The Night That Would Haunt Me Forever: Part 1

The Favor

"Are you kidding me!? What am I supposed to do with them?" I ask my mom over the phone, frustration rising as I lean against the tiny kitchen counter in my apartment.

Outside the window, the afternoon sun spills golden light onto the sidewalk, where students weave past each other—some heading to class, others already skipping out for rooftop bars.

"I don’t know. Just take them with you, let them tag along with whatever you’re planning to do," she replies, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, and I’m deep into my sophomore year at UNC.

Chapel Hill has just shaken off winter, and campus is buzzing with spring energy.

After weeks of dreary skies and nonstop rain, it’s finally warm—sunny and seventy degrees—and no one’s wasting a second of it.

From our apartment window, I can see the quad packed with students—blankets spread out, shoes kicked off, books cracked open but mostly ignored.

Someone’s blasting music from a speaker, the bass humming faintly in the background.

Cornhole games, plastic cups, sunbathers—everyone’s soaking in the light like they’ve been starved for it.

My roommates—Brittney, Emily, and Ashley—and I have had this weekend planned for weeks.

We’re going to a huge off-campus house party with a Lūʻau theme that’s been hyped up all year.

Rumor has it there’ll be a pool, waterslides, bubble machines—even a mechanical bull.

Babysitting my mom’s best friend’s high school son and his buddy?

Definitely not part of the plan.

"Are you serious, Mom?" I ask, incredulous. "I’m not bringing two random high school boys I’ve never met to hang out with all my friends. That’s so awkward. What am I supposed to tell my roommates?

‘Hey guys, minor change of plans, we’re bringing along two teenage strangers'?"

"I don’t expect them to sleep in your rooms!" she snaps. "They can crash on the couch. It’s just one night. Besides, it’s the least you can do for Maggie."

Maggie—my mom’s best friend from home.

Apparently, the two of them have already worked out all the details without bothering to consult me.

And from the tone of her voice, this isn’t a request—it’s a decision.

I don’t know if my mom volunteered or if Maggie asked, but the comment “give the boys a taste of the college experience” lingers in my mind.

It feels loaded—like maybe these boys aren’t ready for the kind of “experience” they’re imagining.

"This is so dumb," I mutter. "Next time, maybe ask me before you sign me up for unpaid babysitting."

"Maggie’s done a lot for us. It won’t kill you. I’ll call tomorrow to see how it went. Have fun!" she chirps, and hangs up before I can argue.

I stare at my phone, heart sinking.

My mom doesn’t get it.

It’s not just the awkwardness—it’s my roommates.

Our friendship is a delicate ecosystem.

Some days we’re best friends.

Other days, one small thing can shift the whole vibe.

It’s like living in a house full of unspoken rules you only realize you’ve broken once it’s too late.

Ashley is the wildcard.

She’s fun—charming, trendy, always in the loop—but her moods shift fast.

One minute she’s lifting you up, the next she’s acting like you don’t exist.

If something rubs her the wrong way, she’ll gaslight, gossip, and draw lines in the sand.

None of us ever know what might set her off.

Emily is sweet and easy to be around—she comes from a big family and naturally plays peacemaker—but she never stands up to Ashley.

When push comes to shove, Emily always folds.

Brittney is confident and assertive, but she’s an only child and, let’s just say—compromise isn’t exactly her thing.

She’s fiercely independent, but not always the most considerate roommate.

I’m the third of four sisters. I grew up navigating other people’s moods, sharing everything, adapting fast.

I’m not a perfect roommate by any means. I can be messy, forgetful—but I try.

I do my best to keep the peace between us. I notice when something’s off.

I carry the weight so others don’t have to.

And now, with this last-minute curveball, I feel it all pressing down on me.

I let out a long, theatrical sigh and rest my forehead on the counter.

"What was that all about?" Brittney calls from the couch, scrolling lazily through her phone.

"My mom wants us to let two high school kids I barely know stay here Friday night and come out with us before their UNC tour," I say, exasperated.

Brittney and Emily glance at each other—then, to my surprise, they both nod.

"Aww, of course they can come!" Emily says, smiling, always the nurturer.

"Totally. Not a big deal," Brittney shrugs.

I hold my breath.

Ashley looks up from Criminal Minds.

"Hmmm... are either of them hot?" she asks with a devilish grin, clearly amused at the prospect of new characters in our weekend drama.

I roll my eyes. Of course.

"I have no clue. Last time I saw Matt, he was like, seven. I don’t even know who the other guy is. So don’t get any ideas, Ashley."

She smirks, then turns back to the TV, satisfied with her own mischief.

It’s true—I haven’t seen Matt in over a decade.

We haven’t exactly stayed in touch, but that hasn’t stopped my mom from giving me regular, unsolicited updates.

“Matt just made the lacrosse team, hunny! Isn’t that great? Last year he was on JV, but this year he made varsity!”

She has a habit of doing this—with everyone.

“Your Aunt Sue’s cousin Bobby’s wife’s daughter just had a baby—don’t you want to see a picture?”

I’ve never understood how she keeps up with so many people.

Most of the time, I don’t mind.

But usually, I’m not the one being dragged into it.

---

I feel a flicker of relief that my roommates didn’t seem to care.

It went over way smoother than I expected.

Emily catches the look on my face—my classic overthinking expression—and offers a gentle reassurance.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Easy for her to say, I think.

She’s not the one who’ll have to entertain the boys, make small talk, play hostess, and shuttle between friend groups like a social diplomat.

That’s all on me.

I’ll be the one trying to make this weird situation work.

I exhale, trying to take Emily’s advice to heart.

Maybe it won’t be so bad, after all.

Maybe they’ll be chill.

Maybe they’ll blend in seamlessly.

Besides, it’s just for one night.

Before the thought can even settle, a sharp pang of anxiety shoots through my gut.

The feeling catches me off guard.

It’s not panic exactly—more like an undercurrent of dread.

Almost like an instinctual warning.

As if my body sensed something my mind couldn’t yet grasp.

Only later would I realize—it had been trying to tell me the truth.

As it turns out, “just this one night” would end up haunting me forever.

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**This is the beginning of a 6 part mini-series. Click here to read post 2.