, one part of your brain replays the past over and over again, trying to figure out what you did wrong, what you could’ve done differently.

Another part focuses on the future, how you proceed from your present and how it will all end. I didn’t particularly think any of what had occurred could’ve been avoided, I had cited everything as I should’ve, I had done the research and the work. The quality of the essay had not been questioned. I believed I was bearing the brunt of Mr. Shine’s unnecessary strictness. There are teachers who relish in the power of teaching you a lesson for all the wrong reasons. They don’t rule the way they do to educate you, they act however they want because they can. He could’ve given me the chance to rewrite, he could’ve used this as a real teachable moment, but I had only learned to be terrified of my professors and petrified of turning in any assignment from here on out. That is if I even got the chance to turn in any more assignments after this.

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Samara started talking about an award she was receiving for an achievement in her field which came with a fine plaque and money. She was all too thrilled and I tried to delight in her excitement, but, but —

Actually, I should delight in her excitement, leave all my feelings aside, and consider her feelings at this moment. I’ve been someone whose priorities have not been well aligned before, I should be a good person. She should get the chance to enjoy the fruit of her labor without my evil eye.

It was a Sunday morning when Julian, Nadine, and I had met up for brunch. The following day, after class, Nadine informed me Rebecca had packed some of her things, grabbed Charlie and fled to her family home in Santa Barbara, California. Nadine and I sat at a two person table at the school cafeteria as she divulged the details to me, distress written all over her face.

“I want to think she grabbed Charlie because he’s younger and she wants to take care of him, but I feel like she took him because he’s her son.”

“No. No. No. I don’t think she left you behind because she doesn’t think you’re her daughter. I’ve seen the way she cares about you. And is loving, and tender.”

“Why was she trying for a baby then, she already has a son and a daughter. Why was she so distressed”

“I think it is more about what she’s living through. I don’t think it has anything to do with you. AT ALL.” I said.

Nadine went silent, slowly shaking her head. I reached my hands across the table and enveloped hers in mine.

“Don’t take it like that.” I added.

“How does she want me to take it? Our home is empty, my dad is always drunk. I’ve barely seen Charlie. She’s so selfish,” tears made their way to her chin.

I felt like I was out of my league here. My parents are two boring people who display overt affection in inappropriate circumstances. They’re the definition of a couple who are set to grow old together. I’m an only child. My parents have always gone out of their way to protect me from anything that would do me harm.

When I made mistakes, I was severely punished. When I obeyed and stayed in my lane, they rewarded me. The rules of my family dynamics were crystal clear to me. Nadine’s mother had died far too young, so she was starved for the affection of a mother. Her father was a workaholic when what she needed was someone to parent her. Now she was feeling rejected by the only mother she’d truly known and her family was coming apart.

On Tuesday night, Julian had offered for us to study together at the school library. He’d told me before we met up that the members of JJC had received the information regarding my case via email. So, I met up with him around seven o’clock in the evening, in the fall, that might as well be twelve am, always pitch black outside. While entering the front doors of the library, I walked past Ignacia and Chelsea exiting. To take back my power, I made eye contact with them, then looked away. They didn’t show any emotion, like I was unimportant.

Julian and I sat across from each other at a two person table. I had a small stack of books in front of me.

“It’s honestly a tough case. We were in the group chat deliberating last night”

“Oh,” my heart sank. “What then?”

“I think they’re all leaning towards guilt, but I feel like I can convince them. Twelve angry men style.” He cackled.

I showed a forced smile to appease him. “You can help me?”

“I think I can. It’ll be difficult, but I should have an answer for you by Thursday.”

“If you are able to, I swear, I will buy you the most expensive dinner!” I shared trying to motivate him and cheer myself up. “Within reason of course. I don’t have a job”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else.” He leaned forward.

“You did?” I grew somewhat uncomfortable.

Julian, who before seemed like someone I needed to know, then someone important to my very survival just a few moments ago, turned to something else.

“I would’ve voted for guilt if Nadine didn’t know you. To be honest, Academic integrity is no joke,” he started

“I know. Believe me, I know”

“No, you don’t know.” He sat up in his chair across from me. “I think you need to pay me for my efforts. I’m –”

“What??”

“I think you need to pay me. He said, matter of fact.

I begged that I didn’t have any money, but he said it was not his problem. I pleaded that my academic future was riding on this - he did not care. I teared up; he couldn’t care less. The little prick was extorting me for five thousand dollars. As if I had that kind of money lying around. I grabbed my books, my backpack, and bolted out of there, heading straight to my apartment. Even if I did give him the money, what was the guarantee that he would be able to convince them? After the case goes through the students, what was the guarantee that the faculty would rule in my favor? I pondered as I made my way to the apartment. The place where I had no privacy to experience my emotions.

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When I arrived at the apartment, I saw Regan and Samara sitting in the outdoor patio that the sliding glass doors from our living room led to. They both looked in high spirits, maybe they had good news to share, but it could’ve also been euphoria from the burning cigarettes they each had in one hand. I didn’t greet them, and I don’t think they noticed me. I dashed for the bedroom right away.

Later, on Thursday, I received an update: The Junior Judicial Council…have commenced deliberating on Student integrity case 4736 regarding plagiarism in…

I grew anxious. I found out from the email that I was to appear before them in two weeks, tell my side of the story, they would deliberate for a while and present me with a verdict. In two weeks, I would know my fate. My parents knew nothing of the nightmare I was currently experiencing, and I wanted to keep it that way. I had to fix this myself, the way I got into this on my own.

To be continued next week in Part E.

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Author’s Note:

Hi everyone! 😊Thank you so much for reading Chronicles From College. I received some really encouraging feedback on The Roommate Debacle: Part A as a standalone post, so I'm experimenting a little and letting the story take center stage for the rest of The Roommate Debacle arc. We'll be doing story-only posts and weekly artwork until the end of Chapter 2. I'd love to hear your thoughts in the poll at the bottom.
I hope you enjoy Part C!

Chapter 2: The Roommate Debacle (Part C)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

Samara and I went to The Village together to get our groceries, and some Taro tea with boba to drink. Samara had driven us since she was lucky enough to have a car. Needing a car was something I had discussed with my parents but it was not atop of my priority lists. Also, maintaining a car was not a responsibility I was inclined to take on. Especially if most of the time, others were willing to drive me around.

“My boyfriend Paul, he’s setting up the most romantic date for me this weekend. I’m going up to visit him and we’re trying this new restaurant, and there’s this wine tasting thing that is happening in Pasadena. He’s taking me to that too!” Samara shared.

“Wow, that sounds exciting. I don’t think I even know a guy willing to send me a ‘hello’ text,” I sighed.

“No, don’t worry, you’ll find someone. It’ll happen when you least expect it!”

“I hope so, also that is a cliche that single people hear all the time, but okay.” At this point in our relationship, I had confided in her everything about Ezra from freshman year. I didn’t keep in touch with him anymore, but I saw him around campus often. He was in my Behavioral Communication honors class, but I was doing everything to avoid coming inches too close to that guy.

Sometimes I would see him at the society meetings, but we didn’t interact. Just because I couldn’t quit the society because of its academic perks didn’t mean I had to befriend my enemies. Ignacia and Chelsea were now seniors, I didn’t dare to associate with them in any way. I often saw them during Phi Beta Alpha meetings with a younger British girl whom I did not recognize from last year - no doubt someone new to bully and exploit.

Samara had been supportive when she found out about everything, even the parts where I was a careless friend. Honestly, in Sadie’s absence, Samara had been a fantastic new addition.

“Has he tried speaking to you at all in class? Ezra, I mean.”

“No. I really don’t want any drama, I just want peace.” I said as Samara made a turn into The Mirage’s parking lot.

I had shared a lot about myself with Samara, she had shared mostly about how enamored she was with her boyfriend. I was slightly jealous, but I dispelled the thought as quickly as it arrived.

A lot of my actions over the summer and now fall semester were dictated by the events of last year. It felt like I was walking on eggshells around everyone as a way to take accountability for my previous errors. Sadie had ‘betrayed’ me in a way and I spoke nothing of it to her. Not when she was here, not when she called to update me about Rome, not when she sent me videos of her apartment, not when she told me about Italy’s delicious pasta assortments, certainly not when she mentioned the person she was dating - nothing.

Nadine was living through a difficult time so I bit my tongue regarding her often invites to dinner, I knew she needed a buffer and a shoulder to cry on. When I was jealous of pretty Samara and her perfect boyfriend, her adventurous soul, her social graces, I buried that feeling.

When I saw Regan around, I said ‘hello’ and kept things moving. Through it all, the start of Sophomore year had felt like I was just surviving, barely keeping my head above water.

It was a bolt out of the blue for me when my professor shared the news that I was being accused of plagiarism. I was taking four classes total that semester and one of them was my Astronomy class named ‘The Sun, The Planets, and Everything in Between’ by our school’s faculty.

I would never have taken a physical science class of my own accord. STEM classes were a weakness of mine. When it came to the biological sciences, at least I knew I could survive since I am a fairly okay writer. Math is my Achilles heel, so of course the physical sciences were not my friends.

In fact, I had taken an Astronomy class to satisfy my physical science curriculum requirement because I thought it would be the easiest to get through: This particular astronomy class entailed more memorization and writing than most. I could also learn various facts that would be exciting to know.

It was the final Friday in September when Samara and I had gone to The Village together, on Monday morning I received an email from Professor Shine to meet up.

In the afternoon, I was seated in his office receiving the news. Professor Shine combed through my essay highlighting all the red ink he had used to point out instances when I had lifted too many facts directly from the websites I was referencing. I stared at the screen of his computer, dumbfounded.

“As you can see, our portal is flagging all of this, this, that, down here, that part as plagiarism,” he said as he moved the cursor on his screen to identify the areas he was trying to communicate to me.

He was a tenured professor who was a man of few words. He had bright white hair that would look like a platinum blonde dye if he were a younger man.

I sighed. “I don’t know what happened. I paraphrased what I needed to, I have all my in text citations, I double checked the APA format”

“But look at the screen. It is not my job to babysit you. You should know how to do all this by now. Plagiarism is a very serious offense.” He adjusted his prescription glasses with box metal rims which further highlighted his resting serious face.

“My reference pages are all there, you can clearly see that this was not my intention”

“Maybe. What year are you?”

I drew a deep breath and blew out. “A sophomore.”

“You’ve been here for a year? Most students here were well-vetted before acceptance. In fact, this is something you should’ve been familiar with before coming to college. Being a sophomore makes this inexcusable”

I almost broke out into tears when I realized he was implying that I didn’t belong at Southern Oak at all. My school has a zero tolerance policy for plagiarism or cheating, if found guilty, I could be expelled. All over a class I didn’t even want to be a part of in the first place.

“It’s just some of the facts are known common information, and –”

“Are you trying to explain to me how citation works?” He asked sternly with an austere facial expression.

“No, I–”

“You see it, don’t you?”

The rest of that conversation is something I’m convinced my brain has suppressed due to distress. But I do remember he had told me he was sending the issue to the Junior Judicial Council, where it would first be preceded over by fellow students, a jury of my peers to keep things fair.

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In most academic scenarios, teachers have the upper hand, but at Southern Oak University, students presided over most academic integrity cases.

“If the JJC finds you guilty, that’s it. The faculty members of the Astronomy department will determine your punishment. If the students don’t find you guilty, the faculty will have no reason to get involved.” Professor Shine informed me.

I could be kicked out of school if found guilty. Of course, the honors society would be notified of it if I got expelled. Adulthood is difficult, but surviving young adulthood is a back-breaking experience all on its own. Adulthood is little fires everywhere, and young adulthood is changing plot every few days, but one thing both have in common are tears.

I exited Professor Shine’s office attempting to dry my tears. There were passers by and I didn’t want them to see me at a low point, but I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, I was confused, and above all I was terrified.

