FLIRT (Phan)

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"Holy shit, you're perfect!" my new roommate-what was his name? Chris something?-shrieked, flinging his arms around me.

"Thanks," I breathed, a little exasperated, "You're not too bad either, I guess."

"Sorry," he exclaimed, reaching for the suitcase in my hand, "I'll help you with your stuff!"

"Thanks," I smiled, handing my suitcase off and grabbing a couple of my boxes from the hallway.

"I'm Chris Kendall, by the way," he grinned, plopping down on his bed, watching me unpack my things, "in case they didn't tell you."

"Yeah, I think they did," I said, "I'm Dan Howell."

"Nice," he said, "Howell, that's a good name. It'll look incredible in lights."

"Finally, someone who understands!" I joked, throwing him a smile as I hung a pink sweater in the closet.

"You're a theatre major too, right?" Chris asked. He barely paused long enough for me to nod before he continued, "Man, I'm so glad. You know, I've been with football players three semesters in a row. And before that I was with a chemistry major," he made a face.

"So, assuming you're not a freshman then?" I asked.

"No," he shook his head, "junior."

"And you're in the theatre department too?"

"Yep," he beamed, "Theatre BA, Directing emphasis."

"Directing?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah! I think I might get to direct a main stage next year. That would be so cool," his voice trailed off as he was lost in daydreams.

"Earth to Chris," I laughed, waving my hand in the air in front of his face.

"What? Oh, sorry," he said, snapping back to reality, "I can help you unpack if you want."

"Yeah, go for it," I said, motioning to a pile of boxes as I continued to hang up my clothes.

"Wicked?!" he screeched, pulling a framed poster from the top of one of the boxes.

"Oh yeah!" I bounded across the room, "Look, Idina signed it!" I pointed out.

"What?" Chris's eyes widened, "You met Idina?"

"My rich uncle took me to see the original cast when I was thirteen," I said, "Best day of my life."

"You are my queen," Chris said, his eyes still wide, "Woah, literally!" he laughed, reaching into a box and pulling out my giant black cosmetics bag. "Is this all makeup?"

"No," I answered, a little nervously, "It's got some nail polishes too."

"You wear all this stuff?" he asked, pulling out some tubes and palettes to examine them.

"Not all at once," I chuckled.

"I like wearing makeup," Chris said, placing the bag on my bed, "I do drag shows at local clubs sometimes, but I'm so not patient enough to do it every day."

"It's a learned art," I blushed.

"Well you have my respect," he laughed, throwing himself back down onto his bed.

"I thought you were gonna help out," I said, returning to my unpacking.

"I am," Chris said, scrolling through his phone, "I'm helping your social life."

"What do you mean?" I asked, curiously.

"Peej just texted me," he responded nonchalantly, as if that was supposed to mean something to me.

"Uh, who?"

"PJ Ligouri," he answered, shooting me a surprised look. I blinked.

"I don't get it," I said after a minute.

"Come here," he sighed, rolling his eyes as he pulled a picture off of the pin board above his bed. I complied. "Sit," he instructed. "Kay," he said, putting an arm around me and thrusting the photo in my face, "This is your homework."

"What is it?" I asked, taking it from him.

"The baseball team," he smirked, "As a twink at Mansfield University, it is your duty to-"

"I'm not a twink!" I said, disgusted.

"Debatable," he shot back with a smile, "Like, extremely debatable."

"Anyway," I huffed, "What about the baseball team?"

"As a twink at Mansfield University," he repeated, "it is imperative to your social, and quite frankly, sexual life to memorize this roster. Names, numbers, years, positions, faces. Faces are important. I have it color coded," he flipped the paper over to reveal the team roster on the back, "The ones highlighted in blue are good names to know, but you don't stand a chance. Trust me, I've tried. Straight as a board. Yellow are gay when they're drunk. PJ is captain of the team," he pointed to one of the yellow names, "He's Captain No Homo when he's sober, but after a couple shots, that boy would power bottom anybody." I giggled. "You laugh now!" he said, "But it's true! And the pinks," he motioned to a few scattered names, "They're the homos."

"What about the white ones?" I asked, noticing a few random names that hadn't been highlighted.

"Undetermined," Chris admitted, "Most of them are freshmen, but there's a couple upper classmen I just can't place. Lester, for example," he pointed to the name directly above PJ's, "I used to think he was a strong blue. I mean, he's president of Tri-Delta. He mostly hangs with Peej though, so then I thought maybe he was yellow. But then I really got to thinking and I don't know a single person he's hooked up with and he's never had a girlfriend. So either he's a prude or he's a pink. "

Phillip Lester, #3, I read, 6'2". 165 lbs. Shortstop. I flipped the card over and scanned the photograph for #3. There he was in the front row: tall, thin, black hair, high cheekbones.

"Wow," I muttered under my breath.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Chris agreed. "Anyway, Peej texted me. Frat party tonight. You're going, so prepare your best war paint."

"Will he be there?" I pointed to the boy in the picture.

"Lester?" Chris asked, raising his eyebrows, "Oh, he'll be there."

"Good," I smirked. "Can I keep this?" I asked, holding up the photo.

"Yeah," Chris said, "You're gonna need it."

"Thanks," I said, getting up and propping it up on my bedside table.

"You know you don't stand a chance right?" Chris asked, a mixture of concern and humor in his voice, "With Phil Lester. Not a chance." I bit my lip, digging through my makeup bag until I found my favorite red lipstick. I pulled it out and examined it before shooting Chris a small smirk.

"We'll see about that."