I LOVE COLLEGE!

The warm vibrations of the dryer bounce my thighs around causing ripples like stones falling into a lake. Gross.
“Hey you fattie froshie bitches. Whatever on you that’s jiggling that isn’t in your bra, that’s what you need to focus on.”
“But also, what Mikala is saying, is that this comes from a place of love. We all had to do this. And we’re grateful we did. You’re all already beautiful. This isn’t coming from a place of body shaming. It’s coming from a place of improvement.”
“Exactly. Gross, Tinsley, seriously, you look like a hamburger factory in an earthquake. We have serious work to do.”
***
CHAPTER ONE: MONEY
ZOE
The first truth I learn about college is that there is wealth everywhere. I learn this as we drive up UWC’s infamous Greek Row. The sorority houses in particular loom, three stories high, dripping with self-satisfaction. Every ostentatious marble pillar screams one thing — WE HAVE MONEY. WE KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO HAVE MONEY. I, Zoe Hoff, do not know what it feels like to have money. I’m suddenly very self-conscious of my dad’s beat up, 1992 Chevy truck, thick with dust from the drive from New Mexico to Los Angeles. I glance over at my dad to see if he’s noticed how offensive we are, driving up this pristine path of privilege. He has not.
‘Zoe, hand over the beef jerky.’ My dad is a man of few words. He’s not exactly someone you can chat with. He’s a furniture designer — in the shop with his hammers and saws and protective goggles, that’s where he’s happiest. I get the vague impression that he doesn’t know what to say to me. I hand him the beef jerky.
I catch the eye of a particular girl sunbathing on a balcony of one of the sorority houses — Gamma Gamma Alpha. She’s gorgeous. She looks like she just stepped off the runway of the Victoria Secret Runway Show. A black fringe bikini clings to her perfect body, and her Gold Dayonta Rolex loosely hangs on her dainty, thin wrist. Oh my god. There’s been a horrible mistake. No way can I exist in the same universe as this creature. She rubs a dollop of tanning oil over her stomach and I legitamatily look around for the camera crew because surely this is a Carls Jr. commercial.
My dad whistles slowly.
‘Well Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas anymore,’ he says.
‘Dad, we’ve got to like — get out of here right now. I was wrong about this. I don’t belong here. I have body odor and eat cheeseburgers. That girl looks like she’s never had a bowel movement in her life.’
‘Zoe, you’re here because you worked hard and you earned it.’
The goddess catches my eye, and I watch her perfectly manicured eyebrow raise at our truck. I shrink in my seat and push my $10 Forever 21 Tom Ford knock offs higher onto my face. I was so happy when I found them, I thought they were so close to the real thing. Now I want to literally light them on fire.
My dad pats my knee.
‘You know, your mom was in a sorority.’
No, I did not know this. It’s amazing, how much more you learn about the people you love after they die. Turns out, my mom had a whole life before she was wearing her favorite khakis and traipsing around with her beloved camera — capturing the beauty of the desert. She was obsessed with cactus. The whole house was filled with cactus photographs and paintings. I try and place my artsy, outdoorsy mother on the balcony with the Fringe Bikini Girl and I can’t. She doesn’t fit.
‘She was quite the social butterfly. She loved it. Said that it was her second family.’
I wait, careful not to seem too eager. When I push him too hard about mom he gets all nervous. I don’t think he likes the pressure of being the only person that connects me to her. Like everything he says is extra important well…because it is. He’s done though; he goes back to munching on day old beef jerky. I’m angry at him and I don’t know why.
‘Sororities seem so, I don’t know. Antiquated. Sexist. Culty.’
I clock his reaction to my disdain. I know that will make him uncomfortable. I didn’t speak to him for 2 full months when he voted for Trump. I’m still not fully over it, and he’s desperate to avoid any sort of feminism rant at all costs.