It would have been better if I did not attend my final class that Monday, but I did because my Communications in Business class was the only one I shared with Nadine. I didn’t retain any information from that lecture. After class, I recall sobbing into Nadine’s arms as I told her what happened. The last thing I can summon up from that experience was Nadine’s words to me, “I actually know someone on the Junior Judicial Council”.

To be continued next week in Part D.

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Chapter 2: The Roommate Debacle (Part B)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

Samara and I were engrossed in our conversation when our third roommate walked in, in our distraction we missed the “hi” she shot our way. By this time, my bed which was located in the corner of the room right by our petite walk-in closet was completely laid and I was sitting on it. Samara was setting up her personal belongings on her desk table which was bolted into the wooden floor right next to her bed. During our almost one hour long conversation, I’d found out that Samara hailed from up in Orange County, California, enjoyed spending time with her friends, had a boyfriend who was studying business up in Pasadena, California, and like myself enjoys movies. She had allowed me to share an array of stories about my life growing up in Massachusetts, Nadine, Sadie and I’s mini trip to New York to visit Astrid over the summer, and validated my feelings regarding what I had dubbed ‘the Sadie situation’.

Soon after Regan walked in, she began setting up her belongings in her corner. Regan knew which bed and desk were hers because of the giant ‘C’ written in ink on a piece of paper hanging from above her bed like a statement piece. We all knew which alphabet belonged to us because it was stated in the lease we signed. Two women who I assumed to be Regan’s parents strode in behind her.

“Hi girls,” one of her parents said to us after they made it past the door to Regan’s section of the room which was the closest to the door.

“Hi,” Samara and I responded in unison.

“Oh hello,” I greeted after noticing Regan standing by her bed.

“Hello,” Regan said with a faint smile.

“I’m Melody, this is Samara,” I gestured toward Samara as I mentioned her name.

“I’m Regan,” she shared.

“Nice to meet you, nice to meet all of you. Are you from around here?” Samara asked politely.

“We’re actually from New York City, but we moved to Palos Verdes a few years ago,” Regan’s parent, who had not spoken so far, replied.

“Oh cool, what part of New York?” Samara questioned. “I participated in a photography program at Pace University a few years ago.”

“Nice,” Regan smiled awkwardly at Samara.

The last forty-five minutes had felt like Samara and I were kindred souls destined to find each other. In fact, she was exactly the kind of friend I had envisioned I would make last year when I first started college. I was starting to feel a flush of anxiety from Regan and Samara getting to know each other at all. There were three of us, and in any odd-numbered group interaction, there’s always one person who gets left out. I was suddenly experiencing fears from possible scenarios of being the odd one out.

Regan naturally had a beautiful California-tan complexion, coupled with her ear-length jet-black hair, and light bangs that framed her fairly round face. She had a sense of fashion that I would describe as “eternally summer”. She wore short denim jeans most of the time, paired with a tank-top if she was going somewhere besides class. When she was heading to class, she wore T-shirt merchandise from “obscure bands”. One very noticeable thing about Regan was the many rings she wore, a combination of both silver and gold jewelry for contrast.

The first few days following our move-in made something apparent to Samara and I, Regan was insufferable. I didn’t know her major, but I would’ve guessed it was musical theater or something. Given the fact that she acted like one of those self-absorbed theater students who think their ‘talent’ warrants inconveniencing everyone else.

From the unnecessary singing in the shower, in the kitchen, in the living room, and in the night when I was attempting to get some rest, to the dirty dishes she left in the sink, and everything else about her - Regan was not someone I liked at all.

We kept things cordial, but I don’t remember her and I ever having a real conversation during the first half of the semester. Samara and Regan were friendly, often seen chatting but never hanging out. From my perspective, Samara and I were a whole lot closer than she and Regan would ever be.

Getting to know Samara and spending time with Nadine were antithetical to each other. When I was at Nadine’s, the energy could either be heavy or it would be one of the days where Nadine had buried her problems in favor of denial. This Friday, after my Introduction to Scriptwriting class, I headed to Nadine’s house for dinner.

Nadine’s step mother, a refined older lady who looked somewhere in her late thirties made her way around the table, setting the plates and cutlery for dinner. I trailed behind her with water glasses and set one wherever she placed a plate.

“How are your parents doing?” she asked with genuine interest.

“Pretty good, Mrs. Dubois. I speak to them almost everyday. I spoke to them yesterday and they spent pretty much the first half of our conversation apologizing for not coming to California for move-in day this year.”

“Why didn’t they come?”

“I asked them not to. With the new apartment, and now my meals, and all the expenses from living off campus, I felt bad about having them spend money on plane tickets and hotels–”

“That makes sense – I guess.” She set the last plate on the glass table, then turned to face me. She rested her palms on my shoulders. “That makes sense, but if someone wants to be there for you, you should let them. Most people don’t get that.”

Nadine’s footsteps stole her step mother’s attention, something I was all too happy about. Rebecca turned around to face Nadine.

“Is that what you’re wearing to dinner?” She pointed at Nadine’s giant hoodie.

Rebecca, from what I’d observed, was a well put together woman of the world. Well traveled, impeccable sense of fashion, and an idyllic taste in all things.

Given that she was the kind of person that had spent a large chunk of Michel’s fortune picking out every detail in their five-bedroom mid-century house, I would imagine someone related to her wearing a hoodie anywhere would bother her. I didn’t believe Nadine was the source of her negative feelings at that moment.

Michel and Rebecca had a whirlwind romance after they met at one of the many brunch spots in the neighborhood of Santa Monica. She was in her late twenties and he was somewhere in his early forties. They started dating at the start of Spring and by winter, they were engaged.

Two years after they first met, Charles Dubois was born. At five years old, Charles could not comprehend the fact that his home was about to be broken, but Nadine knew. Nadine knew their issues stemmed from Rebecca’s recent miscarriage. A sensitive time in her life during which she had felt Michel had not been supportive.

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On the normal, Rebecca was a kind and warm individual, now everything set her off, and Michel wasn’t home most of the time. She drank expensive reds at home and he consumed hard liquor at bars. They would not accept it, but both were two sides of the same coin; except that Rebecca took up heavy drinking recently. Michel had flirted with alcoholism his whole life.

During the summer, when he would come home lurching, she would lose it, he would murmur gibberish - the sounds of their arguments were now the theme song of their household. While their arguments never got physical, the emotional drain was poison enough on its own.

“Don’t start. I didn’t do anything,” Nadine descended the staircase.

“Look at what you’re wearing?”

“And you paid for this for me. You never had a problem with it before.”

Rebecca scoffed and headed to the kitchen. Nadine made eye contact with me and made a face. I put my hands up in surrender to appear neutral to Nadine, making sure Rebecca didn’t spot me.

To be continued next week in Part C.

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🎬The Watchlist: The Odyssey Movie: Some Stories Refuse To Die

Why did the new Odyssey film need to be made?

If you’ve been anywhere on the internet at all, and remotely have any interest in movies, then you’ve probably heard that Homer’s 2000+ year old epic poem is getting a brand new screen adaptation, this time with Oscar winning director Christopher Nolan at the helm.

Christopher Nolan is a film director who needs no introduction to fans of cinema. He made ⅔ good Dark Knight films…I’ll leave it to you to decide which two were good and which one was the odd one out, but here’s a hint from me…my least favorite of the three was the Bane of my existence, when I saw it. In any case Mr. Nolan is a great director, The Prestige remains one of my absolute favorite movies of all time.

My simple question this week is if this film needed to be made. To get to this, I’ll say a few things. Homer’s original poem is nearly impossible to follow if you don’t have a sophisticated ability to dissect the English language…was that a mouthful? So is the poem. It’s so complicated that it requires your favorite English teacher’s guidance for you to be able to access the story of both The Iliad (check out the movie TROY with Brad Pitt) and The Odyssey. However, the stories told in The Iliad and its sequel The Odyssey are so rich with great character development, intrigue, and many moral lessons (I’m looking at you Achilles) about pride that it should not only be accessible to people who love a good read. I think a great story should aim to be translated to as many forms as possible. Whether it’s telling it in many different languages, or restructuring it as a drama on stage, in its original poetry form, or a form of prose; the story of Odysseus’ feud with Poseidon and Athena’s guidance should be accessible to many, which film allows.

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You might argue that there’s been other adaptations of The Odyssey, why is this one SPECIAL? Yes, there’s been other adaptations of the story. I personally watched one in English class. That version apparently only made $40 million (ergo: few people saw it) at the Box Office. I tried to find that and link it in this article, but the new film has flooded all of Google’s search results, so I can’t find it. Then I recently found out about The Return, starring Ralph Fiennes (If you loved him in Harry Potter as Voldemort, you should check out the movie The Menu). Point is, there HAVE been other Odyssey movies made already, so why is Nolan’s different? It’s different in the same way a lot of history students went through high school, were taught about the Manhattan Project and simply forgot about it once they took their SAT test. It’s different in that Christopher Nolan, like him or not, makes financially successful films that people actually go and see. He made Oppenheimer, which was entertaining and educative for people who had forgotten who Oppenheimer was. Not me though…I thought about Robert Oppenheimer at least once a day before 2023... No really, Oppenheimer is mentioned multiple times in The Big Bang Theory TV show, which I watch religiously.

As much as I hate Hollywood remakes, I think The Odyssey film needed to be made, for Homer’s brilliant story of an assortment of fictional characters to be put on center stage, not just for people who enjoy reading classic literature, but for everyone who enjoys a great story….even the ones who couldn’t be bothered to pick up a book.

Yes, The Odyssey has existed for years, many films and animations have been made, but this new one introduces Ithaca to people who maybe think Ithaca is simply the home of Cornell University and that’s that. Homer’s poem is great, as of July 17, 2026, now even more people can enjoy this brilliant story, maybe through the lens of modern times (per all the controversy with the casting that internet people have had too many opinions about). It’s the same reason why the Keira Knightley’s Pride and Prejudice exists, the reason the new Emma film got made, and why Clueless is so beloved. Jane Austen was/is great and more people deserve to see it.

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Author’s Note:

Hi everyone!

I’m trying something a little different this week. Instead of pairing a chapter with an article, I’m letting Chronicles From College stand on its own. I’ve also included some concept art because this chapter felt like the perfect place to experiment a little.

As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy the beginning of chapter two of the story, The Roommate Debacle - Part A.

Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle, Part A)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

August

It was at the end of the Spring semester when Sadie and I made arrangements to share a dorm room for the next school year, by August she had disappointed me. Sadie is a beautiful person of a pure heart whose empathy for others’ plight can double as both her best quality and her greatest pitfall. Last year, my own faults had created a slight rift in the beautiful friendship my first college friend and I were nurturing. Thankfully she forgave me and by the start of summer we were thicker than thieves.

At Southern Oak University, every freshman is required to stay in the campus dorms for all of their first year, and most sophomores tend to continue this trend. It has become an unspoken rule for sophomores to stay at the campus dorms, but after the difficult first year I had, I wanted to stay just close enough to campus to attend my classes and spend any remaining time I had with my friends, Nadine and Sadie. Nadine lived at home with her family which meant she was not an option for a roommate. I remember Sadie and I’s initial conversation regarding housing as clear as day.

“I feel like you can be a pain in the ass but the devil you know is better than the angel you don’t. I don’t know everything I can expect from you, but at least I know some.” Sadie stated.

“Thank you?,” I said, unsure of how to respond to her statement. “I mean you’re the angel in this friendship so based on your statement, if anyone is going to do something crazy— I think it’s pretty obvious who it’s going to be,” I joked.

Sadie scoffed, “let’s not open that can of worms. What kind of apartment do you want us to get?”

“To be honest my parents said they weren’t going to pay for anything that exceeds to price of the dorms, so I’m not sure”

“That’s great! The dorms are overpriced anyway!,” she grew excited. “I feel like we should stay at The Mirage, it has a gym, an elevator, even a pool, I think. Don’t quote me on that”

“A pool?”

