She’s even instituted a dress code for practices just in case anyone decides to drop in and watch, which I’m told next to never happens. But on the off chance, we’re to be in standard-issued Valley blue and yellow only. You’d think she’s the one who grew up with parents who wanted everything to appear perfect. Perfection is non-existent. She’d be happier if she accepted that. I’d offer her that tidbit if I thought she’d actually listen.

Sydney lets the dress fall to her side and tosses it on her bed. “Thanks.” It’s no more than a whisper and then she hurries out of our room carrying the black dress. I give the neon dress an apologetic smile. Poor dress. I’ve probably just ensured it never gets worn again.

Our room is set up with each of our twin beds pushed against the far walls and there might as well be a piece of tape dividing our halves for how much either of us has crossed into the other’s space. Bri and Emily share a room on the other side of the suite with a similar setup.

I shove off my bed and decide to plan my own outfit for the night. The athletic mixer is mandatory for the entire team—free drinks and appetizers, mingling with alumni and boosters. Under normal circumstances, I’d be excited about a night of dressing up and going out, but since I have zero friends here, I’m not jumping for joy about being the social leper standing in the corner all night. It’s embarrassing enough to hide away in my room, but I’ve never walked into a party alone like I know I will tonight.

I close the closet door behind me and pull the cardboard box labeled Misc Junk from the top shelf. Settling on the floor, I tug the flaps open and let out a sigh at the contents. Every overpriced piece of clothing I own is carefully folded and safely stored inside a plastic, zippered bag.

When I transferred to Valley, I thought it would be best if I left all traces of my life in California behind. It’s not like I was walking around campus in couture, but I had nice, designer brand clothes, an off-campus apartment in an area that college kids shouldn’t be able to afford, and money to blow on pretty much anything I wanted thanks to the allowance my parents transfer to my checking account like clockwork on the first and fifteenth of every month.

I don’t fancy myself some sort of saint for attempting to rough it at college by wearing cheaper clothes and only buying necessities—this is all about self-preservation, but I’m sort of proud of how easy it’s been to give up the things I thought I couldn’t live without just a few months ago.