I turned my head. “Does it matter?”

But nobody warned me about him . His name is Cole. Junior. Rugby player. Has that effortless messy hair that looks like he just rolled out of someone else’s bed. He was my RA’s friend—which should have been my first red flag. RAs are supposed to be the fun police, not the pimps of the third floor.

I did know how it was. I was the lucky fucking freshman. The one who got to learn, up close, that “low-key” means “don’t expect a text back,” and “see you around” means “I’ll call you when my other plans fall through.” Do I regret it? No.

And then he texted: “Had fun. Let’s keep this low-key though? You know how it is.”

And Cole stopped being fun the second I started being convenient. Have your own “lucky freshman” story? Drop it in the comments (anonymously, obviously). And subscribe for more college confessions from someone who survived to tell the tale.

And here’s the part I don’t tell my mom: It was good . Not magical. Not the movies. But good in the way that makes you forget why you were scared in the first place. He was careful. Attentive. Kept asking, “You okay?” until I finally laughed and said, “Cole, I’m fine. Just shut up.”

He poured me a cup of something that tasted like fruit punch and regret. We stood close—close enough that I could smell his detergent, something clean and expensive. His hand found the small of my back. Mine found his chest.

So here’s my advice to every incoming freshman girl: Be lucky. Be a little stupid. Make out with the wrong guy in a room with a dirty floor. But when he says “keep it low-key”? Walk away.

Cole found me by the keg. “You look nervous.”

I met him at the “Welcome Back” house party during syllabus week. I was nursing a truly disgusting hard seltzer, wearing a sundress that was probably too short for September, and trying to remember the name of the girl from my Psych 101 lecture.

“What’s your biggest fear?” (Spiders. And graduating with no plan.) “What’s a memory you’d relive?” (My dad teaching me to drive stick shift.) “Who broke your heart first?” (A boy named Liam. Sophomore year of high school. Cliché.)

Let’s get one thing straight: I didn’t believe the hype.