“I said don’t quote me on that!”

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By the end of the week, Sadie and I were signing a lease at The Mirage for a one bedroom apartment completely furnished, including two Twin XL beds. The Mirage is a beautiful modern built student apartment situated near The Village, filled with mostly upper class students.

The student housing has no formal contract with Southern Oak University, but markets itself as an affiliate of the school, which the university has never formally objected to. To create a vivid mental note of association to the school, The Mirage has a color palette of marigold and white.

Thrilling as the possibility of living with Sadie was, I should’ve implemented a backup plan. During the start of the Spring semester last year, Sadie had informed me of her application to study abroad at a university in Rome. She stated that her acceptance was a longshot. Given her odds of getting accepted, I never processed the possibility of spending the fall semester of Sophomore year without my roommate, but here we were. Once the ink on the final page of the lease was completed, my housing situation for the next year was crystal clear - until three days before August concluded. I picked up a phone call from Sadie.

“Um– remember the University in Rome I applied to?”

“Yes,” I replied sharply.

“Someone dropped out for the semester and I was offered the spot. My parents feel like I should take it,”

“That’s so exciting!”

It wasn’t long until my cheer turned sour. It started to dawn on me what her absence would mean for me in the next few weeks. The latter half of our conversation was as heartbreaking for me as I was happy she acquired something she longed for.

Before I knew it, I received a call from the apartment manager who informed me that she had two other students who wanted to share an apartment. Be that as it may, she was going to have the other ladies take over Sadie and I’s current lease. She offered me a bed space in a large one bedroom apartment with two other girls who were just as much strangers to each other as they were to me.

Given how close we were to the start of the school year, most apartments were already taken up, so I was ‘lucky’ to have found a bedspace at all. Sophomore year was supposed to be a fresh start of college life for me, but with only a week before it began, I was already beginning to navigate tempestuous waters – again.

Since school was out, I was not allowed to stay in the dorms over the summer, so I had spent the last few months at Nadine’s house in Santa Monica. That experience was less than a bed of roses.

Nadine’s step mother Rebecca, known to me as Mrs. Dubois, and her father Michel, often referred to as Mikey by his friends and business associates, known to me as Mr. Dubois had started having a strained marriage over the summer.

It started with snappy comments by both parties in front of Nadine and her little brother Charles, often referred to as Charlie. Then disagreements in front of both their children and their house guest, which made me slightly uncomfortable. By the end of summer things had progressed to the point of a potential divorce.

Nadine and Sadie’s mutual friend and now someone I had grown to care about, Astrid had graduated, and was now in New York completing a contract position in costume design on a popular crime show. It was now up to me to step up and lend Nadine a shoulder to cry on.

September

Around this time last year, I was riding on the high of being accepted into The Honors Society; this year I was reeling from the disappointment of finding out that Sadie had the ability to inform me about Rome three weeks earlier, but didn’t in an attempt to spare my feelings.

While she thought she was doing me a favor by prioritizing my emotions until the eleventh hour, which to be honest, I felt was just a way for her to avoid having a difficult conversation; she had done me a disservice by relegating me to a housing situation that I could not have anticipated nor did I ask for.

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Given the events of last year, I’ve had to navigate the situation with grace for the sake of our friendship. On the first Saturday afternoon in September, I moved my belongings from Nadine’s into my new bedspace in a one bedroom apartment at The Mirage.

There was a melancholy to setting up my living space by myself. Last year, I was all too eager to do this without my parent’s aid; this year, I could not help but miss them. I was the first to arrive, and I was halfway through my setup when my first roommate walked in. From our first conversation, I found out that she was a junior majoring in Marine Biology. She arrived without her parents and that instantaneously relieved some of the melancholia I was experiencing. It also helped that she had a chatty personality and seemed to have a way with people.

“Hi, I’m Samara!” She shared, a beaming smile spread across her face. “Are you Regan or Melody?” She parked her suitcase next to her designated bed.

“Hello, my name is Melody! Nice to meet you!”

“Ugh.. I love your wallpaper, such a beautiful photo – Gorgeous, gorgeous! Where did you get it?”

I perked up instantly, “I took the photo myself actually, then I had it printed this big in the photo lab at school”

“No way – Are you in the photo club?” She questioned with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah, and the screenwriting club too. I joined as a freshman”

Samara continued to stare at the photo of red and white roses growing by a lake with a beautiful orange-like sunset as a backdrop sprawled above my bed.

“You’re a sophomore?” She asked.

I nodded in agreement.

“Wow, bold of you to live in a third party apartment. Most Sophomores just stay at the dorm.”

“I know. It’s a long story,” I said searching for an opening.

“I have time”

“Okay, so my friend Sadie and I were supposed to live together–” and so began my lengthy rant where I vented all my bottled up negative feelings about the situation to a girl I had just met.

To be continued next week in Part B.

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• Welcome back to Chronicles From College! Today’s line-up:
  🎬 Part 1: Pop-Culture Essay: Legally Blonde x California

• 📖 Part 2: Chapter 1, Part F of Chronicles From College (Scroll to bottom) - (Previous chapter here)

🎬 The Watchlist: Elle x Legally Blonde x California Essay

As a disciple of Legally Blonde (both part 1 & 2) I was very inclined to watch the new Amazon Prime TV show Elle, which is a show that follows Elle Woods as a teenager. So If you haven’t seen the show, here’s a quick plot summary without any spoilers…. According to this “new” story from the “world of Legally Blonde”, at sixteen years old, Elle Woods father (who is a plastic surgeon) botched the nose job of an actress back in the 90s, the shame and gossip of people from town causes Elle’s family to flee from Sunny Side Bel-Air in California to settle in Seattle…see what I did there? Settle in Seattle…okay, no? Sorry.

When Elle arrives, she’s the black sheep of her school, which is odd because Elle usually wears pink…okay I’ll stop. The point is, Elle doesn’t fit in with her new crowd. While she’s a lip-gloss-loving, pink-wearing, bubbly girl from Los Angeles, the Seattle settlers are all gloomy and for some reason wear black and plaid exclusively. All in all, this story is about Elle discovering how to fit into a new surrounding - so the same plot as the movies, it’s laughable, but I must say, I shamelessly enjoyed the show.

Hollywood and reboots is not what I’m here to discuss today, but what I noticed while watching Elle this past week, and that’s Hollywood’s weird obsession with portraying California as this crazy sunny, beachy place of ONLY shallow people, which isn’t true. I lived in Los Angeles for eight years of my life. Legally Blonde/ Elle is not the only show to suffer from this, shows and movies like The OC, High School Musical (Sharpay Evans), and more are guilty of this.

First of all, California is a state on its own with different types of people. Los Angeles is a county within California, and Los Angeles has many neighborhoods within it. There are beachy places like Santa Monica, Venice, and Marina Del Rey where people are interested in surfing and swimming and biking, and laying on the beach, but those same people are also athletic and social and are involved in activities like the Venice Run Club. There are areas like Westwood (home of UCLA), the USC campus, Pepperdine University, and SMC that belong to regular every day college students who are turning in their assignments, getting drunk, doing drugs, arguing with each other and figuring out financial aid.

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There are affluent areas like Bel-Air (home of Elle Woods), Beverly Hills (where designer items and sports cars are readily available), and Malibu (home of really enjoyable seafood - shout out to Malibu Seafood, and really fun, hoody-wearing skateboarders). In those affluent areas some rich people are socially cautious, some of them are flatly evil, some are materialistic, some are all three traits combined.

There’s Silverlake on the East side, technically not Los Angeles County, where people are artsy and tattooed and enjoy a good flea market, along with a vibrant rave.

Pasadena, Glendale, and Burbank (home of the movie studios), all these places are ALSO technically not Los Angeles. These places are where a lot of the corporate workers who work on your favorite films and TV shows live. They are normal people like your cousin from Missouri or that weird guy who you met once in Michigan.

Downtown Los Angeles, near the USC area has many vibrant Hispanic communities that are filled with neighbors supporting neighbors and street vendors in Santee Alley. Inglewood literally has the Kia Forum and SoFi Stadium where many concert lovers gather to enjoy music. They’re literally hosting a World Cup match.

You get the point, Los Angeles is filled with a myriad of people and communities. Yes, the sun is out more often than not, but it also rains, sometimes consecutively - to the point that it even floods. We’ve experienced more wild fires than I can count, and so many earthquakes that we get used to them.

Hollywood writers are wired because these writers themselves LIVE in Los Angeles and know everything I’ve just said, yet choose to portray LA as a stereotype. To be a writer, you need life experience, and refuse to believe the people portraying Los Angeles as a shallow hell are the very people that live there. There are a lot of influencers in Los Angeles, true, there are actors and musicians and models, also true. But there are people who also work at grocery stores, waiters, servers, doctors, computer engineers, housing/ criminal/ environmental lawyers, immigrants seeking a better life, mothers, fathers, brothers. People chasing their dreams, and others simply living their life. Not everyone aims to be famous.

Yes, there are some superficial people in LA, but that doesn’t make up the whole city, in fact, they likely make up 10-15% of the Los Angeles population. Sure there is monetary value in consistently portraying LA as a stereotype, but in doing so, we miss the vibrant eclectic nature of the city. Some people are materialists, some are mean, others are kind, helpful, naive, judgmental – these attributes can be found in people in every town and city everywhere.

California isn’t a stereotype. It’s a place. Just like New York isn’t only finance bros and Seattle isn’t only people wearing flannel in the rain, Los Angeles isn’t just influencers and aspiring actors. The irony is that Hollywood keeps telling stories about individuality while flattening one of the most diverse places in America into a caricature.

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Chapter 1: The Honors Society (Part F, Final Part)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

I recalled the day we went to Barney’s together, how odd it was that Ezra was present. How quickly he left to smoke with Chelsea. I hurried away from the girls and called Ezra again and again - still no answer.

I could hear the word ‘stupid’ echoing in my thoughts, over and over again. To think because he appeared kind, that he was kind. He was the worst type of poison, the strain that smelled like strawberries and tasted like honey. Thinking he was made for me, when he belonged to no one.

Chelsea was standing in a corner with Kennedy, I zoomed in on her and hurried over.

“Are you sleeping with my boyfriend?” I asked with no time to be polite.

She looked taken aback. She calmly sipped her Espresso Martini. Without breaking eye contact, “yes.”

I was frozen. I hadn’t thought through what I would say to any response that came out of her mouth, much less this one.

She turned to Kennedy who refused to acknowledge my presence. “So as I was saying, PineLawn is a great company, but I don’t know if that’s where I want to be.”

I watched as they carried on, fading me into a distant nothing. When my body sent tears running down my cheeks, Chelsea looked at me, without flinching, she grabbed Kennedy by the wrist and they moved away from me.

I remember spending a lot of the night gulping champagne and hiding in a corner somewhere.

The rest of my memories were hazy, but I remember seeing Astrid come up on stage to introduce Jimmy Lin, who had come back to give the school year’s farewell speech. Kennedy welcomed Astrid to the stage. I saw him spend the better part of their time on stage groping the side of Astrid’s breasts while pretending to grab her by the arm in faint affection.

I didn’t know if the good faith the society’s executives and faculty patrons had instilled in Kennedy was why everyone who saw, ignored it. Or maybe they didn’t see it? An entire room of happy guests. The expression on Astrid’s face as she tried to conceal her disdain communicated to me that Kennedy knew exactly what he was doing.

Sadie simply put, looked angry. Nadine looked confused. I wanted to walk over, say something to my friends. Before I did, I spotted Ignacia walking out of the event room. She was heading into the main lobby of the building. My body started moving in her direction before I could stop myself. Jimmy was giving some fluff speech.

“You used me all semester to do work that you’re supposed to do.” I said expecting an explanation.

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Ignacia was in a golden silk dress with ruffles from her knees down, her cheeks were bright red and her hair was pulled up. Her look was not overt, but I could tell it was a subtle nod to her Spanish heritage. “When you’re obviously desperate to be liked, people take advantage. It takes most people all four years of college to learn that. I taught you that in one semester. You should be thanking me.”

