Hinton James and I were an unlikely match — when applying for first-year housing, it was my last choice.
But the housing gods decided it was meant to be. So there I was, move-in day, waving goodbye to my parents from my fourth floor room.
Little did I know memories would blossom in those walls, and the people I met there over the course of the year would become my lifelong friends.
As awkward as I was on the first encounter, my suitemates soon learned I’m notorious for busting out the moves when any type of music is put on.
At 2 a.m. one late night, in a tired attempt to wake ourselves up to keep studying for finals, my roommate and I had a “High School Musical” dance-off with one of our suitemates acting as the judge.
Soon, we were throwing ourselves on the floor, worming it out. Before we knew it, we heard a knock at the door.
Turns out the guy underneath us didn’t appreciate the constant thumping and “High School Musical” tunes coming from above him when he needed to get up for an 8 a.m.