(7:36) Mr. President Amari: you’re coming right?

(7:36) Mr. President Amari: Cam

(7:36) Mr. President Amari: broooo i know you’re reading my shit

The phone continues to buzz as Cameron puts the device back in his bag, and he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Usually, he hated to ignore messages, but the ginger was trying to figure out where the fuck Jazmine was walking. She hadn’t told him until they were packing up that trivia night wasn’t on campus, but at one of the local bars. Cameron didn’t want to be on his phone, partially because he had bad luck texting and moving. If it was the one bar he’d visited with his roommate, then they were just two seconds away from being hate-crimed. 

Jazmine quickly sensed the unease, humming in understanding before he’d even finished.

“You went to that macho, western-themed sports bar, didn’t you? Unwelcoming as shit?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because it’s for the locals. The older folks and the nearby blue-collar crowd. They don’t want us students here in general, let alone some hoity-toity twenty-something ordering a fru-fru drink at the one spot that’s just for them.”

“That makes so much sense. I definitely tried to order a strawberry daiquiri, and the bartender just gave me a shot of rum.”

“Figured. If you went to the bar I’m taking you to, you would've felt right at home.”

“Is it this one?” he asks, voice belying the worry as he reads Spigot’s. 

He was only able to feel relief for a second when she shook her head. They hadn’t even taken two more steps when three men exited the front and started catcalling. Jazmine locked their arms and sped the walk as Cam flinched from the slur they were calling her and the vulgar catcalling at him. He knew if they switched up, if they saw underneath his skirt, and the thought made him squeeze her tighter.

Cameron calmed the further away they got, and slowly realized they’d speedwalked ten minutes west of campus to a side of downtown he hadn’t gotten a chance to explore since he’d started school. They continued three more blocks behind Main Street, and it was still historic-looking, but a little more rundown than the east side of town; there were few lampposts, older signs, and broken sidewalk cement. However, it was more welcoming. As they passed older apartments and townhomes with little candles and lanterns in the windows, Jaz pointed out that she lived close. 

“Isn’t that expensive to be near campus?”

“Sorta, but I don’t pay rent.”

“Huh?”

“That’s a story for another day. Do you see anything particular about this side of town?”

“It’s really decorative. Has personality.” 

There were flags and tapestries of all sorts hanging in windows, colorful banners pinned to doorways, and even murals along the old brick siding. Cameron particularly liked the one that has an alien abduction scene.

“Mhmm. This is nicknamed the Artists’ Corner. This neighborhood is full of small, locally owned businesses,” Jazmine says, pointing to the street before she starts counting. “There's a joint-owned artisan shop split in half by the craft. Uh, one art gallery. Two really good ethnic restaurants, and one specializes in fusion dishes, so the exchange students can feel a little piece of home. And then there’s a combined bakery-café.”

“I know where I’m eating next week.”

“No, the food is phenomenal. You can’t go wrong at any of them.”

“Are those apartments above them?”

“Yup. Many of the less affluent students live here in clusters–especially the artsy ones.”

“That’s going to be me next year. Are there one or two bedrooms? And how many can lease an apartment?”

“These are one and two-bedrooms. One bed? Four. The two-bedroom apartments? Six is usually the max.”

“There’s been more? Is that even legal?”

“Technically, the max just has to be set by the landlord, and Mr. Jesse is pretty chill. I’ve seen as many as eight–”

“Eight,” Cameron shouts, only to slap his hand over his mouth as the sound echoes. 

“Yes, eight. I knew these people. It genuinely only worked because two stayed with their partners most of the week, and the rest were so busy working that all of them were really home at the same time.”

“Ooooh”

“Most often, it just ends up being five people. One of the two bedrooms may have an additional bed, in addition to the bunk bed. If you see an ad saying ‘looking for introverted aro-ace roommates,’ don’t be alarmed. It’s just a group looking for a person who won’t bring people home.”

