Roy opened his bedroom door to meet his roommate.
"Let me introduce myself properly. I'm Roy Black, freshman this year."
"Shorty Meeks, also a freshman. Wait a sec, man, you look kinda familiar. Have you been on TV or something?" Shorty extended a hand for a shake, but Roy didn't reciprocate—who knew what this guy had just been touching?
Shorty didn't seem to mind, though, too busy squinting at Roy like he'd seen him somewhere before.
"Yeah, besides being a freshman, I'm also a boxer," Roy said casually.
Shorty's face lit up with realization. "No way! You're the heavyweight boxing champ from the Sydney Olympics! Dude, that's awesome! My roommate's an Olympic champion! Jenny, come check this out!"
A woman named Jenny, still getting dressed in Shorty's room, strolled out in just her underwear at his call.
Roy's eyes nearly burned at the sight.
"What's up, babe?" Jenny asked.
"Look! A real-life Olympic champ!" Shorty exclaimed.
Jenny, clearly not a boxing fan, just nodded vaguely, unimpressed. "Oh, cool. That's great."
She shuffled back to the room to finish dressing.
"Hey, man, can you sign something for me? Your performance at the Olympics was straight-up fire!" Shorty said, his behavior ticking every box of Roy's stereotypes about Black guys—high energy, talking like he's rapping, and wildly expressive gestures.
Since they were roommates, Roy humored him and signed an autograph.
"Man, this is awesome! I'm gonna show this off to my brothers back home!" Shorty grinned.
"Shorty, if there's nothing else, I've got to unpack my room," Roy said.
"No problem, bro! Call me Shorty from now on—no need to be so formal!"
Shorty? Sure, his name technically meant that, but Shorty was over 5'7". Why the nickname?
Curious, Roy asked, and Shorty shrugged it off. Turns out, he had two older brothers, both tall athletes. His eldest brother, a basketball player, was over 6'6", and his other brother, a football player, was around 6'3". Compared to them, Shorty was the short one.
"I wouldn't have gotten into UCLA on my own, but my brothers are both UCLA athletic legends, so they pulled some strings for me," Shorty explained.
Well, that made sense—Shorty was a legacy admission, just like Roy.
Then Shorty got on the phone, bragging to his relatives about his Olympic-champ roommate. Typical Black guy energy, Roy thought—always ready to broadcast everything to the world. You'd think he was the one who won the gold.
Meanwhile, Marian's trio wasn't having nearly as much fun.
After Roy spooked them, they fled UCLA in a panic and ended up at a café off-campus to regroup. The failed mission hit Marian hard. Her usually polished face was slumped on the table, looking utterly defeated.
None of them spoke for a while until Mike, the oldest, finally broke the silence. "Well, look on the bright side—at least we're still alive, right?"
Marian rolled her eyes. "I feel like I'd rather be dead right now."
Mike scratched his head, trying to comfort her. "Marian, I think Roy Black was probably just trying to scare you off to avoid the interview."
His words were meant to ease her fears, but Marian took them the wrong way. She snapped her head up, staring at Mike. "Why do you say that?"
"Think about it. Roy's an Olympian, a UCLA student, and he works with official groups like the FEA. He's probably a rule-follower, not the type to do anything bad."
It wasn't the most convincing argument—plenty of people seem upright in public but are wild behind closed doors. Still, Marian clung to it like a lifeline, unwilling to accept defeat.
"That makes sense!" she said, eyes lighting up. "Mike, how do we get to Roy Black?"
Mike's face darkened, looking as grim as Franklin's. At his age, he just wanted to coast to retirement, not die early. Who'd get his pension or custody of his kids if something happened?
"Marian, I think you should drop this Roy Black obsession," he said.
But Marian was too fired up to listen. She turned to Franklin, who'd been silent. "Franklin, what do you think?"
Franklin, caught off guard, scrambled for an answer under her piercing gaze. "Uh, I think Roy Black might be a bit of a playboy. Athletes are like that, right? Full of energy. Think Tyson or Jordan—total womanizers."
Marian frowned, mulling it over. "You might be onto something. I noticed his VIP box was full of gorgeous women. Maybe he got mad because I interrupted his fun?"
She knew exactly how to handle a guy like that—and she had the looks to pull it off. "Wait a sec. That Los Angeles Times reporter, Keller Evans, who's always working with Roy—maybe she's using the same tactic to get her scoops?"
She looked at Mike, who'd been in the media game longer and knew more people. "I don't know," Mike said. "But Keller Evans is pretty attractive. I remember a guy at the station who's into her showed me her picture once."
Marian slammed her fist on the table, convinced Roy and Keller had something going on. "Damn it! So that's how it is?"
Did she have to play that game too? Roy was handsome, and as an athlete, he probably had a killer physique. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad deal.