My dorm is located in Brown — the all-girls freshman building. As a scholarship student, I had my first pick of residence. It was a no-brainer — Brown is set up like mini suites, so each apartment has two bedrooms with two single beds, and then a common room in the middle. I figured that this way, even if my roommate sucks I’ll have two other girls to choose from. Odds are all three can’t be terrible. Math, amiright?
Nothing about this was an accident. I knew I wanted to go to University of Western California ever since the College Guide published their list of number one school that feeds into post graduate employment. UWC was number one. I got my hands on that list when I was 14, and this has been the single-minded goal ever since. I love my dad, but New Mexico is the pits. It’s the dust that gathers on top of the mantle that is the rest of America. I want a job, I want to travel, I want to swim in the pristine waters of Greece and see the pyramids in Egypt and order the extra guacamole at Chipotle without feeling guilty. That’s why I’m majoring in Computer Science. Not only is that the most employable major according to the 2017 study that Huff Post put out, but you can do it anywhere.
My dad and I work for hours on my dorm room. I had us drive down and get a motel room a day early, just so that we could be the first ones in when they opened the campus. I’d saved all summer from working at Forever 21, and it was totally worth the hellish fluorescant writing and Taylor Swift album on loop for 8 hours a day. I’ve got twinkly lights, soft pastel curtains, a rustic woven rug. My dad even made me a custom headboard. My dorm looks bomb.com.
Matt comes bounding into the room and my heart actually skips a beat. Matt. The love of my life. There was no way I was leaving him behind. I spent almost as long writing his college essay as I did my own. But it worked, and now we’re both here. Matt’s tall — I love how tall he is. He looks like if someone stuck a bunch of long limbs half-hazardly into a torso. His curly hair grows up instead of down. Everything about him is both adorable and sexy. Sigh. Swoon. Swoon swoon swoon.
He shakes my dad’s hand. It’s awkward, they don’t know how to occupy space together. It doesn’t help that Matt is barely concealing his excitement. Tonight is the night. Our first night in college — the night that we’re going to lose our virginity to each other. It’s going to be beautiful. The soft lighting of my fairy lights and my vanilla almond candles that cost $30 each and smell like cookies will make me look luminescent and make Matt horny. Food smells always make him horny. It’s going to be so romantic.
Matt’s entrance is my dad’s cue to leave. I’m flooded with unexpected emotions: sadness, terror, pity and guilt. I imagine him driving the long, lonely drive back to New Mexico, stopping only to refill gas and buy more beef jerky. I imagine him alone in the house, haunted by the ghosts of the women who no longer live there. Surprising both of us, I throw my arms around his neck, breathing in the deep, natural scent of him. He hugs me back, hard.
‘Um. Alright. Well I guess this is it. I’m proud of you kid. Study hard. Stay focused.’ He throws a distrustful glance at Matt. Matt, thankfully, is blissfully unaware, munching on a Poptart.
‘Don’t do drugs.’
‘Dad, I’m not going to do any drugs.’
‘This is LA. Kids do drugs.’ He taps his nostril knowingly. ‘Nose candy.’
I almost roll my eyes when I see how earnestly he’s looking at me. Instead I hug him again.
‘I promise, Dad. No drugs. I’m going to stay focused.’
He nods, not sure what else there is to say. That’s always been his problem — he never really knows what to say.
‘Think about joining a sorority. It might get you some nice friends. Like your mom. And ummm…don’t have…um. Be safe. Uhh with.’ He drifts off, shooting another uncomfortable look at Matt. Unable to finish an actual sentence about sex, my dad shuffles out. Leaving me alone in Los Angeles. A scholarship imposter. Thank God I have Matt.

CHAPTER TWO: PURE
HARPER
I inhale sharply, the rolled up $50 bill held tightly between my Cashmere Beige gel manicure. The cocaine flies up my nostril and fucking BURNS in that great metallic way — like Vick’s Vapor Rub. My tan really sets off my gold Daytona Rolex. Thanks dad.
