* * * *
Curtis and I went to lunch after that, then freshmen orientation, then back to our room. Our room. It had a nice ring to it. By then we were fast friends. I knew how lucky I was, too. I’d seen some of the other match-ups on our floor. They seemed doomed from the start: jocks with nerdy guys, stoners with the prim and proper, rockers with preppy dudes. But not me and Curtis. Nope, we seemed to click from the getgo, like two slabs from the same collegiate pie.
I was sitting on my bed, watching him poke around inside his luggage. “What you looking for?” I asked.
He held up his index finger, and then, a moment later, turned with his hand held out. In it was a nice-sized silver flask. “You a drinker, Eddie?”
I scratched my chin. “Pepsi count?” He shook his head. “Then, no, never to
