9 loud families
Nola's dorm feels like the kind of space that doesn't try to be anything, it just exists exactly as it is, messy in a way that somehow works, sketchbooks stacked unevenly on her desk, pens scattered like she drops them wherever her hand stops moving, a hoodie hanging off the back of her chair like it's been there for days and no one's questioned it, and somehow none of it feels chaotic, just.. . lived in.
We're sitting across from each other on her floor, notebooks open, highlighters uncapped, pretending we're being productive even though Nola has already drawn at least three faces in the margins of her notes and labeled one of them "Professor but slightly evil."
"That's accurate," I say, glancing at it.
"Thank you," she replies without looking up. "I strive for realism."
"You gave him horns."
"They're metaphorical."
I huff out a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I underline something in my notes, trying to stay focused because we have an eight a.m. tomorrow and I would actually like to understand at least half of what's being taught.
"You're doing it again," Nola says after a second.
"Doing what?"
"Thinking too hard," she replies, finally looking up at me. "Your face does that thing."
"My face does not do a thing."
"It absolutely does," she says. "It goes all serious and quiet and then you stop hearing anything I say."
"I can hear you."
"Okay," she says, leaning forward slightly. "What did I just say?"
I open my mouth.
Then close it.
She smiles slowly. "Exactly."
"I was listening," I argue weakly.
"You were not," she says, satisfied, then drops her gaze back to her notebook like she's already moved on.
Before I can respond, her phone starts ringing loudly on the desk beside her, and she groans like she already knows who it is before she even looks.
"If this is them again-"
She flips the phone over and her entire expression shifts immediately.
"It is them again," she says, but there's a smile pulling at her mouth as she answers.
She props the phone up against a stack of books so the screen faces us, and two identical faces appear instantly, leaning too close to the camera like they're trying to crawl through it.
Same dark hair, same eyes, same expressions, just slightly younger versions of Nola in a way that's almost unsettling if I think about it too long.
"Hi," they say at the exact same time.
"Jesus," I mutter under my breath.
"I know," Nola says dryly. "It's disturbing."
"We heard that," one of them says, narrowing her eyes.
"Good," Nola replies. "That was the point."
"I'm Tara," the girl on the left says quickly, pointing at herself.
"I'm Tessa," the other adds right after, and if they hadn't said their names, I would not be able to tell them apart.
"And this is Everly," Nola says, gesturing toward me.
Both of them immediately lean closer, like I've suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.
"Hi," I say, lifting my hand slightly.
"She's the one I told you about," Nola adds.
"The one with the illegal roommate," Tara says immediately.
"It's not illegal," I say automatically.
"It sounds illegal," Tessa replies.
"It's a housing mistake."
"That's what people say when it's illegal," Tara mutters.
I glance at Nola.
She just shrugs.
"They're fourteen," she says quietly to me, leaning slightly closer. "They just started high school and think they know everything."
"I do know everything," Tessa says instantly.
"You don't even know what you're wearing tomorrow," Tara shoots back.
"That's different."
"It's not."
Before Nola can intervene, Tessa cuts in again, leaning even closer to the camera like this is urgent.
"Okay wait, so there's this boy in my class," she starts, clearly deciding this is the most important topic. "And he's so stupid, like actually stupid, and he thinks he's funny but he's not-"
"He's not that bad," Tara interrupts.
"He literally tripped over his own backpack today and then blamed the floor," Tessa continues, ignoring her completely.
"That's kind of funny," I say before I can stop myself.
"Thank you," Tessa says immediately.
"It's not funny," Tara argues. "You laughed at him for like five minutes."
"Because it was funny."
"You're mean."
"I'm not mean."
"You are."
"I'm not-"
"Okay," Nola cuts in, rubbing her temple. "You're both being loud."
"You're loud," Tara shoots back.
"You called me," Nola reminds her.
"To talk," Tessa says.
"Not to listen to you complain about some random guy," Tara adds.
"He's not random, he sits behind me in math," Tessa argues.
"That's still random."
They start talking over each other again, voices overlapping in a way that somehow makes sense to them but not to anyone else, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face as I watch them, because it's chaotic but warm, loud in a way that doesn't feel overwhelming, just full.
"Do they ever stop?" I ask quietly.
"No," Nola says just as quietly. "You just get used to it."
Movement shifts behind them, and suddenly two more people step into frame, and the resemblance is immediate, same eyes, same energy, just older.
"Oh, are we on," a woman asks, smiling warmly.
"We're on FaceTime," Nola says.
"Same thing," a man adds, leaning in beside her.
Nola exhales. "Everly, these are my parents."
"Hi," her mom says.
"Hi," I reply, sitting up a little straighter without meaning to.
"It's nice to meet you," her dad adds.
"You too."
"We're glad she has friends," her mom says, and Nola immediately groans.
"I have always had friends," she argues.
"You had like two," Tara mutters.
"I still have more than you," Nola shoots back.
"Barely," Tessa adds.
I laugh before I can stop myself, and Nola points at me like that proves something.
"See," she says. "She likes me."
"I like them," I correct, nodding toward the screen.
"Rude."
Her parents smile, the kind that feels genuine even through a screen, and the conversation drifts for a few minutes, bouncing between topics in that chaotic way that only works when everyone already knows each other.
Eventually, the call ends in overlapping goodbyes, the screen going dark as Nola drops her phone back onto the desk.
The room feels quieter after, but not empty.
"Your family is loud," I say.
"Yeah," she replies, smiling slightly. "They are."
"They're nice."
"They are," she agrees, then glances at the clock. "You leaving?"
I sigh. "We have an 8 am."
She snorts. "Gotta love Thursday 8 am's."
"They should be illegal."
"They feel illegal," she agrees, standing up. "I'll walk you out."
We say goodbye at the door, quick and easy, like we both know we'll see each other again in a few hours anyway, and I head back across campus, the air cooler now, the noise settling into something softer.
When I push the door open to my room, it's empty.
For a second, I just stand there, taking in the quiet, then I notice something on my bed.
A piece of paper.
I walk over, picking it up.
Coleman,
Team thing tonight. Welcoming the new guys. Don't wait up. Also don't come at me with a kitchen knife if I show up at 2 a.m.
- J
I stare at it for a second.
Then I laugh.
It starts quiet, then builds, because it's so unnecessarily specific that I can't not find it funny.
"I wasn't going to," I mutter, even though he's not here.
I set the note on my desk, glancing at it again before I start getting ready for bed, moving through my routine, everything settling back into place.
But this time, the room doesn't feel as unfamiliar.
And when I turn off the light, there's still a small smile on my face.