“I’m ending the semester with all Bs. My perfect GPA is ruined. Do you get that?”

“This is not high school. You’ll live.” She sipped her red wine.

Mario was in a black and white tuxedo get up with his hair slicked back, like an old Hollywood action star. “What’s going on here?”

“Some tantrum.” She planted a kiss on Mario’s cheek, leaving a tattoo of her red lipstick.

“You suck! You know that?” I said, right before Chelsea joined in.

“I’ve honestly had enough of you, and your whole victim thing.” Chelsea said.

“I’ve honestly had enough of you, and your whole victim thing.” I mimicked. I didn’t know how else to defend myself. So from that moment on, I repeated everything they all said in a mocking tone, while trying to push back breaking into tears again.

“You’re pathetic.” Chelsea said before she exited my presence. Her friends followed. It was a lousy feeling that settled deep within me, knowing someone had offended me, but they could not see the error of their ways. I thought they would feign remorse, but instead they all doubled down. I was left to my own devices in the lobby that echoed the ongoings of the event room.

I was about to head back in and speak to my friends when the voice of a man sounded from the corner of the room. I traced the sound to see Kennedy heading towards me. He made his way to stand inches in front of me. Then lowered his head to my height and probed my face.

“Don’t cry.” He wiped a tear that was breaking free from beneath my left eye. “Chelsea is awful, but don’t cry.”

“Did you know she was hooking up with Ezra?”

He inhaled deeply. “Let’s get out of here.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and shoved me toward the door before I could give him an answer. I wanted to go back and speak to Astrid, ask her if she was doing okay. It all happened so fast.

Next thing I knew, Kennedy and I were driving in his car, fast, on the I-10 freeway. I spent the ride trying to explain to Kennedy what had gone wrong with Sadie and the rest, he met me with filler words.

It would be a few minutes before I realized he was speeding towards the Culver City viewpoint Ezra and I had been to on several occasions.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He didn’t respond.

I asked again.

Then he sped up even farther. I grew petrified. “Let me out!”

“Let me out! Let me out!” I cried repeatedly. I tried opening the doors to realize they were locked. I started nudging his shoulder with heavy force. Enough to potentially derail the car’s direction.

Suddenly he came to a screeching halt. My tears cascaded down my cheeks. He whipped his head in my direction. His eyes only held evil. I don’t know if the door would not open before because of how frantic I had been but suddenly, I was able to open the door on my side, I hopped out and made a break for it.

I remember running every which way, trying to put distance between his car and I. He could’ve caught up to me in seconds, but he didn’t move the car.

I remember calling a rideshare when I felt I was far enough, and when I saw passers-by enjoying the chilly night.

I wrapped my arms around my waist, waiting, barefooted. Somehow, I had kicked off my heels in trying to gain momentum to escape Kennedy. I hoped my driver wouldn’t notice - she didn’t.

I spent the entirety of my freshman year trying to impress and befriend people who were never going to see me as one of them. They were not students who were high achieving because they deserved it, they were vampires who sucked the life out of everybody else to use as the building blocks of their success. Unfortunately, this would not be our last tango.

When I knocked on Nadine’s door, her step-mother let me in. She knew not to ask any questions. When I walked into Nadine’s living room, she, Sadie and Astrid were seated on the floor, playing a card game.

I took a deep breath and thought, “time to apologize.” Not because I truly felt remorse, but because I needed company.

To be continued next week in Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle).

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• Welcome back to Chronicles From College! Today’s line-up:
  🎬 Part 1: Pop-Culture Essay: Rom-Coms Aren’t Dead—They’ve Just Grown Up

• 📖 Part 2: Chapter 1, Part E of Chronicles From College (Scroll to bottom) - (Previous chapter here)

🎬The Watchlist: Voicemails For Isabelle Discussion

First of all, if you haven’t seen Netflix’s new romantic movie, Voicemails For Isabelle, you should pause this article, go and watch the film, and come back. Actually, NO! What if you click out of the Article and never click back? I want all the views I can get—so stay.

Voicemails For Isabelle shows us the good and bad of modern day dating, the triumphs and woes in being a woman today, and teaches us a lesson that to be loved, we must learn to let go. Let’s get into it…

In the past (before dating apps), people only had access to dating prospects within their surroundings. Nowadays (with dating apps), people THINK they have endless prospects, so everyone is playing a game of playing the field. I would like to include a line here about women having more rights and independence + dating apps + the terrible economy being the problem with modern day dating, but I feel like that’s an essay for a different type of Substack account.

The movie shows our main character Jill struggling to balance her career, dating, and even having friends (why does she have no friends??), and that’s something that older rom-coms about 20-something women have always done — examples, How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days, Hitch, The Ugly Truth, Friends With Benefits, 27 Dresses–because this is a universal experience that’s unchanging. People, including women in their twenties will always be trying to figure things out. When you land a great job, then you want a stable relationship, even if you get both, there’s still a lingering existential thought that you’re not doing enough. Voicemails For Isabelle gets it right by taking that same character we’ve always known and modernizing the problem. Instead of a douchey gym loving finance bro, now she’s dealing with a douchey podcaster, weird hinge matches, and asshole co-workers. Now THAT is what I call…progress.

What I loved about the movie—well, apart from the sisterly bond that everyone’s been talking about—Is that when I saw Jill, I saw someone trying her very best to be the very best version of herself, not because as people we should always strive for our best, but because I saw her trying to be hyper independent. Again, does no one find it weird that the film didn’t give her any friends? Or even A friend??? Her lack of the best friend trope is part of her character.

She was extremely independent because she didn’t have faith in love. Maybe love of all sorts. Her parents were great, yes. But apart from that, she had a sister that she really couldn’t call on if she needed anything, apart from moral support. She wasn’t in a stable relationship and didn’t have a best friend, so she didn’t have anyone directly in her corner in San Francisco. She was struggling and trying to deal with the normal woes of anyone’s 20s along with something heavy like the death of a loved one.

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What I enjoyed the most as the film went on was the fact that when she meets Wes, he becomes someone for her to rely on, so she doesn’t have to survive everything herself. She’s able to openly tell him about grieving her sister’s death (before she finds out about the office phone), he brings her to bed when she falls asleep on the couch, and he offers her his jacket when she’s cold. Not because she can’t survive all these by herself, but because everyone simply needs someone to take care of them. Which is why I think everyone who saw the film was able to connect with the characters in some form—they wrote both Jill and Wes simply as human beings trying their best. That should be the take away from Voicemails For Isabelle, modern romcoms shouldn’t push romantic relationships and write characters to fall in love for the sake of falling in love to fulfill societal milestones like a relationship, engagement, and marriage.

It should focus on people being able to understand who people are as an individual (their personal goals and dreams), while understanding that there is a limit to hyper independence. Everyone wants to love and be loved back. People don’t want to be loved for who they pretend to be, we ALL want to be loved for who we are—the good, the bad, the shameful, and the ugly. We all want to be wholeheartedly ourselves. Voicemails For Isabelle, is a rom-com that understands that…We often mistake self-sufficiency for strength. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let go and trust another person to take care of you—almost as well as you take care of yourself.

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Chapter 1: The Honors Society (Part E)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

I remember screaming at Ezra, calling him a two-timing son of a bitch, telling him to never call me again. Just like that, the friend group that I had acquired was no more. I only had Nadine to talk to.

“Don’t worry,” Nadine stuffed a fork-full of her spaghetti in her mouth. We were seated across from each other at the cafeteria. “She’s just - honestly, I don’t know Sadie that well, but I think she’s mad at her own thing and has added your thing to hers.”

“It just sucks, you know.” I ate some of my Chinese Chicken Salad.

“I can imagine. I don’t have a roommate, but it must probably be uncomfortable.”

“It is. But I also miss hanging out with her. Going to parties on campus. Parties at UCLA. At Pepperdine, USC. She said she would even teach me how to surf.”

“You couldn’t have known. Plus I think she’s really frustrated because Kylie left.” Nadine said.

“Yeah. I get it. I miss Kylie too but -”

“Were you also hooking up with Kylie?” Nadine raised an eyebrow.

My mouth fell open for a second. “Kylie and Sadie were hooking up?”

“I think so. Astrid said so. But I don’t know if I was supposed to know that, so don’t tell Sadie I said anything.”

“Don’t worry.” I took a sip of my water. “I won’t, I can’t!”

Nadine giggled.

Chelsea invited me to spend the weekend with her, Ignacia, Kennedy, Mario, and a few others at her family’s beach house on Ocean Park, Santa Monica - I was too eager to accept. I remember sitting on the living room carpet while Kennedy sat across from me, rolling a joint. Ignacia was in a large T-shirt sitting on one of the high chairs by the kitchen counter draining Chelsea’s parents of their wine collection. The others were in the outside swimming pool engaged in gleeful chatter.

The open floor plan allowed Ignacia to speak to me. “Did you finish the grid I sent you for the student council yesterday?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Did you finish putting together the packet to pitch the farmer’s market event to the recreational center?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Are you done compiling all the notes from this week? I want to glance over it later.”

Kennedy extended his lit joint towards me. I reached for it. So many experiences were new to me, including this one. I took a drag and started coughing. I beat my chest. “Yes, I did.” I answered Ignacia.

“I’ll get you some water.” Kennedy got to his feet and made his way toward the refrigerator.

“When are we going to the beach?” I asked no one in particular.

“Don’t forget to book the conference room for the meeting I have with the student affairs committee. I think the JJC wants to do a movie night or something, they’ll be sending me the budget for approval. Take a look at that for me.”

“So much work for no pay,” I thought.

“What?” Ignacia asked.

My heart almost jumped out of my chest. “What?”

“I thought you said something, but nevermind.” She smiled.

Kennedy extended his hand towards me. “Here. Drink some water.” He knelt next to me after I took the brimmed glass from him. I was in a spaghetti strapped dress that would be easy to slip off to get in and out of the water.

Kennedy rested his palms on my shoulder and started massaging me. “You’re so tense. You need to calm down.” I didn’t want his hands on my shoulder, I was unsure how to react.

“Calm down. He rested his chin on my shoulder.”

I made a face at Ignacia that was a plea for aid.

“I’m going to the pool.” She grabbed her bottle of wine and walked out of the floor to ceiling doors into the yard.

Long nights were spent alongside the PBA executives; wild nights were squandered smoking and sniffing things I had no business ingesting. When I fell out with Sadie, I kept my friendship with Nadine, but after a few weeks, I realized the PBA executives were more fun to be around. I stopped answering Nadine’s texts frequently, then her calls, eventually there was no communication.

Before I knew it, we were already halfway through the semester. It was a Tuesday afternoon when I opened the school portal to check the results of my first midterm assignment to see a giant D written next to my name. Between the budget planning, meetings, alumni talks, seminar planning and hosting, agenda drafting and submitting, and everything else in between, I barely had the time to complete my volunteer hours for Phi Beta Alpha, and attend socials for the screenwriting club, let alone keep up with my rigorous college work. All my midterm assignments had already been submitted, so at this point whatever would be, would be. I needed to get back on track, I couldn’t afford to fail out of college - I was going to speak to Ignacia.

Ignacia made her sympathetic convictions clear to me when I explained my issue, she even offered to lower my workload without my asking. Then it was a scramble to plead with my professors to give me a chance to remedy my actions, take full responsibility, and quit partying.

One late night, I was at one of the two school libraries catching up on – everything, when I mistakenly made eye contact with Ezra who was passing by with a few Library books in hand. I quickly broke eye contact, but he took that as an invitation to come over.

“I’ve barely seen you all semester. Are you doing okay? I’m sorry for everything that happened.”

“Leave me alone.” My tone was flat.

He bobbed his head. “I’m sorry - the whole thing got away from me. I should’ve probably just broken it off with Astrid.”

