nyu starters

“A guide to living in the reality of being a 21st-century woman,” Astrid winced as if taking a whiff of something rotten while she read the cover of a Cosmo magazine. She was posing in the doorway, looking like she’d time-traveled there from 1960′s Paris. “I hate the idea of reality. It’s a construct! There is no one reality. Like, my reality isn’t the same as your reality, y’know? Or maybe it’s all one big simulation. That’d be kinda cool, huh?” Blonde strands of hair hung from under a red beret, fishnet-clad legs were tucked into white ankle boots. A joint smoldered in her hand as she spoke. “Hey, you wanna read your horoscope?” Astrid took a puff, held it out in offering to the other.

After class, Abby made her way around campus before finding herself seated at a high table in the lobby. Her lecture gave her a lot to think about when it came to the way people think and she was glad that she was back from break to pick up from where she left off. She looked at her assignment, fiddling with her pencil in her hand before she turned to the person next to her. “Okay, so if what my assignment says is true, let me ask you this - would you rather travel for the rest of your life and only be able to stay in one place for three months at a time or never leave your home state ever again?“

“ what the fuck. ”  he’d left his drink behind a large potted plant near the bar  ––  this place had disjointed decor that bordered on an identity crisis,  was halfway between a sports bar and one of those restaurants that tended to pop up opportunistically whenever the chance at gentrifying a neighbourhood presented itself,  with mahogany floors and dim lighting and little indoor trees.  ari didn’t like it much.  that didn’t mean he didn’t want his drink back.  he’d only placed it there for a moment of safe keeping  ––  he’d barely been gone two minutes.  “ did you see anyone take a drink from behind here? ”      @nyustarts​

Pink glitter stuck to her cheek, leftover remnants from her party makeup the night before, Freya was just escaping a bad date. She had cackled like a child as the man had attempted to go home with her from the bar, prancing off like an escaped deer as he slid his arm around her waist, pulling away and shaking her head. “Sorry. I think I see one of my friends over there. Text you later,” she had told him, heading back towards the bar booths, Freya quickly sitting in a random booth and huffing, brushing locks of blonde hair out of her face. “I told that guy we’re friends. Help me out? I can’t talk to him for another minute. He started saying all the things he wanted to do to me and my eyes glazed over. Like someone replaced my brain with a fat head of lettuce,” she complained. “Just keep talking to me until he leaves?”

“Hey, are those bluetooth speakers?” Jen asked the person next to her, her eyes zeroing in on the source of the music. Whomever was responsible for the playlist was doing the party a terrible disservice. Not only did she not recognize a single song, but they were objectively undanceable. It was just all wrong, the beats were too slow–not at all reflective of the energy of the crowd–and it was beginning to wear on the room, steadily sucking the life right out of the party. “Think I can connect and turn this thing around? If I don’t hear something I can sing along and shake my ass to in the next 2 minutes, I’m literally storming out. This is what happens when you put guys in charge of the music.” 

“Oh shit, sorry-” Hayden exhaled as she knocked the laundry basket perched precariously under one arm into the other person. She swore she had more room than that in the hallway. At least the items in the basket were clean. With her free hand, she plucked the airpod from her ear to assess the damage to the other person, not that the hit was that hard but she knew better than to just keep going. “You’re not going to call the cops are you?” She teased, biting her bottom lip to fight back a smile just in case the person she’d accidentally encroached on was in a less than stellar mood. “It was a run-by… laundry-ing.”

The invitations were sent out, but to be honest, invitations were just formalities now. Ever since he started the party tradition in first year, everyone was always at his family apartment every first and last weekends of the month. What he was expecting were people trying to get in. Matty had been more and more picky with the people who could ever really get in, knowing his parents would start getting suspicious with what he’s really been doing. “If you’re going to ask…” He starts, looking up, “Oh, yeah, sorry, kinda expected someone I didn’t really know to approach for the party on Saturday. But for you… What’s up?”