Welcome New Students

The dorm room smelled like stale pizza and industrial cleaner. My steamer trunk sized suitcase thumped onto the vinyl floor as I pulled out my phone, fingers tapping fast: ‘Just landed in cell block 307. Prison orange curtains included.’

Autumn’s reply buzzed instantly: ‘OMG FINALLY! Espresso Profeta in 20. Don’t be late, newbie’

Westwood Village pulsed with students lugging textbooks and skateboards. I spotted her leaning against a café awning, sunlight catching the gold in her hair. “Took you long enough,” she laughed, pulling me into a hug that felt like home. “You’re so fresh you still smell like airplane peanuts.”

Inside Espresso Profeta, steam hissed from the espresso machine as she slid two iced coffees across the table. “Okay, Rule One is download poppin” she declared, tapping her phone screen. She took my cellphone from me and opened the app store. “Here it is. This app is survival.” After it was installed her thumb scrolled through listings—’Kappa Sig rooftop, 9pm’; ‘Delta Gamma basement, BYOB’. Here we go. ‘Friday’s Kappa Kappa.’ They’ve got a hot tub.” She winked. “That’s the one! Bring swim trunks, and don’t wear that shirt.” Her finger poked the faded band logo on my chest.

“What’s wrong with Metallica?”

“Everything,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “This is UCLA. You’re in LA now, not Petaluma. We have standards.” Outside, a skateboard clattered against concrete. Autumn’s gaze drifted to the window, her voice softening. “Seriously, Cole ... I’m glad you’re here.” The sudden sincerity caught me off guard—like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Her phone buzzed sharply on the table. She glanced down, and her smile tightened. “Ugh. Professor Valdez moved up the deadline for that comparative lit paper.” She shoved the phone away, irritation flashing in her green eyes. “Three thousand words by Thursday. Guess who’s pulling an all-nighter?” The espresso machine screamed again, drowning her groan. “Meet you Friday, okay?”

I watched her weave through the crowded café, blonde hair swinging. Students jostled her, but she moved like she owned the sidewalk.

Back in my dorm, the Metallica shirt landed in a crumpled heap on the plastic desk. I stared at the orange curtains—prison chic, Autumn called them. Outside, palm trees cast long shadows. Friday felt impossibly far away.

First Party

The Kappa Kappa house throbbed like a live wire. Bass rattled the framed photos on the walls as I pushed through bodies slick with sweat and cheap beer. Autumn materialized from the chaos, her hand clamping around my wrist. “Found you!” she yelled over the noise. “C’mon!” She dragged me past a keg stand crowd, down a hallway where the music muffled into a dull thump. A door clicked shut behind us—sudden quiet in what looked like a frat brother’s abandoned bedroom: unmade bed, textbooks stacked haphazardly, a faint smell of weed.

“Okay, listen,” she breathed, leaning against the door, eyes bright. “I’ve been thinking. I’ve got a plan ... we should tell no one here we’re cousins.” She paused, letting it sink in. “Think about it. We’ll be secret agents. Total inside track. You hear some girl whispering about me? You report. I hear guys sizing you up, or I hear some hot babe is interested in you, you’re going to know about it. Intel delivered.” Her grin was sharp, conspiratorial. “Way more fun than being boring old family, right?”

I laughed, the idea sparking. “Spies? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she insisted, stepping closer. The green of her eyes was almost electric in the dim light. “No one knows. It’s our game. Deal?” She held out her pinky.

My finger hooked hers. “Deal. But Autumn?”

“Yeah?”

“If we’re not cousins ... what are we?”

Her smile widened. “Exactly. Let’s find out.” She pulled me back into the roar of the party.

The living room was a sea of swaying bodies and neon glow sticks. Autumn navigated it effortlessly, pulling me towards a cluster of girls near a makeshift bar built from plywood and milk crates. “Ladies!” she announced, her voice cutting through the music. “Meet Cole. Fresh meat, be gentle.” Three pairs of eyes turned on me—curious, appraising. There was Maya, with dark curls and a skeptical eyebrow; Chloe, petite with a nervous giggle; and Jess, whose gaze lingered a beat too long. Autumn squeezed my arm, a silent ‘game on,’ before melting into the crowd to grab drinks. The bass dropped, vibrating through the floorboards. Chloe leaned in, shouting over the noise, “So, Cole ... Autumn says you’re from NorCal? Tell us everything!” Maya’s skeptical look softened into interest. Across the room, Autumn caught my eye, lifting her red cup in a sly salute. The game had begun.