“I need to study. Just leave.” Before I knew it, I was in tears. One thing about Ezra, he was a master at feigning kindness. He took a seat across from me, took my hands and consoled me. Before I knew it, I was telling him all about how exhausting being a commissioner was, and how I’d spent my entire semester partying instead of staying on top of my workload.

Weeks passed and I noticed, the amount of work as a commissioner was still the same. I questioned Ignacia about that and the charismatic, the intelligent, the charming, the picture-perfect Ignacia was suddenly obtuse.

I realized, friendly as Chelsea was, I couldn’t talk to her about Ignacia, none of my other friends were in contact with me. Before I knew it, Ezra was the person I was calling every day and getting lunches with. Then we were back at the Culver City viewpoint, and back together as a couple.

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The night of the end of year banquet was one of the most elegant parties I had ever been to, and the most I’d ever cried in one night. The event was hosted at the event room of The Aurora, a private club where many SOU parents were members. The event room boasted Varnished and Gilt-Bronze Cut-Glass Chandeliers that sent a yellow overcast throughout the room. Coupe glasses were overflowing in the champagne fountain. With a black and gold attire mandate, the decorations on the furniture and the curtains draped across the walls were chosen to match our outfits. The live music playing from the band across the room completed the romantic feeling of the atmosphere.

Right after I walked in wearing a shimmery gold dress, I received a text from Ezra.

Ezra: can’t make it tonight. Will explain later.

I called and called - no answer.

As I looked around the room at the busy crowd, I realized the feeling Sadie saved me from during the first PBA meeting was beginning to engulf my body again. I was trying to push back tears. How could I have been surrounded by people all year, and still feel empty at this moment. The bartender handed me a champagne flute. I threw it all down my throat and asked for another.

“Hey. Are you okay? The night is very young. Why are you drinking so much already?” Astrid asked me.

“I don’t know. It’s just - there’s just.” I shook my head.

“Sadie, Nadine and I are sitting over there, if you want to join.”

“Nadine is here? She’s not in the society.”

“Yes. I invited her as my date.” Astrid said.

“Did you find a stray?” Sadie remarked as we approached their table. “You know you can’t just add people right? There are name cards.” She said to Astrid.

“Be nice.” Astrid told Sadie. “I’ll go and speak to one of the service people. They can move you to this table.”

The silence in that moment was loud after Astrid left. I stood near Nadine, aware of every inch of my body, not knowing what to do with myself or how to behave.

“Astrid probably doesn’t know, but I saw you around campus with him again. I know you’re back together. Why isn’t he here with you? He ditched you, right?”

Nadine sipped on her Vesper Martini and refused to engage in the conversation.

“He said he wanted to break up with Astrid, but he didn’t know how.” I said in the lowest possible tone that could still allow Sadie to hear me.

“Did he break up with Chelsea too?” Nadine asked.

I felt the hair on my body raise. “Chelsea?”

“We saw them all up on each other last week. They’ve probably been hooking up for a long time.” Sadie said in a manner clearly designed to offend me.

To be continued next week in Part F.

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• Welcome back to Chronicles From College! Today’s line-up:

  • 🎬 Part 1: Pop-Culture Essay: Why Is Everyone Obsessed With Obsession???

  • 📖 Part 2: Chapter 1, Part D of the novel of Chronicles From College (Scroll to bottom) - (Previous chapter here)

🎬The Watchlist: Obsession Movie Discussion

Unless you have been living under some rock lately, you’ve probably heard about Obsession. The psychological horror indie film made on a $750k budget has shattered records, crossing $224 million worldwide . Now, people won’t shut up about it, and neither should you.

The story follows a deeply unhinged psychological cat-and-mouse game that manages to feel entirely fresh while paying subtle homage to the slow-burn dread of indie masterpieces like Hereditary and The Witch. The plot hinges on intense, claustrophobic tension rather than cheap jump scares. Because the film couldn’t rely on million-dollar special effects, the writing has to do 100% of the heavy lifting. The story is straightforward, fast-paced, and filled with highly authentic dialogue—this is my attempt to keep my essay spoiler-free for anyone who hasn’t seen the film… yet.

Non-film-industry professionals see this film as a win from an audience standpoint. It provides the audience with fresh entertainment that is not some sequel of a sequel. Don’t get me wrong, I love franchises; I’m waiting for the next I Know What You Did Last Summer and I loved the Scream reboot. I even plan on seeing Toy Story 5… I know that’s not horror.

I think a lot of people say that Hollywood needs to make fresh films that are not franchises, but the problem is Hollywood—in some ways. The audience is also to blame. Hollywood does invest in new films that are not franchises, but people simply don’t go and see them. Take the film Novocaine which came out last year…great film… but it bombed at the box office. There are a lot of factors to a film’s success, whether it’s the quality, marketing, publicity (yes, marketing and publicity are two different things), or controversies. There is a lot to be said about why Hollywood doesn’t invest in original ideas and audiences don’t trust the industry enough to pay the exorbitant fee of a movie ticket to go and see these films—this could be a whole essay on its own.

Where other original ideas and indie films have failed in recent years, Obsession has thrived. It is a fantastic film that audiences enjoyed that also did great at the box office. It’s a win-win for all… unless you’re the art director of the film (this opens a new argument on who should benefit from the success of a film and bear the cost if it loses money).

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The success of recent films like Obsession and Anora should prove to film studios that audiences, yes, do want to see large-in-theater, big-budget, multi-million dollar films like The Odyssey, Spider-Man: Brand New Day, or Dune… maybe even Marvel superheroes again. However, studios need to invest some of the millions and billions of profit they make from blockbuster films into smaller projects that aim to tell new stories, taking on the risk of potentially losing money or bringing home an Oscar or/and a whopping $224 million. After all… soon they won’t have any more old stories they can “reboot” or “remake”.... I’m looking at you, DISNEY. So, it’s better to use some of their profits to invest in creating new nostalgia bait so they can “reboot” and “remake” them ten to twenty years from now.

More original films with smaller budgets means more work for industry writers, directors, actors, and corporate employees… without relying too much on AI. This will keep the general industry from hurting the way it has been since 2020 (or should we start calling it ‘the year that shall not be named’). It will keep shareholders happy because small budgets limit financial risks, and audiences will benefit from this arrangement because, duh… better films and TV shows.

Everyone loves Obsession because everyone loves an underdog story, let’s be honest, but it would be appalling to stop there. We’ve seen a formula that works; let’s replicate it. Curry Barker’s luck should not be an exception—it should be an exceptional lesson for Hollywood executives and movie-lovers alike.

Chapter 1: The Honors Society (Part D)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

Spring

When I went back home for the winter, I found that the popular adage, absence makes the heart grow fonder was indeed true. On the normal, I felt like I’d had enough of my parents, but being away from them during the Fall semester allowed for a pleasurable holiday season spent with them.

Sadie left Los Angeles to go skiing with her family in Switzerland. Ezra and his family went up to their log cabin in Big Bear, California to relax. Nadine had journeyed with her father and brother to Paris, France for a snowless winter.

I had been separated from my friends for the holidays, but I knew I would see them again as soon as the Spring semester commenced - all but one. Kylie had been enrolled in SOU as a Biochemical Engineering major, which she found to be soul-sucking, so she had put all her eggs in one basket and applied to UC Berkeley’s film program during the fall semester. A few days before the year ended, she received her acceptance letter.

Finding out about Kylie’s departure was difficult, but her interest in film was imperative to my journey of becoming a filmmaker. Kylie’s journey to her dream school and major were not uncommon. I was attending SOU as a Communications major knowing well that I never intended to pursue a career along that path. Film was always my first choice, Communications was the degree I would fall back on if it turned out the odds of my fate did not favor a career in film.

Spring semester arrived with chilly mornings, hot afternoons, and chilly nights. I started off my second official semester strong with a position as Ignacia’s commissioner.

“Honestly, I don’t think it’ll be that hard. I’ll show you where all the documents are, so you can help with filing them. If anyone needs to speak to me, they can book an appointment through you.”

I bit the tail of my pen as I nodded.

Ignacia kept talking. “I don’t think the workload should be too much. I understand you have your actual school work to complete. And your extracurriculars. Did you sign up for anything this semester?”

“Yes. I actually joined the screenwriting club.”

“For fun, or is that something you want to do?” Her tone communicated clear disapproval.

“No. just - curiosity.”

“With your major, you should join the journalism club, or the PR club. Something like that. Something that adds up to something.” Ignacia spoke in a matter-of-fact way, then smiled as if what she was telling me was not an order.

I didn’t plan on quitting the film club - never. That was my dream. Problem is, when you have dreams that feel like a longshot, most people see you as a fool before you accomplish anything. “Spoken like a true Business major.”

Ignacia chuckled. “There’s a meeting about redesigning the student ID cards or something this Thursday, can you go to that for me? Make sure you take thorough notes.”

She and I were sat in the student body president’s office, which was located in the Student Affairs building. That building also housed the Bursar’s Office for student payments, a large open area where students could sit and relax, and a multipurpose room where student organizations like the Junior Judicial Council met.

After months spent here, I felt I understood the layout of the school. My University had two five-storey dormitory buildings to house its students, the Walter Building and the JP Building, both of which I assumed were named after financial donors. Outside of the dorms, all other buildings were two storey maximum, which I later found out were due to area architecture restrictions and rules.

The school had seven department buildings which included the Biological Science Building, Physical Science Building, Humanities & Literature, Math, Arts & Film, Architecture, and the General Building where inquiries about all other majors and classes that did not fit in the other departments existed, like cosmetology classes.

There were also two libraries. A large part of campus was consumed by a field complete with bleachers and lively grass meant for sporting activities. Of course, there was The Village which boasted restaurants and cafés like Blueberry Farm, clothing shops, nail salons, school merchandise shops, a gym, grocery stores, a medical center, and more.

While every infrastructure on campus showed off its personal unique features, they were all tied together in marigold and white colors, complementing the lush green grasses common throughout the school. Every piece of ground that was not covered in grass was sealed shut with stone.

For how small Southern Oak was, it felt enormous to me. Mostly because I had three worlds: my world of PBA executives, Sadie and Ezra, and my newest, Nadine. When I was with my overachieving friends, it felt like there was a type of person I needed to be that I was unsure if I wanted to be. When I was with Sadie and Ezra, it felt like there was a sword hanging over my head because Ezra insisted on keeping our relationship secret from Sadie. He did not have a sound reason for wanting to, but since I initially agreed to go along, it now felt odd to backtrack. I felt I was guilty because I was lying to the one person who welcomed me into this school. When I was with Nadine, I could breathe. I wished I could connect my three worlds. If I did, and I managed to transfer how I felt when I was with Nadine to the others, everything would be perfect.

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When Nadine suggested I come with her and a friend to El Matador Beach, I felt I had met too many people in one lifetime, but a lot of college is meeting new people.

I was riding shotgun as Nadine drove us in her father’s Range Rover, she parked in front of Astrid’s house. A beautiful, white Spanish-style home that was wrapped in Ivy. There was a dark skin girl with a bouncy afro wearing a bright yellow dress covered in multicolored butterflies standing in front of the house with a beach bag hanging from her left shoulder. She was shielding the rays of the sun from her face with her right hand.

“Hey girly!” Nadine yelled enthusiastically when she pulled up.

“Hellloooooo.” The girl said as she entered the car and claimed the seat right behind me.

“My name is Melody.” I said quickly.

She smiled. “I’m Astrid.”

“I love your dress. So vibrant.”

“Thank you. Fashion is my life.” Astrid responded to me. “You know what’s funny?” She said leaning in closer to me. I shook my head. “I think I’ve seen you around campus before.”

“Really?” Nadine chimed in. “I only met her a few days before the end of last semester. I didn’t realize she was so popular.” she teased.

I widened my eyes for a split second to acknowledge Nadine. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the talk of the town!”

Nadine laughed. Astrid smiled.