“That’s actually really funny.”

“Or if you see an ad saying, ‘hey, want to try understanding commune life?’ That just means everyone sleeps in the living room, and the bedrooms are study and studio spaces. And most likely they collectively buy groceries.”

“Aaah. I would’ve assumed they’re a polycule.”

“Yeah, definitely that as well,” Jazmine agrees nonchalantly. Cameron can’t even finish his double-take before she’s moving on. “Look, we're here.”

As they walk up to a restaurant with curtained windows, the dark fabric contrasts enough for Cameron to make out the fading lettering reading ‘Too Sweet’ and the hours. The ginger’s attention was on the host sitting on a stool right by the door. 

They grinned familiarly at Jazmine. “Jay! They were starting to wonder if you were going to come.”

“Can’t miss the first trivia night of the year, Layton.”

“Period! They’re waiting already.”

Jazmine gently ushers Cameron past the guy to the door. As they step into the building, the ginger is admittedly disappointed. For all the buildup, it’s a regular older restaurant with hardwood floors that's seen better days. Not to say it wasn’t cute.

Cameron liked the black cushioned booths along the brick wall. Most of the space was dedicated to three long picnic tables that took up two-thirds of the space’s width. He could immediately tell the tables were designed with short benches that gave enough space for wheelchair users to park on the ends. And the tables themselves were doodled and painted on, only adding to the homey feel. Outside of the walking aisles, the remaining space was occupied by a counter that looked directly into the kitchen window. Old-school milkshake makers, condiments, and to-go containers are neatly organized in plain sight. 

Several groups of students huddled around the room, with cups of coffee, appetizers, and unfinished homework scattered across the tables. The only out-of-place aspect was the Latino guy lounging next to a built-in bookshelf. 

As they approached it, the guy stood up, face hardening. 

“Imma need to see your IDs.”

Wondering what the hell he was getting into, Cam handed his to the guy to scan, relieved when the man gave it back. 

Why am I nervous? I’m literally 21, the sophomore reminds himself. The whole exchange, which in reality took thirty seconds, felt like forever. 

Job done, the Latino shocks Cameron with a kind smile. 

“You’re good to go. Welcome to the family. Hope you have a good time.”

“Thanks, Alex!”

The ginger starts putting the pieces together as Jazmine grips the side of the bookshelf and pulls it open. Cameron registers the R&B as Jaz drags him in quickly as the bouncer immediately closes the door behind them. 

“The fuddy-duddies get pissy if they hear the fun,” she explains as she continues to guide him down the steel steps. It’s only one short flight; it feels like the ginger steps into a whole new world. 

It was a speakeasy turned college bar. Posters, dim lighting that’s nearly canceled out by the ugly neon sign, and a little stage in the far right corner. It’s a lot bigger down there since the kitchen was upstairs. There were booths along the brick wall, similar to the setup upstairs; however, the tables and chairs in the middle of the room were made of plastic, a temporary arrangement in addition to the rolling TV stand. 

“Goodness gracious.”

Cameron doesn’t remember how much they’ve held hands tonight, but his hand tightens around hers as they walk over to the almost full tables. 

“Jaz!”

“Min-Min, you’re here!”

“What up, Baker?”

“Hey, girl. Who’s that?”

The ginger knew he should probably let go so Jazmine could hug her friends, but found it difficult with all the curious stares being tossed his way as they noticed the pale, overly dressed boy next to her.

Right as Cameron wanted to tuck himself behind the artist, he heard a familiar voice: 

“Bruh, you came!”

Looking up at the BSA President, Cameron couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, Mari! Sorry I didn't respond--we were on the way.”

The president instinctively went to dap up the Irishmen. To the senior's and the onlookers' surprise, Cameron knew what to do. The slap was satisfying; the lean in and pat were not too short or too long. As Amari draws back with a giant grin.

“You playing?”

“If everyone’s cool with it.”