Chapter 1: Introduction
As I killed time waiting outside the Registrar’s Office, I bounced on the balls of my feet and ran my fingers through my hair, feeling self-conscious about the mess on my head and my too-tight jeans. I never really knew what to wear on these kinds of occasions, and today’s blazing September weather wasn’t helping.
I glanced at my watch and checked the time for the hundredth time as I peeked over my shoulder at the family gathering down the hall.
One by one, students said their good-byes, hugged their parents, and disappeared around the corner, leaving a trail of silent regret in their wake. At 18, this was my first time genuinely striking out on my own.
I'd spent the whole summer attending orientation sessions and preparing for college life – living in a dorm, getting a meal plan, and, yes, even buying bedsheets. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. I was eager to make new friends, but also scared of what lay ahead.
I knew there would be challenges, and I wasn't quite sure I was ready for them. After a goodbye hug from my parents that lasted far too long to be considered normal for my impeccable kidnapper, I shouldered my backpack and headed down the dorm hall. I hoped that my roommate and dorm neighbors would be welcoming and open-minded, but even more so, I hoped I would find a sense of belonging.
As I approached my designated floor, the butterflies in my stomach grew restless.
I clutched my UPID keycard tightly as I navigated the wide, vacant corridor, its tapestry ceiling mosaic dimly casting shades of blue and gold across the worn linoleum.
Finally, I found the right door. With shaky hands, I swiped my keycard, listened for the hideous beep that meant it worked, and pushed the door open with a sigh of relief.
The room was larger than I had imagined and surprisingly tidy.
A twin bed was pushed against the far wall, and next to it stood a dresser littered with my roommate's things: a collection of hair care products, a fruit bowl loaded with bananas and apples, and a shirt hanging off the edge, bearing a possible clue to my roommate's identity. When I had filled out my housing application, I had not been given the choice to pick a roommate, so I entered the raffle blindly. It looked like I had won one of the lucky spots and was now living with Tobi, the mysterious mastermind I had yet to meet.
The nameplate on the dresser, already emblazoned with a bold and decorative typeface, hinted that I had landed myself a vibrant one. I could only hope that we would get along despite our contrasting personalities.
I stepped inside and parked my suitcase near the entrance. Next to the dresser, a wardrobe loomed, and attached to its door, a photo frame held a picture of a hand dangling a beer mug next to a colorfully painted rainbow flag.
I could almost hear the voice of my new roommate in my head, accompanied by the gentle clinking of ice against the side of a tall glass.
As I took it all in, the door to the adjoining suite creaked open, revealing a tall, muscular figure. He had a confident stride and looked like a true athlete—the type who could crush you in a fistfight and still leave you pining for more. Broad shoulders, messy brown hair, and a penetrating gaze made me swallow hard.
I shoved my hands into my pockets to conceal their trembling and did my best to remain calm. This had to be Thomas, the guy whose room was next to mine, and if the rumors were true, he was the big man on campus.
"You must be Michael," he said, smirking as he strode toward me. I straightened up, willing myself to meet his gaze, even as my heart thudded in my chest. "I'm Thomas. I saw you moving in earlier.
Mind if I come in for a moment?" Thomas asked.
I nodded, and he walked in, taking up most of the space in our small room. He shifted his muscular frame to sit on Tobi's bed, crossing one leg over the other. I suddenly felt protective of Tobi, not knowing when he would arrive.
"So, what brings you to St Claire? Are you one of those athletes who got a scholarship or something?" I asked, hoping to make small talk.
Thomas shook his head and chuckled. "No, I wish.
I've always been more of a desk jockey, but I have to admit,' he said with a grin, "I've been known to lift the occasional dumbbell for fun."
A soft, feminine voice now caught my attention, and, turning toward the door, I saw her emerge. She was striking, with short, spiky hair that complemented her angular jaw and high cheekbones. Her tone of voice was warm, and she carried with her an aura of confidence that immediately overshadowed the mesmerizing Thomas.