“I think you’re my best friend’s roommate. She showed me a photo of you.”

I placed my palm on my chest. “Moi? You know Sadie?”

“Yes. Sadie McCormick.”

It turned out Sadie and Astrid had been childhood best friends. Astrid’s father secured a C-suite role on Wall Street and the family had to move to New York City. Astrid returned to Los Angeles for college to be near her best friend.

I felt like Sadie and I had been getting really close. Meeting the best friend she always talked about who never really came around sent a shot of jealousy through my body. Astrid was beautiful and had an all positive energy to her. I felt like every smile I gave out was a facade meant to mask my precarious sense of self.

Luckily, Astrid was a current senior, which explained why I never got to meet her last semester. She was going to graduate from SOU in the next few months, then she would be out of my hair.

At some point, Nadine stopped by a Pavillions near Point Dume, Malibu to quickly grab some snacks for the beach. Astrid and I waited for her in the car. Naturally, we were comparing our freshman experiences. Then Astrid made a throw-away statement that made me doubletake.

“...my boyfriend Ezra was up in Big Bear with his little sister and —”

“I’m sorry who?”

“My boyfriend.” Astrid said without missing a beat. “So they were in their cab-”

“Ezra is your boyfriend? Which Ezra? Ezra, what is his last name?” I asked without missing a beat.

“Gomez-Luna. Why? Did Sadie say any bad stuff about him? Did Kylie?” She was too cheery.

I could feel my face growing hot. Nadine returned.

To spare you the details and all the cuss words, imagine Nadine wide-eyed from astonishment, the skin on Astrid’s forehead folded into a million frowns, and my arms thrown every which way into the air as I gesture to track my narration. Then there was the phone call Astrid made to Ezra, with me silent as I listened in, and confirmed that Ezra was a cheater. The rest of our beach day was a painful mix of awkwardness and overt niceties. Astrid was a “girl’s girl”, but felt deceived by Ezra and unsure about me from then, I could tell.

“You were hooking up with Ezra?!” Sadie hopped from her bed as soon as I entered my dorm.

“Ye- wel-”.

“I told you he was off limits. Did you not hear that?”

My words were stuck in my throat. “I. You. You never said.” I sighed. “I didn’t realize he was dating anybody.” How the hell was I going to explain to her that I thought Ezra and Sadie must’ve been a casual item but I never confirmed with her because I didn’t want to have to decide to stay away from Ezra romantically.

Sadie’s face had no trace of the kindness and affection she usually wore. “My friend is hurting and it’s because of you! Also, you dragged Nadine into this shit!”

“You know Nadine?” I managed to ask.

Sadie stared at me like I was stupid. “Everybody knows Nadine. She’s from Santa Monica!”

The city I had moved to suddenly felt like a small town. The worlds that seemed so far apart were colliding - too fast.

Sadie left before I could say anything else. Then she stopped speaking to me all together. Not in the dorms, not when she saw me at parties, not in the Speech Communications class we shared.

To be continued next week in Part E.

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Book Blurb:

Salacious scandals, uneven power dynamics, female friendships, and loyalties stretch Melody Atkins thin as she struggles to navigate the tempestuous waters of her college years. When formerly homeschooled Melody arrives at Southern Oak University in glistening Los Angeles to chase fortune and fame as a filmmaker, the ingénue finds herself inducted into the world of the entitled and morally flawed.

There’s Chelsea, a stunningly beautiful versatile Communications major from London; Ignacia, an enigmatic well-travelled Business major from Spain; Ezra, the seemingly innocent wide-eyed boy from California; Sadie, an all-American surfer from the Pacific Palisades; Astrid, an agreeable opponent; and, Nadine, the simple day student from a trying family. Melody will have to confront her insecurities and develop convictions at the treacherous hands of academic cheating allegations, roommate disputes, ill-intentioned boyfriends, internship disasters, and study abroad challenges. In this overall guide to surviving college years, will Melody learn the right lessons it takes to become the woman she wants to be?

Table Of Contents:

• Chapter 1 (The Honors Society - Part A)

• Chapter 1 (The Honors Society - Part B)

• Chapter 1 (The Honors Society - Part C)

• Chapter 1 (The Honors Society - Part D)

• Chapter 1 (The Honors Society - Part E)

• Chapter 1 (The Honors Society - Part F)

• Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle - Part A)

• Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle - Part B)

• Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle - Part C)

• Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle - Part D)

• Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle - Part E)

• Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle - Part F)

• Chapter 2 (The Roommate Debacle - Part G)

• Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm - Part A) - To be published on 9/3

• Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm - Part B) - To be published on 9/10

• Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm - Part C) - To be published on 9/17

• Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm - Part D) - To be published on 9/24

• Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm - Part E) - To be published on 10/1

• Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm - Part F) - To be published on 10/8

• Chapter 3 (Blueberry Farm - Part G) - To be published on 10/15

• Chapter 4 (The Roommate Debacle II - Part A) - To be published on 10/22

• Chapter 4 (The Roommate Debacle II - Part B) - To be published on 10/29

• Chapter 4 (The Roommate Debacle II - Part C) - To be published on 11/5

• Chapter 4 (The Roommate Debacle II - Part D) - To be published on 11/12

• More Chapters to be announced…

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• Welcome back to Chronicles From College! Today’s line-up:
  🎬 Part 1: Pop-Culture Essay: Not Suitable For Work Is Not Suitable For Me

• 📖 Part 2: Chapter 1, Part C of Chronicles From College (Scroll to bottom) - (Previous chapter here)

🎬The Watchlist: Not Suitable For Work

Not Suitable For Work is a show with great promise and a catchy title that falls flat on its face. While I generally enjoy Mindy Kaling’s work, her new show struggles with unremarkable characters, juvenile storylines, and terrible acting 🎥.

The show follows five friends—Abby (a beautiful stylist), AJ (an uptight investment banker), Davis (a nice guy, investment banker), Kel (a medical student/ aspiring actor), and Josh (a professional nepo baby)---sound boring? Yes, it is. The characters were neatly carved to satisfy the basic requirements of a twenty-something sitcom, stripping away any sense of complexity. In fact, if you were to close your eyes and imagine the most stereotypical characters for 20-something TV characters living in a big city, this is what you would “generate”.

Because the characters are so stereotypical, the plot suffers. We have a character with a scary boss (actually multiple characters with scary bosses) & characters with traditional family expectations. Don’t get me wrong, I know that a show about twenty-somethings would naturally include a plot about terrifying bosses and roommate drama, but that’s been done over and over again. Friends, Living Single, New Girl, Sex and The City, Girls, 2 Broke Girls… I could go on and on… THE MINDY PROJECT. Not Suitable For Work doesn’t justify why it’s here. What can it add to the genre that the other shows haven’t already done???

The show is taking on the twenty-something genre through a Gen-Z perspective. “Listen pal,” is an actual quote that AJ uses in a sentence. When did that become a Gen-Z phrase? In fact, the episodes we’ve seen so far portray these characters as young people of an indeterminate generation. There’s nothing that categorizes them as Gen-Z apart from their birth years. This is a problem that arises because Kaling herself isn’t Gen-Z, making her an outsider looking in. Imagine someone else telling you what your life story should be.

I read somewhere that this is supposed to be an autobiography of some sort about her own 20s. Fine, why not just set it in the early 2000s? A show that compares how life in your twenties has changed between the 2000s and the 2020s would be a MUCH more interesting story.

Regardless of decade, the show is bad, period. The dialogue is so clunky and unnatural that the actors struggle to make it work. The characters all blend together with the exact same sense of humor and behavioral style because they are just speaking for the sake of plot development or an exposition dump—it’s utilitarian dialogue that refuses to implement characterization (god I sound pretentious… yikes 🥶).

All the characters speak the same, every single character is playing the same kind of humor, and the lines are just lines. Which is weird because Kaling herself has been involved in comedic projects that have exceptionally distinct characters. You cannot tell me that in Never Have I Ever, Paxton Yoshida-Hall (because you have to say his full name), Ben, Fabiola, Eleanor, and Devi all have the exact same humor and act pretty much the same. The roommates in The Sex Lives Of College Girls all had different things/humor about them that made the show fun to watch 🍿. Don’t get me started on The Office.

I’m not saying this new show cannot get better, but watching it feels a little cringy. Many revisions could be made in subsequent seasons that could make the show as good as some of Mindy Kaling’s other projects, but for now, it’s a frivolous show with nothing new to say.

Chapter 1: The Honors Society (Part C)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

The fall semester went on smoothly. Ezra assured me that he and Sadie were not a couple, I believed him. I didn’t want to ask Kylie about their relationship for fear of finding truths I didn’t want to know.

“Wow. So many lights all at once.” I said with my eyes glued to the city view. Ezra had driven us high up to a viewpoint tucked somewhere in Culver City overlooking Sony and Amazon Studios. “This is insane!” My jaw dropped. “Do you think this is the closest I’ll ever get to being a filmmaker?”

“No.” He planted a kiss on my head. “You will do great things, I can tell.” He took a sip of his Corona.

“Thank you. I believe you will do great things too. Publish a bunch of books, a future New York Times Bestselling author.”

“Ha. If I’m so lucky.” He sipped again. “The publishing industry is dying.”

“So is Hollywood. People say.” I tried to control the smile trying to break free from my facial muscles.

Ezra stood behind me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulder and rested his chin on my head. How could I be so lucky?

Anytime spent in Ezra’s arms was too little time. Before I knew it, it was time to leave.

“Do you want me to drive? Your balance isn’t the best. Too many beer cans consumed.” I laughed.

“Don’t worry, Pasadena may be my home, but LA has always been my stomping grounds. I don’t need to be sober to get around here.”

“Just-safety.” I said instinctively.

He shook his head and opened the passenger seat for me. I got the impression this wasn’t anything new to him.

Chelsea Ridley bit the bottom of her lips and slid her long hair behind her ears. From the way she occasionally scanned the room to ensure everything was moving along smoothly, to her ever-present nervous smile, and her attempt to convey composure to anyone on the outside looking in, I could tell this event meant a lot to her. I didn’t know what the stakes of this event were for her, but as I probed her, she felt human.

Before, she had seemed like someone with the perfect life: perfect friends, perfect grades. I only ever saw myself through the lens of wanting: wanting friends, wanting acceptance. To see that there was something that could rattle Chelsea Ridley at all made me feel like I could befriend her.

Chelsea was leading the PBA team of five, including Ezra and I, that had been designated volunteers for a Saturday morning speakers event where the then congressman was speaking. It was an intimate event held in SOU’s auditorium, but influential people from the state government were present.

“I know that myself and other members of the house of representatives would love to get the youth involved in-”

“Thank you so much for seating the press.” Chelsea leaned over to me and whispered as the congressman spoke. All five PBA volunteers were wearing white shirts with marigold pants or skirts, the university’s signature colors.

“No problem. Happy to help.” I smiled. As the event progressed, the volunteers were stationed at each corner of the room. If we saw an attendee who needed help, our duty was to approach them and offer aid.

She nodded. “You were quite helpful today. A couple of my friends and I are going to Barney’s downtown for drinks later, do you want to come?”

My heart skipped a beat. First I was the only volunteer who got stationed in Chelsea’s corner of the room, and now she was inviting me to hang out. I’m not that lucky.

“I’m not twenty-one.” I frowned apologetically.

She paused for a second. “That’s fine. My boyfriend is a bartender there.”

I felt the beat of the electronic music vibrate the floors and echo throughout the bar. Ezra had driven me here, turned out he had also received an invite, which was somewhat surprising. Chelsea inviting me made sense to me, I had broken my back all day doing everything immaculately to impress her. Ezra cracked a few unfunny jokes and barely completed anything he had been assigned - his impeccable looking dimples had to have been a catalyst for this invite.

When Chelsea met us at the backdoor and ushered us in she was already holding a cocktail. “Come, come,” She said, then took a gulp. “Come meet Kennedy.”