The party swelled around me—laughter, spilled beer, the sticky heat of bodies pressed close. A few minutes later Autumn reappeared, shoving a cold cup into my hand. “Surviving?” she yelled, her breath warm against my ear. I nodded, the cheap beer bitter on my tongue. She winked, then turned to Jess, looping an arm around her waist. “Jess thinks you look like that guy from that show,” she teased, loud enough for me to catch.

Jess flushed, swatting Autumn’s shoulder. “Shut up!” But she didn’t deny it, her eyes darting back to mine.

The music shifted, something pulsing and primal. Autumn grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the center of the room where the crowd was thickest. “Dance with me!” she demanded, already moving. Her hips swayed against mine, effortless, confident. The scent of her shampoo—coconut and salt—cut through the sweat and smoke. Around us, the world blurred: flashing lights, tangled limbs, the thump of the bass syncing with my heartbeat. Autumn threw her head back, laughing as my hands settled tentatively on her waist. “Loosen up, Cole!” she shouted, grinding closer. Her back pressed against my chest, her ass a firm curve against my hips. Heat flared low in my stomach. She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes dark in the strobe light. “See?” she murmured, her voice suddenly intimate despite the noise. “Told you this was the party to pick.” Her hand slid down my arm, fingers intertwining with mine as she pulled me deeper into the rhythm.

The air in the hot tub room hung thick with steam and chlorine. Autumn peeled off her cutoff shorts, revealing a tiny black bikini bottom. Her top followed, tossed carelessly onto a plastic chair. Water sloshed as she lowered herself onto the bench beside me, thigh pressing against mine. “Better,” she sighed, leaning her head back. Droplets traced paths down her neck, over the swell of her breasts. I forced my eyes away, focusing on the bubbles churning around us. Across the tub, Maya and Chloe giggled, whispering behind their hands. Autumn nudged me, her voice a low murmur near my ear. “Chloe thinks you’re cute. But Maya’s telling her you’re probably a player.” She smirked. “Your move, spy.”

The party raged on outside the steamy sanctuary, muffled thumps and shouts filtering through the door. Autumn’s leg brushed mine again under the churning water, a deliberate, lingering contact. Her pinky hooked around mine beneath the surface—a hidden pact. “So,” she whispered, her breath warm against my temple, “how’s our intel holding up?” She tilted her head towards Maya and Chloe, who were now shamelessly watching us. “Chloe keeps biting her lip when she looks at you. Classic sign.”

“And Maya?” I managed, my voice rough.

Autumn’s lips curved. “Pretending not to stare. But her eyes keep drifting back. Down south.” Her fingers squeezed my thigh, just above the knee. “Told you this was strategic.” She leaned closer, her damp shoulder pressing against mine, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr. “Now ... what do you see?”

Across the tub, Chloe giggled, splashing Maya playfully. “Stop it!” Maya protested, but her gaze flickered back to me, then quickly away, a faint blush creeping up her neck.

Autumn’s thumb traced a slow circle on my skin underwater. “See? Total tells. They’re sizing you up, Cole. Wondering.” Her green eyes held mine, challenging, amused. “What’s your play? Chloe’s practically vibrating. Maya’s playing hard to get ... which might be even more fun.” She shifted, her knee nudging mine apart beneath the surface. The heat wasn’t just from the water anymore. “Intel received,” she murmured, her lips brushing my earlobe. “Your turn to gather some.”

With a sudden, graceful surge, Autumn stood up, water sluicing down her body. The tiny black bikini clung to every curve. “Ladies!” she announced, her voice bright and carrying over the bubbling jets. “Enough lurking. Chloe, you look freezing. Get over here.” She extended a hand towards the blushing girl. Chloe hesitated, then took it, letting Autumn pull her into the deeper water between us. She draped an arm casually over the edge of the tub behind Chloe, effectively trapping her against me. “Better?” Autumn asked Chloe, her tone innocent, but her eyes, when they met mine over Chloe’s shoulder, were anything but. They held a spark of pure, daring mischief. I knew that I was going to love UCLA.

Bruins Football

The roar of the Rooter Bus vibrated through the worn plastic seat as we rolled down the 110 towards Pasadena. Autumn bounced beside me, decked out head-to-toe in UCLA gold and blue, a foam finger on one hand, her other hand gripping my forearm. “This is it, Cole! Your first game as a Bruin!” Outside, endless rows of palm trees blurred past. The bus was packed, a sweaty, chanting mass of students fueled by pre-game tailgate beers. Someone started the “U-C-L-A!” fight song, and Autumn belted it out, off-key and enthusiastic, her voice lost in the thunderous chorus. She leaned into me, her shoulder warm against mine, her grin infectious. “You ready to lose your voice?”

