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He’d spent the last several years in Texas, where he’d developed the slightest of southern twangs, but he was, in other words, someone who’d been similarly unaccustomed to deep friendships with other guys. Kellan was an only child, the son of wealthy parents, who spent much of his childhood moving from private school to private school around the world. One night I mentioned I’d be leaving to go home for Thanksgiving and Kellan let out a dramatic “Nooooo!” and when I asked what was wrong, he said, “You can’t leave! Then I’ll have nobody to hang out with.” And I felt warm and fuzzy and good about the fact that I’d found a friend who considered me his person, another boy who would genuinely miss me when I was gone and rejoice when I returned. We studied together at night and played video games on the weekends and occasionally smuggled cheap vodka from the junior who lived down the hall, to bring to football games, which was just an excuse to eat cheese fries and be underage drunk outdoors.Ī few months in, Aaron joined a fraternity (where his disheveled nature would find its true home), so we saw less of him, and James was often off on his own (he ate, no lie, approximately seven meals a day, and the rest of us couldn’t possibly keep up). That night, we all became friends, and ate dinner together for most nights after that. He was beautiful in the same way that nerdy girls in nineties movies are beautiful, which is to say, he was one makeover montage away from being sweep-you-off-your-feet hot, if he actually gave a shit about that kind of thing, but obviously he didn’t, because he was too awkward to make that happen.
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And finally, there was Kellan, Aaron’s roommate, tall and slender and boyish, with smooth skin and bowl-cut hair, and just the right amount of social anxiety to be approachable. Then James, a Chinese immigrant studying economics, who always wore jeans that ended four inches above his ankles, and who, I assume, is still wearing the same outfit as he manages some billion-dollar hedge fund on Wall Street. There was Aaron, a moppy-haired engineer who, by day three, had already fully embraced the shower-free, anti-deodorant, sweatpants-and-flip-flops lifestyle of the college professional.
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But I saw an open seat at a table full of guys I recognized from our dorm, and asked if I could join. I went to the dining hall by myself and walked with my tray to find an empty seat, presumably to plot how I’d spend the next four years in solitude. (Note: Kellan is not his real name, but it is the name of a gay porn star I like, so we’ll call him that to spare him scrutiny and also to further indulge my fantasies.) By the third day of orientation, my given roommate Troy - a wannabe frat boy with an outsized ego and zero game - having already decided I was a social liability, had ditched me for what he deemed a more lucrative social circle and left me to find dinner alone. I met Kellan on the third day of our freshman year of college, at a dining hall table of misfits.