“This is Kennedy, he’s the bartender here.” She said when we approached the bar. She made eye contact and I knew what message she was passing along. This was the boyfriend she mentioned before. “Mario is sitting over there at that table.” She pointed to a high table in the middle of the dim bar surrounded by chatty drunk strangers. “We can join him after you order.”

“Can I have a shot of vodka please?” Ezra asked Kennedy.

Kennedy squinted his eyes and probed Ezra for a bit. “No, man. You’re a Whiskey Soda kind of guy. Trust me. I’ll make you a Whiskey Soda.”

Ezra let out a short laughter. “Sure dude. Whiskey Soda. I trust you already!”

“Can I have what Chelsea’s having? It looks really good.” I rested my palm on the wooden countertop and spoke audibly so Kennedy could hear us over the bar noise.

“I’m having an Espresso Martini. Here, try it before you order it. Kenny, hold off.” She extended her drink towards me. I took a sip.

“Very - coffee-like.” I didn’t know what else to say, but I wanted to appease her. “Sweet, kind of.”

“She’ll have the Espresso Martini.” Chelsea said. Someone leaned over her shoulder and wrapped their arm around her from behind.

“Hey.” Ignacia planted a kiss on Chelsea’s cheek. “You guys left Mario at the table all by himself?”

“No.” Chelsea giggled. “We’re getting drinks now - Ken, get Ignacia her usual.”

“Hugo Spritz. Coming right up!” He flung a towel over his shoulder.

The late afternoon progressed into night. We drank more glasses than I thought we would. I learned the names of too many cocktails that night. All through that, the sober section of my brain clung on to one thought as it continued to lose all control: speak to Ignacia.

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As the Fall semester was approaching a close, Ignacia had accomplished what looked like the goal for the semester, by popular vote, she was now SOU’s newest student body president. The previous president was graduating a semester early, so Ignacia would get to inherit the throne for the rest of the school year.

Most students at SOU who held seats in student government or student societies got to appoint a commissioner, a glorified assistant. Being a commissioner was often how freshmen got their foot through the door of being in positions of leadership at SOU. I never considered being ushered into this kind of world, but if being involved in student government meant I got to be around people like Ignacia and Chelsea, then my college experience was going to revolve around government - maybe.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Ignacia slapped the table with her palms. She held onto the table as she let herself down to steady her balance.

“I’ll have a cigarette outside.” Chelsea hopped from her stool and grabbed her purse.

“I’m coming with you. I need air.” Ezra smiled at Chelsea. “I’ll be right back,” He looked at me. Before I could say anything he hurried behind Chelsea.

“I’ll come to the bathroom too, Ignacia. Mario, are you okay here by yourself?”

Mario nodded.

Speak to her, say something, if you don’t ask you’ll never know. There was silence between us as we headed for the bathroom. When I was done pretending to use the stall, I slowly washed my hands as I waited for Ignacia to exit her stall, she did.

“Are you looking for a commissioner?” I asked quickly before I could stop myself.

“Yes, actually. Are you interested?”

“Mmmhm.” I nodded continuously.

“We should get coffee together tomorrow.” Ignacia’s words were music to my ears. How easy all this has been. Nothing could stop me now.

A few days before the fall semester wrapped, I was standing in line at Green Bites, a small food court on campus I had taken a liking to. Their Chinese Chicken Salad kept me coming back for more.

“I think your card was - declined,” The student working behind the counter told the girl who was trying to pay for her sandwich.

“Oh no. Let me try again,” the girl in front of me smiled nervously.

The card reader let out an unfriendly sound. “Declined again.” The employee said in a flat tone.

“Oh, sorry.” The girl was getting frazzled. “It happens sometimes, my parents don’t want me having too much money at once. Can I do cash please?”

Before the cashier could speak, I spoke. “I got it!” I smiled. “I got a salad,” I showed it to the cashier. She punched a few buttons and I neared my phone to the register’s wireless reader.

“Thank you! You saved me.” We walked away from the counter and seized one of the tables in the cafeteria.

“Don’t worry at all, I completely get it. My parents are super strict about money too.”

“I swear. They just like to hog.” The girl chuckled.

“It’s fine, you’ll inherit it when they die.” I laughed.

“Woah. That got dark so quickly.” My joke did not offend her. “I’m Nadine by the way.”

Nadine had raven-colored hair and bushy eyebrows that gave her a striking look. She was tall and thin enough to be a model, but it was obvious she was the kind who preferred to be away from the limelight.

Nadine’s fashion sense communicated that simplicity was key to her, but being fashionable was always a priority. She was having a rough freshman year, having made no concrete connections. It made sense to me that she had not really met any new people. She didn’t live on campus. In college, being on campus only when you have classes can severely affect the college experience of building bonds.

From the get go, it was clear to me that she was the only person I had met so far who did not make my stomach churn whenever I spoke. Overthinking everything I had to say.

To be continued next week in Part D.

• Welcome back to Chronicles From College! Today’s line-up:
  📖 Part 1: Chapter 1, Part B of the novel (Check out the previous chapter here)
  🎬 Part 2: Pop-Culture Essay: OFF CAMPUS is Off the Charts! (Scroll to bottom)

Chapter 1: The Honors Society (Part B)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

After Sadie left, I took a seat at my desk. It was not long before I realized how quiet our room was. The dorm room was airy and open in the daytime, now it felt like an abandoned box in an attic waiting for the dust to be blown off and new life to be breathed into it. It felt so empty that I felt the walls were moving farther away, expanding the room . This was what I had wanted for so long, so I could not fathom why an abyss started forming in my gut. I had spent a lot of time in silence in my room back home, but this one was different, it was jarring in a way that sucked the life out of me. When I was left to the sound of my own being back home, I thought of the new life I could build in California, now in California, I had no promised land to comfort me.

I quickly grabbed a jacket and headed to the part of campus dubbed The Village, which was just the shopping area on campus. It was not particularly near the dorms or the classrooms or any official buildings. The Village was a hub created by school officials to give students the feeling of being out in town while staying within the safety of the school limits. Most of the stores were closed now, but there were still crowds everywhere, laughing and whispering, friend groups that felt like established cliques.

With nothing to buy, I took a seat at the dry ends of the decorative fountain in the middle of my surroundings and soaked up my environment. The thing about Los Angeles is that, because everything is so spread out, it never feels like a busy city, but somehow everyone seems to keep busy lives.

I later returned to the dorm. I thought I would feel better after going out for some fresh air, but I didn’t. I broke out into tears when it dawned on me that I had uprooted myself and placed me in a city where I knew no one. I remember feeling a knot in my chest when I turned off my desk lamp, in the quiet night and quiet room, I don’t remember when I drifted off to sleep.

On the first day of classes, I was running late to my psychology class when I bolted in and headed right for a seat in the second row.

“APA format, not MLA. APA. Throughout this class that’s the citation method we will be using.” The professor said as he combed through the syllabus and explained what was expected of us.

I was resting my chin on top of my left fist when I noticed a girl who was asking the professor one too many questions. I used to be a teacher’s pet, but after going through the grueling process of getting into SOU, I only wanted to do what was expected of me as a student and get by.

“Say we did more than two extra credits, would five points still be the maximum?” The girl asked. It was great that she kept asking questions because it gave me the perfect excuse to look her way. She had to be the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. She had a striking face that could only ever steal attention: with eyes brighter than the stars and skin clearer than water. In a class of fifty students, her looks and British accent managed to take the show. I wanted to know her.

***

When I walked into the mid-sized all purpose auditorium filled with students, I felt out of place. Why on earth did I think I would fit in instantly? Everyone was already seated as they waited on the executives to explain more about PBA as a society. I stood in the doorway, scanning my surroundings for an empty seat I could take, all while staying out of everyone’s way. I didn’t know anyone, and I didn’t want anyone to know that I did not know anybody in that room. The meeting was to welcome freshmen. The attendees were like me, they just started out at SOU, so how had they gotten familiar so quickly? As the voice of my insecurities pondered over the noise from strangers’ chatter, my eyes landed on a red-head waving me over. I knew someone! What was I so worried about?

“Hi.” I waved as I neared Sadie.

“Hey!” She smiled. “These are my friends, Kylie and Ezra. My other friend, Astrid, couldn’t come.”

“Nice to meet you.” I wanted to sound as neutral as possible. I wanted them to like me badly, but I was unsure why.

Kylie waved at me, Ezra made eye contact and smiled. He had dark curly hair and thick eyebrows, but his most notable facial features were his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. He had an innocence to him that inspired trust.

“Sit!” She patted the seat next to her. “This is my roommate, Melody. I haven’t gotten the chance to get to know her yet, but she seems cool.”

It wasn’t long before the meeting started. After an exciting game of Kahoot, the current society president Kennedy Marshall introduced himself. He had recently succeeded Jimmy Lin, which bumped him up from his previously held vice president title. There was a suave to him that instantly drew me in, like I believed instantaneously that he was a good person, he had to be, he was the president of The Honors Society. Kennedy was a Culver City native conquering college, and on certain nights, he worked as a bartender on Santa Monica’s busy 4th street for fun.

The other executives within PBA started introducing themselves. Among the six who spoke, three grabbed my attention. These were the kinds of people I hoped to be like in my upper-class years. Chelsea was the name of the breathtakingly beautiful girl I saw in my Psychology class. It turned out that she was a junior Communications major who wanted to own a public relations firm one day, but for now, she was the head of Publicity for the society’s semesterly magazine. I found out that Chelsea was the type of person people called by their full name, as in Chelsea Ridley, like a debutante.

Mario, a boyish-looking senior from San Luis Obispo, California who had a hipster way about him was the head of treasury.

Ignacia, a junior international student from Seville, Spain, was the head of the volunteer committee and had traveled everywhere. You couldn’t decipher the origin of her accent no matter how hard you tried. Her looks were ordinary, but she was so enigmatic you couldn’t resist her charm. So when I made eye contact with her as the executives stood in front of the crowd, I refused to look away. By the end of this semester, she would find out just how influential she is if she won the upcoming student body elections.

“You know, we’re talking so much at you,” Ignacia started speaking, “but I understand so much information can be difficult to retain. So remember these things. “As a member, you have to attend one of the two meetings we hold every week. You have to complete forty volunteer hours each main semester, that means every fall and spring till you graduate. The social events are not mandatory but recommended, and of course, the best part of all -” She slipped her palm behind her ear and leaned into the crowd.

“You should be ready to party at the end of year banquet!” Every newbie screamed. When the executives explained the concept of the society to us, it seemed like there would be so many events and gatherings but there would be very few times where every member was going to be present.

The end of year banquet was PBA’s most exciting social event. Since it only happened once every Spring semester, each member only had four chances to attend the banquet throughout their time in college, so we were advised to take them all. It was the party of all parties. If we were ever bored with our lives and had nothing to look forward to, the event where the society spared no expense was something to dream of. Had I known the woes my first banquet would bring me, I would’ve never dreamt of attending.

“We were all planning to get food in The Village, do you want to come, Melody?” Ezra asked. Kylie, Ezra, Sadie, and I were making our way through the crowd of around thirty new members after the introduction meeting.

“Yes, pizza sounds good!”

After I agreed, the four of us split a large box of pizza over stomach-aching laughter. At some point we walked into a nearby Seven Eleven, where Ezra flashed his fake ID while trying to keep a nonchalant demeanor. From the cashier’s facial expression, we could tell she knew the truth, but she didn’t get paid enough to care.

We went back to Sadie and I’s and passed the large vodka bottle around till Kylie rushed to the bathroom to spill from her guts. Ezra threw himself onto Sadie’s bed, and she jumped in with him. Ezra was a beautiful young man, there was no other way to put it. Every inch of him was gorgeous to look at. I tried to sneak glances at him, but it didn’t help that each time I would catch his eyes.

When we stole glances at each other, I could feel a gush of warmth from my stomach through my chest. Sadie consistently touched Ezra when they were talking, she ran her fingers through his hair, he kissed her on the chin. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were a couple.