The Rose Bowl sprawled beneath the blazing California sun, a colossal bowl filled with a sea of blue and gold. The energy was electric, crackling in the dry air. We squeezed into the student section, bodies pressed tight, the smell of sunscreen and spilled soda thick around us. Autumn screamed herself hoarse on every defensive stop, jumping up and down, her ponytail whipping. When the Bruins scored their first touchdown, she launched herself at me, arms around my neck, shouting incoherently into my ear. Her joy was pure, uncomplicated adrenaline. “Did you see that run?!” she gasped, pulling back, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. She didn’t let go of my shoulders. “This is amazing!”

At halftime, we pushed through the crowd towards the concessions. A guy in a Kappa Kappa shirt Autumn vaguely knew from class intercepted us. “Autumn! Hey!” He flashed a confident smile, ignoring me completely. “Great game, right? We’re heading to the alumni tents after this. Open bar. You should come.” He leaned in slightly. “Bring your friend too, I guess,” he added, finally acknowledging my existence with a dismissive glance.

Autumn’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes cooled. “Thanks. It’s Brad, right?” she said, her voice smooth but firm. He looked crushed. She slipped her arm through mine, pulling me closer. “But Cole and I have plans. We’re sticking to the student section vibe. Right, Cole?” She looked up at me, her expression clear: ‘Remember the game? We’re spies.’

I nodded, playing along. “Yeah, Brad. Student section all the way.” Brad’s smile faltered. He muttered something about catching us later and melted back into the crowd.

Autumn squeezed my arm. “Loser,” she whispered, rolling her eyes. “Come on, I need nachos.”

The bus ride back to Westwood was quieter, the adrenaline fading into a contented hum. Streetlights cast long, moving stripes across the darkened interior. Students slumped in their seats, dozing or scrolling phones. Autumn rested her head against my shoulder, her blonde hair tickling my neck. Her hand found mine, fingers lacing together loosely on my thigh. “Today,” she murmured, her voice soft and thick with sleepiness, “was perfect, Cole. Seriously. One of the best days ever.” She sighed, a contented sound that vibrated against me. “Just ... being here. With you.” Her thumb stroked the back of my hand. “No spies. No games. Just ... us.” Her breathing evened out, her body relaxing fully against mine. Outside, the lights of Los Angeles streamed by, a glittering constellation against the night sky. I leaned my head against hers, the warmth of her, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling deep in my chest. The bus rumbled on, carrying us back towards campus, back towards the tangled web of our secret pact, but for now, it was just this: her weight against me, her hand in mine, and the echo of her words hanging in the darkened air.

Happy Birthday Autumn

October 20th dawned crisp and bright, the LA smudge replaced by startlingly clear blue sky. I found Autumn hunched over a textbook in the Powell Library courtyard, sunlight dappling through the eucalyptus trees. “Happy Birthday,” I said, dropping into the chair opposite her.

She startled, then groaned, burying her face in her hands. “How did you know? I swear I didn’t tell anyone!”

“Your mom texted me last week to remind me,” I admitted. “Said you’d probably try to ignore it.” I nudged her foot under the table. “Dinner. Tonight. My treat. No arguments.”

Plateia glowed with warm light, nestled near the imposing Pauly Pavilion. We shared seared calamari, crispy and lemony, scooping up creamy hummus with warm pita. For entrees, my steelhead trout was perfectly flaky, while Autumn savored her halibut, eyes closed in bliss. “Okay,” she conceded, wiping her mouth with a napkin, “this is way better than Bruin Cafe hot dogs.” Two scoops of pistachio gelato arrived, spoons clinking playfully. “Honestly, Cole,” she said, licking her spoon, a thoughtful look on her face, “this might be the best second date I’ve had at UCLA.” Her green eyes met mine, sparkling with mischief.

I almost choked on my gelato. “Second date? I didn’t realize the football game counted as our first date. Or, was it the frat party?”

“The football game, dummy.”

I leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “Does that mean I get a goodnight kiss on the second date? Standard procedure, right?”

She laughed, a light, musical sound. “Maybe ... if you play your cards right.” The walk back to Sunset Village was quiet, the campus paths illuminated by soft lamplight. We passed Dykstra Hall, my dorm, and kept walking toward hers. “Such chivalry,” Autumn murmured, bumping my shoulder. “Walking me all the way home.”

We reached her door. A single, faded white sock hung limply from the doorknob. Autumn sighed. “Roommate protocol. Allie got lucky tonight. Wanna go out for another hour?”