‘I think my spray tan gave me weird chest wrinkles.’ On my bed behind me, Jessie pulls her bare breasts apart and studies them. Jessie is the kind of gorgeous that doesn’t really exist in real life. She looks like a Free People Model but AFTER the air brushing. Her skin doesn’t even have pores. Sometimes I want to punch her in the face. Just to see she’d even bruise, or if she’d just fall effortlessly down onto a puffy cream comforter wearing nothing but a men’s frayed Oxford and knee socks. Fuck this coke is pure.
Jessie carefully takes my tweezers and squeezes her right boob with her other hand, bringing it up closer to her face. She concentrates, aims, and then plucks the offending nipple hair.
‘I got it!’ She holds it victoriously in the air. I make a mental note to vacuum my comforter.
‘Congratulations,’ I smile. Foul.
‘Heeeeeey!’ Mikala bursts into the room. I scream and throw my arms around her. Mikala is one big resting bitch face, but she’s more like active bitch face. Like her face is arranged in a bitchy formation because chances are she’s being a bitch. I love her.
‘You look so skinny, Harper. Seriously you look like you spent the summer in a concentration camp.’ Mikala eyes me jealously. I’ve eaten nothing but power smoothies for two months. I smile graciously and look confused.
‘Really? Weird. I’ve been eating soooo much I guess my body just burns it off faster. Picture!’ Jessie and Mikala lean in -

I’m so happy Mikala is back. She’s the best kind of friend and the absolute worst kind of enemy. The perfect Rush Chair.
‘This year’s crop is going to be the best ever. I can’t believe that Ollie fucking Tucker is going to be a freshman. If she doesn’t go Gamma I will seriously kill myself. Also Taylor Montgomery’s little sister is rushing.’
I raise my eyebrows at them. Look alive, bitches, Taylor Montgomery was my grand big and she’s Goals. After graduation she moved to New York and started working for Haute House and does areal yoga and briefly dated the founder of Snapchat. Her Instagram account makes me actually want to die; she’s never NOT on a yacht.
‘Can’t you just go down on Taylor Montgomery and get it over with?’
‘She was president of Gamma for two years, got a 4.0 GPA, and has actual defined abs. If she wanted me to go down on her I would eat sushi like I was at Nobu.’
‘I really love sushi!’ Jessie’s head springs up, coke outlining her nostril. ‘Hey guys, what do you think about if I get my cartilage pierced, but like, with a pearl stud. So it’s classy, but still slightly edgy?’
‘Shut the fuck up, Jessie.’
I tune them out as I allow myself to get lost in thought. I have a massive decision to make after all. Possibly the most important decision of my entire life…who am I going to pick as my little? Ollie Tucker, the famous pop star, or Tinsley Montgomery of famed Gamma lineage…”

CHAPTER THREE: WRONG
TINSLEY
There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me. I breathe in for 10 full seconds, hold it for 10 seconds, and then let it out for 10 seconds. I check to see if I feel any better…I do not. I’m flooded with a memory — my mom and Taylor — twin images of each other just 30 years apart. Taylor’s face smooth with La Mer face cream, my mom’s face smoothed with the skilled craftsmanship of one Dr. Gert.
‘Don’t forget to look people in the eyes when they’re talking to you.’
‘Don’t wear anything other than the outfits we picked out for you.’
‘Don’t snort when you laugh.’
‘Remind them about our new house in Bali and offer to take the girls on a trip there over winter break.’
‘Don’t be weird.’
‘Don’t touch your eyebrow when you’re nervous.’
My butt hits the corner of my new bed before I even realize my knees have given out. Squeezing my pillow to my chest I try and practice the deep breathing techniques again. In for 10. My mom had me on a strict diet all summer, and I’m tempted to order an entire pizza now. Hold for 10. My stomach puffs out with all the air in my lungs. I’m acutely aware of my body and how I don’t fit into it. It’s awkward, big, clumsy, offensive. I hate it. I’m not going to order the pizza. Out for 10. I do feel a little bit better.
