“You are correct. Final question. If you get this right, you will walk away with one million dollars. What is the worst movie of all time?” Tracey asks, jokingly.

“Tell my momma, we movin’ on up to the East Side. Alex, what is Birth of a Nation?” The imaginary crowd goes wild as we jump around in a circle to celebrate our winnings.

I prance into the testing rooms during finals week, wielding my freshly sharpened pencils like lightsabers. “May the Force be with me,” I whisper before I start.

After finals, I rush home to my dorm room, burst through the door, and proclaim: “Hear ye, hear ye: I have completed my first semester of college and I feel great!” Manda Panda bounces up off her bed and screams at the top of her lungs, “Ah!” I run to my closet and pull out the triangular birthday hats and party blowers we have been saving for just this moment. We put on our hats and jump around the room in glee. Manda Panda blasts “The Final Countdown” by Europe. I put my sunglasses on in preparation for a dramatic karaoke joint performance. As soon as the music starts, Manda Panda and I move intensely. When the lead singer reaches the chorus, Manda Panda starts twerking, but she is so remarkably off beat, the African pulse still beating in me after all these centuries forces me to stop the music.

“Mandy, no. That’s not it. Who twerks to eighties music anyways?”

“What? Then how do you do it? Show me.”

“Well, I definitely don’t know, but I know that’s not it.”

“Who are you, the beat police? This is a celebration, bitch!”

Manda Panda presses play and the music blares. She continues her bad twerking until I join. I’m not the best dancer, but I manage to find a beat or two. I grab the gin and two shot glasses from her closet. I pour us each a shot and mix in a little orange juice. We toast, lower the music, and then collapse on her bed.

“Can’t believe we made it through our first semester,” Manda Panda says while lying on my chest. “Let’s save this moment forever.” She pulls out her camera and snaps a picture.

“You think you’ll remember me in twenty years?” she asks while looking at the developing Polaroid film. “Your wild first-year roommate?”

“How could I forget?”

“We’ll be so old by then. Like have gray hair and stuff.”

Silence.

I stare at the ceiling trying to summon the courage to ask her about the aftermath of that terrible night.

“Hey… I wanted to ask if you ever ended up reporting him? Have you seen him around?”

Mandy’s body grows cold and heavy.