I wanted to make friends more than anything, so I felt guilty exchanging flirtatious glances with Ezra. I didn’t want to get in the way of a good thing, but god he was dazzling.

Throughout my time at Southern Oak University, there were people I will forever regret meeting. Someone I hurt who I wish I could meet all over again. I allowed my jealous heart to come between me and my best friend. One of the three people I had just shared pizza and vodka with would betray my trust - three times. I still can’t tell if I used my time in London wisely.

To be continued next week in Part C.

🎬The Watchlist: OFF CAMPUS is Off the Charts!

Amazon’s new hit proves exactly why Hollywood needs to head to college.

After my last plea for more college shows, it’s only right to praise one that actually got it right. But let’s be honest, Off Campus deserves all the praise (or all the “glaze”…as the internet would say). The show is a fun detachment from reality, it reminds you of both the good and bad of the time capsule period that is college, and it gives you more than one person to root for. Let’s get into it, shall we?

With any TV show, the story itself is just one element of what makes the world fun. What would Euphoria be without Petra Collins’ aesthetics? Or imagine the dark storylines of Stranger Things paired with a bubble gum set like something you would see in a Disney Channel sitcom. Imagine a show set in the 1980s (or deep deep past) where the soundtrack is all modern day pop…wait…&Juliet on Broadway does this and I’m still not sure how I feel about that musical.

Off Campus does it right in that the general atmosphere of the show feels believable. Take the main character boys’ house for instance, if you’ve spent a second on a college campus, you know that Garrett, Dean, Logan, and Tucker’s living space is the perfect combination of college apartment and frat house.

Also, the show doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not by trying to aim for prestige editing and obscure songs. Here are examples of some of the songs I heard while watching the show:

• Bluest Flame by Selena Gomez

• Girls by The Kid Laroi

• Sue Me by Audrey Hobert

• Kiss You by One Direction.

The show knows exactly what it is, a stress reliever for ages 15 to maybe 30 demographic. If you’re 15 watching the show….well…some scenes may be inappropriate. But it allows teenagers to get a glimpse into college life. See what they may deem as aspirational like partying, or maybe getting to hang out with their friends more often, without shying away from the less happy parts of college like turning your assignments in, sexual assault, and financial aid difficulties.

If you’re a college student watching the show, it reminds you of the blissful time of life you’re currently in—like a mirror showing your most relatable moments, both good and bad. Meanwhile, someone in their late twenties or thirties who stumbles on it can relive their own college experience—hopefully this time with a newfound perspective.

The show has a multitude of main characters. I will admit that I might’ve found the second half of the show boring after Hannah and Garrett got together, but you know how they solved this issue? By introducing Allie and Dean’s storyline. Overall I felt like the show had a strong first season run, which should not have been hard to do because Amazon literally has the books to use as their source material.

I binged this entire show over the weekend, and I’m not sorry. For now, I reserve any negative comments about the show. Let’s wait for the second season to see how the storytelling progresses.

Yes, I would recommend the first season for anyone interested—the show gives you all the feels—However, I’ll be watching season two with a more critical eye. I firmly believe that shows with breakout first seasons tend to nosedive in subsequent years. Writers and showrunners often get too caught up trying to please the internet and chase the praise they already received, instead of just sticking to the formula that drew people in to begin with. All in all, Off Campus is a must-watch that doesn’t take itself too seriously!!

Welcome to Chronicles From College! Today’s line-up:
📖 Part 1: Chapter 1 of the novel (1,250 words)
🎬 Part 2: Pop-Culture Essay: Why Hollywood Hates College (Scroll to bottom)

Chapter 1: The Honors Society (Part A)

Chronicles From College (A Novel)

Fall

When I felt the wheels hit the ground, I knew that my flight from Boston to LAX was complete. At just eighteen years old, I had packed my bags and moved from my suburban town of Wellesley to Los Angeles, seeking the dreams of every Los Angeles transplant: working in the entertainment industry to chase fortune and or fame.

I relocated to Los Angeles upon accepting an admission offer from Southern Oak University (SOU), a small elite college buried somewhere amongst the beaches, million-dollar homes, and palm trees of Santa Monica. Southern Oak is known for educating three kinds of students: Academically exceptional people who earned their way into the school, children of the well-to-do who paid their way in, and those who were a combination of both. Students whose intellect matched the prestige of the school who have parents with deep pockets. I considered myself to be part of the first group.

Both my parents are tenured professors at Wellesley college, so it made complete sense when they insisted that I attend college there. My helicopter parents had needed a lot of convincing that moving to Los Angeles for college would be a better choice than attending Wellesley College if I wanted a career in the entertainment industry. Growing up homeschooled had left me sheltered all through my middle school and high school years. Like the cliché that I am, I believed my real life would begin once I left for college and started anew, away from my parent’s prying clutches.

I grabbed my suitcase from the luggage conveyor belt and peered outside through the glass doors. I could feel my heart trying to escape my chest, I looked at the yellow-filtered outside and I knew I was on the precipice of the rest of my life.

“I think we can bring your luggage with us to the hotel. Then we can all grab an early dinner together and head for your dorm room.” I heard my mother say.

“That is a good idea. Getting dinner early will give us the chance to walk it off before going to bed.” My father grabbed my mother’s suitcase from the belt.

While exiting the plane, then tracking baggage claim through the airport, I had drifted into a beautiful day dream of what my life could be, what to expect. I had forgotten that my parents had decided to follow me to Los Angeles to help me set up for my first semester even though I had firmly communicated that I wanted to arrive on my own. I wanted my exit from the airport to feel romantic somehow, like the start of a beautiful movie or a television show.

“I just want to get to my dorm. I’m not hungry. You can help me drop my suitcases off and then you can head out to dinner.” I said flatly.

“Absolutely not!” My mother said as we exited the arrivals section of the airport. “We’re going to the hotel, having dinner as a family, then heading to your dorm.”

“Has it ever occurred to you that this is a big moment in my life and I want to enjoy it on my own?” I said as we headed for a black SUV stationed by the curbside..

“Has it ever occurred to you that our only child wants to move thousands of miles away from home, so we have come here to make sure she’s safe and okay?”

“For George?” The driver greeted us.

“Yes,” My father smiled politely.

The driver’s greeting was my cue to stop any brewing conflict with my mother. Perfect, Perfect, Perfect family. We could say whatever we wanted behind closed doors, but in front of everyone else everything had to be alright. I did not resent my parents, I love them. I was not bitter about my upbringing, but I was ready to find my own independence. I was ready to make a career for myself and desperate to connect with people who would understand me. It was actually why I eagerly accepted an invitation from Phi Beta Alpha, the honors society.

Phi Beta Alpha (PBA), despite sounding like a Greek fraternity, is an elite scholarly society that invites freshmen who completed a minimum of eighteen advanced placement classes while in high school to join. Southern Oak in itself opened doors for many, but PBA as a society made life a lot easier. It had a robust alumni network who were implicitly obligated to help the current students reach their goals. The plan was to work your way to get an academic invitation, go through the program, and come out the other end well connected to powerful people.

Alumni from Phi Beta Alpha had gone on to control governments, run Wall Street, head companies that influenced the world, and most importantly dominate Hollywood. It was difficult to secure a spot in PBA as the five interview rounds alone could hinder any chance of acceptance, but once you were in, you were in.

SOU as a university was not a fair playground. Too many people had to have a leg up to make it into the school, but PBA was the great equalizer. Hardworking honest people helping each other.

After an early dinner at six o’clock, my parents and I finally arrived at my dormitory room. I noticed the wooden bunk bed positioned on the left side of the room across from the large closet. There were two desks set up in corners of the room and a refrigerator. The door to our private bathroom was right by the closet.

“I thought my roommate would’ve arrived by now.” A frown formed between my eyes.

“Okay. That’s the third and final suitcase.” My father adjusted his glasses. “Is there anything else?” He let out a heavy breath.

“No. That’s it. Let’s get unpacking so we can go back to the hotel.”

“I know you guys booked me a room at the hotel while you’re here, but I want to stay here and get familiar.” I said.

“Melody. I don’t know how to explain to you that we’ll miss you. We’re just trying to spend as much time with you as possible before school starts in a week.”

I remember exhaling deeply. Within a blink of an eye my items were unpacked. We were back at my parents’ hotel. The week went by in a flash: we visited Pacific Park in Santa Monica, hiked the Hollywood Sign, went to Venice Beach, and ate at some of the best restaurants in town. Suddenly my parents were hugging me goodbye, then onto the plane, and back to Massachusetts.

After unpacking my belongings in my dorm, I would not return until the day before classes began. I swiped my dormitory key card and entered the room late at night to find that the room lights were on. I noticed a giant surfboard resting on the wall near the lower end of the bed. The bottom bed was covered with a duvet that reminded me of the ocean. There were seashells and various aquatic momentos plastered on the wall above the pillow. I had claimed the top bunk when I arrived. Most people prefer the bottom bunk because it’s convenient, but having never shared a bunk bed before, I was scared the upper layer of the bed could break and crush me in the middle of the night.

“Hi. Are you my roommate?” A girl with the reddest hair I’d ever seen raced from the bathroom and started rummaging through the drawer of her desk.

“Yes.” I smiled. “My name is Melody.”

“Sadie McCormick.”

I nodded awkwardly.

“Where have you been? I moved in a few days ago and saw your stuff but you weren’t here.”

“Yeah. My parents brought me from out-of-state, so I was spending as much time with them as possible before they left.”

She nodded. “That’s smart. Where are you from?” She paced from the room to the bathroom getting ready to go somewhere.

“Massachusetts. Where are you going?”

“My parents are having this party at our house and I have to be there. Whole thing!”

“Oh. Okay. You live in the area?”

“Yes, hun. Right up in the Palisades.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know where that is.”

Sadie was silent for a second while she stared at me from top to bottom. “That’s cool that you’re not from California. Let me know if you want to explore. I can drive us around and show you things.”

“Really?” I heard my voice go up. “That’s so nice of you!”

Sadie gave me an unexpected hug and walked out the door. During my freshman year of college, I met more people than I’d ever met in my life. Both from the honors society and outside it. Some of those people would go on to become my lifelong friends, and others would be the reason I will forever be skeptical about familiarizing myself with unfamiliar people…

To be continued next week in Part B.

🎬 The Watchlist: Hollywood’s weird obsession with high school

Speaking of the brutal transition to campus life, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why we don’t have enough TV shows set in college.

Think about it: almost every major “teen drama” seems to require characters who can stay out past their bed time, the show treats parents like secondary characters, and the story lines always seem to feature characters who act like twenty-five year olds. Mostly because almost all the actors look twenty-five trying to convince us that they’re teenagers. I mean I didn’t have abs like that when I was a teenager: I’m looking at you KJ Apa..ahem…I mean Archiekins.

I swear there’s no way the girls of Pretty Little Liars had enough time to run after A (Or run from A) and do all their homework. They were also out in the woods at the most random hours of the day. You know where THIS would play out better? COLLEGE! They would have extended time in between classes, so they could run around looking for whoever they wanted—A, Cece Drake, Red Coat—with no parental supervision.

American teenagers like to sneak and drink alcohol…we get it. But why do we have teenagers on TV sipping martinis in Gossip Girl? Why does Veronica Lodge own a speakeasy in Riverdale? To be fair, this one would still be unrealistic for college, so I’m not sure why I brought it up.

Okay fine - Let’s say binge drinking and lack of parental supervision is within the realm of possibilities for high school teenagers. They rarely ever cast actual teenagers to play said “teen” characters. Why? Because apparently teenage actors can’t act out the explicit scenes we see on TV. I’m looking at you Euphoria.

By skipping the college years, the media misses out on the most universally relatable, messy transition of adulthood—which is exactly why I wanted to map out Melody’s journey in Chronicles from College without the Hollywood exaggeration...