NOW – JUNIOR YEAR – JANUARY
I’m just about to dive into this shitshow of a project Professor Bam dumped on us when Ethan bursts into my room, looking like he’s seen a fucking ghost.
“Freddie, I’m screwed. Totally, completely fucked.”
I push back from my desk, frowning. It’s late—why the hell is he bothering me? “What’s going on? Did you drunk-text your ex again?”
“Professor Martinez just accused me of plagiarism,” he chokes out, collapsing onto my bed like a puppet with cut strings. “Says my essay is too similar to some obscure journal article. I swear I didn’t copy shit, but I can’t remember where all my sources came from.”
I take a deep breath. Fuck me, we’re gonna need the whole cavalry for this one.
I’ve never seen Ethan like this. He’s pacing our living room, running his hands through his hair so many times I’m worried he’ll go bald by morning. The usual spark in his eyes is gone, replaced by pure panic.
“I’m screwed, man. Totally fucked,” he mutters for what must be the millionth time.
“Ethan, breathe,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “We’ll figure this shit out.”
He stops pacing, turning to me with wild eyes. “How? They’re saying Iplagiarized, Freddie. Do you know what that means? I could get expelled. My parents will disown me. My life is over. I’ll end up living in a cardboard box, selling my body for ramen noodles.”
The desperation in his voice makes my chest tighten. This is Ethan—the guy who once streaked across campus on a dare, who always has a joke ready, who never takes anything seriously. Seeing him fall apart like this…it’s like watching a clown cry. It’s just wrong.
Troy appears from the kitchen, holding a plate piled high with burritos. “All right, fuel for the brain,” he announces, setting them on the coffee table. “Can’t solve problems on an empty stomach. These babies could bring a man back from the dead.”
Ethan looks at the food like it might jump up and bite his dick off. “I can’t eat. I feel sick.”
“Try,” Troy insists, shoving a burrito into Ethan’s hands. “Trust me, my grandma’s recipe can cure anything. Even academic disaster. It’s like edible magic.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across Ethan’s face as he takes a small bite.
Alfie shuffles in, looking like he just crawled out of a grave. Which, given that it’s 1:00 a.m., he probably did. “What’s with the midnight SOS text? Are you guys having a fucking fiesta?” he grumbles, then catches sight of Ethan’s face. His expression immediately softens. “What happened? Who do I need to punch?”
As Troy fills Alfie in, I watch Ethan. He’s staring at the burrito in his hands like it’s the fucking Rosetta Stone. I’ve known him long enough to see the wheels turning in his head, probably imagining worst-case scenarios. Expelled, disowned, living under a bridge—the whole nine yards.
“Okay,” Alfie says once Troy’s finished explaining. “What can I do to help? I’m shit at essays, but I’m great at threatening people.”
Ethan looks up, surprise written across his face. “You…you want to help?”
Alfie shrugs, but there’s a determined set to his jaw. “Of course, dumbass. We’re family, aren’t we? And family doesn’t let family get fucked over by some bullshit plagiarism charge.”
Something in Ethan’s expression crumples at those words. For a second, I think he might break down and start bawling like a baby. But then he takes a shaky breath, squaring his shoulders like he’s about to go into battle. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”
A surge of pride washes over me. These idiots—they’re not just friends. They’re my brothers, bound by something stronger than blood. We might be a strange bunch of kids, but we’ll stick together.
“All right, girls,” I say, clapping my hands together. “Let’s save Ethan’s ass. We’ve got an essay to redo and a professor to prove wrong. Who’s ready for an all-nighter?”
The guys cheer, and I actually believe we can pull this off.
“Let’s dissect this beast. Ethan, take us through your research rabbit hole. When did you start?” As Ethan starts talking, his words tumbling out, we begin going through his laptop on the day he completed the essay to try to find his sources.
“Okay, let’s check your browser history,” I say, grabbing Ethan’s laptop. “Maybe we can trace your research path and—holy shit!”
I slam the laptop shut so fast I’m surprised it doesn’t break. Ethan’s face goes from confused to horrified in record time.
“What? What is it?” Troy asks, reaching for the laptop.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” I mutter, but Troy’s already prying it open.
His eyes go wide. “Dude, ‘Busty Coeds in Triple Trouble’?Really?”