I can hear one of my new roommates and her boyfriend in the other room. It sounds like she’s crying. My whole body clenches with anxiety. They’re yelling so loudly that I can’t help but overhear.
‘You want to break up with me?! Are you kidding Matt?!’
‘I just think we need to open ourselves up to new experiences!’
‘So you’re breaking up with me because of FOMO? Are you KIDDING me?’
‘This is about living life. You only live once.’
‘So YOLO? FOMO and YOLO?’
‘I’m sorry Zoe. This is probably a mistake, but I have to do this for me.’
‘Get the FUCK out, Matt! Leave! Go stick your dick in some new experiences. Go fuck a Pop tart. You ARE making a mistake. You wouldn’t have even gotten in here if it wasn’t for me!’
I turn my music up — their yelling makes the back of my neck tingle with terror.
I look at the empty bed across from my own and a warmth spreads throughout my stomach.
Ollie Tucker. It still doesn’t feel real. When I opened the e-mail with all the information and my roommate assignment, it felt like a joke that Taylor was playing on me. I’m going to live with Ollie Tucker. That made it all better. Taylor, with all her magic, never got to live with Ollie Tucker. Once that email came it changed everything. It was like a badge — I, Tinsley Montgomery, was selected to be Ollie Tucker’s roommate. THE Ollie Tucker. I would live with her, see what she was like away from the cameras, see what shampoo she used, what she watched on TV, what she ate, what she liked, what she complained about. Ollie Tucker with all her glimmer and glitter and sparkle and shine was going to show ME her real self. Just by the luck of the draw.
I hug my knees into my chest. They’re golden from the spray tan my mom made me get before flying from Connecticut to LAX. Ollie Tucker and I wouldn’t even have to talk to the angry, yelling girl on the other side of the wall. I would convince her to rush Kappa Kappa Alpha with me, and we are going to be best friends.

CHAPTER FOUR: FUCKFACE
OLLIE TUCKER
Being famous sucks. It’s a thought I have at least 40 times a day. Students keep gazing suspiciously at the black tinted windows of my Matte Mercedes G Wagon. And like a pussy, I hide inside. Outside, the students walk around, being all J Crew and Starbucks and rape culture and other normal white American things.
I jump when my phone vibrates. Oh gross — Mark ‘Ultimate Fuckface’ — my agent.
‘Hey Mark, what’s good? What do you mean publicity stunt? It’s not a publicity stunt I’m here I’m on campus I’m doing this. Don’t talk down to me, Mark. You know I’m 3 days away from my period and highly fucking volatile right now. Don’t tell me I need to focus on my career, I’ve been focusing on my career since I was 10 years old. Besides, college is going to inspire me. I’m going to write an album so fucking poignant Beyoncé will kill herself. Mark I am DOING THIS.’ I hang up in triumph.
When Emma Watson finished Harry Potter she was just an average white girl with great hair. Then she went to Brown and suddenly she’s like an ambassador for the UN and in Sofia Coppala movies. College is the new rehab.
A familiar chord resonates from the radio — ah, feck.
Anything can happen!
It’s Friday night! I’m feeling alright! I pop a Xanax and I text my ex and I check, check, check my reflection –
Which brilliant producer came up with rhyming check and Xanax? I wish they had just let me write my own lyrics. But noooooo my stuff was too “racially charged” and “provocative” and “poetic”. Assholes.
It gives me a thrill,
You’ll be a little drunk,
I’ve got a pill.
I know we’re going to hold each other soon,
Because tonight’s another full moon.
Vomit. Vomit vomit vomit vomit vomit gag me. Alright that settles it. I AM doing this. I am going to be a bona fide American college girl. I’m going to wear plaid scarves and drink pumpkin coffee and watch Gilmore Girls and live with some ho named Tinsley from Connecticut who probably grew up with a golden retriever and grandparents.
I am fearless. I am Ollie Fucking Tucker for fuck’s sake. Kendall Jenner went down on me at Justin Bieber’s birthday party. I can do this. I can so do this. How hard can being a normal college girl be?