“Hi, you must be Michael,” she stated as she stepped forward, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, “I’m Cara, Tobi’s bestie.”
I took a moment to collect myself before saying, “Hey, it’s nice to meet you. But where is Tobi anyway? I was hoping to meet him before jumping into my own unpacking.”
Cara looked over her shoulder as if she was trying to gauge how far away Tobi was. “Oh, something came up at the last minute. He should be back soon though.
He's unbearable when he can't be part of the action." Cara let out a quiet, melodic laugh as she glanced around the room. "Nice space. I have a feeling Tobi and you are going to be great friends. You're both into making a statement."
As she motioned toward the rainbow flag and Tobi's exuberant accessories, I couldn't help but notice the leather strap dangling from her pants pocket. It was a peculiar piece, and suddenly, her earlier words about Tobi took on a whole new meaning. Thomas gave Cara a high five and said cryptically "How I envy you, girl. I wish I had a friend like Tobi."
Cara spoke with a knowing look in her eyes. "He's the perfect combination of confidence, vulnerability, and an electric personality. He'll light up your life before you even realize it."
"Well, I'm eager to meet him," I responded, realizing that I couldn't help feeling curious about what Cara insinuated. I glanced at the strap again, wondering if I was supposed to ask about it or pretend that I didn't notice.
"Oh, that?" Cara said, noticing my curiosity. "It's just a prop.
I like to keep it with me for kicks and giggles," Cara said, winking. I had a feeling there was more to it than she let on, but I didn't push the subject further.
Instead, I gestured to the empty bed. "Well, I'm excited to meet Tobi, but I also have to unpack. Do you think he'll mind if I get started?"
"Of course not. Make yourself at home," Cara said with a wave of her hand. Thomas immediatly took the suitcase and said "Do not worry I do the heavy lifting and help you, cutie." winking to me while Cara giggled.
As Thomas brought my suitcase inside and started unzipping it, Cara leaned over the bed, pulling out a few photos of Tobi grinning widely, donning bold clothing and wearing massive heels. I couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was evident that Tobi was unapologetically himself and embraced his individuality with open arms.
"So, Michael, have you heard about the Beaver Bois?" Cara asked, pivoting the conversation to a mysterious path.
I furrowed my brow and tilted my head with feigned ignorance.
"Sorry, I'm a little rusty on the college lingo." I said, trying to mask the curiosity that was building inside me.
Cara smiled knowingly and heaved a dramatic sigh. "In that case, let me fill you in. The Beaver Bois are a close-knit group of students, predominantly LGBTQ+, who embrace all aspects of gender expression and celebrate individuality." She glanced at Thomas, who seemed only too happy to help her explain.
"And the pièce de résistance?" Thomas chimed in, "We throw the wildest parties that go all night.
The Beaver Bois are a force to be reckoned with, and Tobi is one of the ringleaders." Cara popped her gum, taking a moment to savor the sweetness.
"And where do you fit in?" I asked, intrigued by the idea of the Beaver Bois.
"Ah, well, I don't necessarily fit the traditional mold, but I support Tobi and his creativity," Cara said with a shrug.
"Some guys, like me, enjoy taking on the dominant roles in relationships, and a couple of the girls in the group have taken exception to that."
She paused, giving me a meaningful look. I could tell there was something more she wanted to say but held back.
"I see." I said, uncertain of how to proceed with the conversation. Thomas returned with an armful of shirts and began sorting them into the drawers. I was still confused what a beaver boi was and so I asked.
"What does it mean to be a beaver boi, exactly?" I asked, furrowing my brow in honest curiosity.
Cara was quick to respond. "Well, there's no single definition," she said with her hands folded on the bed. "A beaver boi is a person who typically identifies as male, but may not subscribe to traditional gender norms or roles."
Feeling like I needed more info, I dug deeper. "So, how does this relate to the parties you mentioned earlier?" I inquired.