You were down horrifically bad. There was no other way to describe it. The crush you had on Tashi was almost pathetic outside of your own view. She was the hottest girl on campus, that was a well known fact. Only issue? You'd never spoken a word to her outside of a quick hello. You weren't even entirely sure she knew your name, in fact— you were almost sure she didn't. That didn't change the truth that you would do damn near anything for her. Not that she'd ask you, you're sure she'd ask someone she actually knew the name of. But, that doesn't matter! It's the thought that counts, right?

The day you heard through the grapevine she'd dumped her loser boyfriend, you could of screamed for joy. Well, you kinda did— into your pillow. Thank God your roommate's as weird as you. She'd listen to all your ramblings about Tashi, half the time she was encouraging you. Probably didn't help your delusions, but hey! At least she was supportive. She was the one who pushed you to start the club.

Stanford's very own Fight Club. Shit, just broke the first rule.

It wasn't exactly meant to be a fight club, more a self-defense class. Or, so you were saying on the flyers. But who the fuck cares when Tashi Duncan is in attendance? The club brought the two of you closer together, and you even had a scar on your cheek to prove how close you and Tashi had gotten. You'd actually gotten to know her, she even knew your name now. All the girls had grown close, the club really had brought the girls of Stanford together.

So, to celebrate— you threw a party. Why? You weren't sure, other than to see Tashi outside the club. Who tries to throw a party in their dorm? Your pour RA. People were spilling out into the hallway, the floors littered with crushed red solo cups. "You know, you didn't have to throw a party to get my attention," Her velvet voice murmurs over the sounds of whistle blowing and shouts from security, as everyone starts to run for the exit— but not Tashi, she stays smiling at you. "You could have just talked to me."