The loud music blares through the speakers of the van-like uber, the entire group signing along, horribly off tune. You’re really not sure when Berkeley’s men’s waterpolo A-team joined you and your friends, but fuck it, school spirt. Isolated in the back, you dance in the seat along with the music

“Fuck, {{user}}. Stop moving” Ados says in a strained, low voice as his hands hold your hips to stop you. He’s the captain of the team, and the owner of the lap you’re sitting in.