But it went against everything she stood for. "Forget it. There's got to be another way," she muttered.
Mike's headache worsened. "Marian, let it go. There are plenty of other hot stories to chase."
She shot him a glare. "If you're too scared to follow Roy Black's story, fine. Franklin, you in?"
Franklin hesitated. Growing up in a rough neighborhood, he could sense real danger, and Roy's vibe was scarier than any gang leader he'd ever met. He was pretty sure Roy had blood on his hands.
Seeing Franklin waver, Marian's anger flared. "Fine, if neither of you is in, I'll handle Roy Black myself!"
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the café.
Mike and Franklin exchanged a look. "What do we do?" Franklin asked, deferring to the veteran.
"It'll probably be fine," Mike said. "Roy doesn't seem like a bad guy."
Franklin exhaled, trusting Mike's judgment. "Good. That guy scared me—like he could snap and kill me any second."
"I felt it too," Mike admitted. "But he was probably just bluffing. Wait—did Marian leave without paying?"
Franklin's eyes widened. "Mike, don't tell me you didn't bring cash!"
Mike gave an awkward shrug. "Married middle-aged guy here. You know how it is."
"Cut the crap! I know you've got money on you. Let me see!"
"Don't touch me! I'm broke, I swear!"
As Mike and Franklin bickered over the bill, Marian, still fuming, ran into the last person she wanted to see outside the café.
"Well, well, Marian! I thought that was you. Still chasing that big scoop, huh?" Gretchen smirked, sunglasses perched on her nose, clearly enjoying Marian's frustration.
She'd spotted Marian and quietly followed, eager to see her rival's defeated expression. Nothing felt better to a winner than rubbing it in.
Marian gritted her teeth, trying to keep her cool so Gretchen wouldn't get the satisfaction. But emotions aren't always easy to control.
"Feeling pretty smug, huh, Gretchen? Did you sleep with that creepy old boss to get the Roy Black interview?"
Gretchen chuckled. "Marian, you're overthinking it. A standard, formulaic interview isn't worth that. You just don't have the connections at the station. What's the point of being talented if you don't play the social game?"
Marian's face flushed red, her teeth grinding so hard they practically sparked. Gretchen didn't push further—things could get messy if Marian lost it and started a fight.
"See ya, loser. Next time, try being nicer to people," Gretchen said before sauntering off.
"That damn jerk! I'll get Roy Black and land a huge story!" Marian growled, kicking a nearby pole in frustration. Pain shot through her foot, nearly bringing tears to her eyes. "Marian, don't cry! But damn, that hurts!"
Holding back tears, she limped home, looking utterly disheveled.
Later that evening, Clary returned to the dorm after dinner and found Melly meticulously getting ready—something she'd never seen her friend do so seriously.
There were only two reasons a woman would put in this much effort: to face a rival or to meet a lover.
Clary sneaked up behind Melly, playfully grabbing her enviable assets. "Melly, are you getting all dolled up for a date with Roy Black?"
Melly jumped. "Hey! What are you doing? Let go!"
"Not until you spill! Are you going out with Roy Black or what?"
Blushing, Melly admitted, "Fine, I'm going on a date with Roy. Now let go!"
Clary released her, shocked. "No way, Melly, you're serious?"
Melly resumed applying her makeup. "Can't I have a boyfriend?"
"Of course, but…" Clary hesitated, unsure if she should say more.
"But what? Just spit it out!"
"I noticed Roy's surrounded by gorgeous women, and it seems like he's got something going on with all of them."
Their interactions at lunch had been too obvious. Clary had seen Roy being flirty with every woman there—except her.
Worried her friend was blinded by love, Clary couldn't hold back.
"Oh, that? I know. Those women are all Roy's," Melly said calmly, like it was no big deal.
"What?!" Clary thought she'd misheard.
"I said, those women are all Roy's," Melly repeated, still nonchalant.
Clary grabbed Melly's face, staring into her eyes. "Melly, you know and you're still dating him? Are you crazy?"
Melly rolled her eyes and pushed Clary's hands away. "You're the crazy one. Roy and I are in love."
"God, you must be on something! Wasn't your dream to find a soulmate?"
As Melly's friend, Clary knew her ideals well, which made this all the more baffling.
"Who said a soulmate has to love only me?" Melly replied.
Clary was speechless. As Melly finished getting ready and headed out, Clary finally spoke up. "Melly, I'm coming with you!"
Melly looked at her, surprised. "Clary, this is a date for just me and Roy. Why would you tag along?"
Clary huffed, glaring at her. "I want to see what kind of spell Roy Black's put on you to turn you into this!"
Melly's expression turned odd, sensing a hint of danger in Clary's attitude. "You sure?"
"Absolutely!"
Clary Fray (Lily Collins)