Chapter 1: Ice Cubes and Hidden Lessons

My roommate likes to feed me ice cubes, one by one.

It started off as this weird little ritual between us. One of those things you never expect to become a habit—until, suddenly, it is. Sometimes, late at night, when the dorm was quiet except for the hum of the mini fridge, Carter would toss me an ice cube and wait, eyebrow cocked, like he was daring me to refuse. It always felt like we were the only two awake. I never did.

He says it’s good for my pronunciation.

He’s always got this serious look—I swear, he could pass for a speech therapist, even though he’s just a sophomore communications major. “It’s for your diction, Charlie,” he’ll say, holding the ice cube between his fingers like it’s some kind of magic key. I’d laugh, but honestly... I was willing to try anything to get rid of my small-town mumble.

It took me a while to realize—what he wanted me to bite down on wasn’t words at all.

It took me a while to catch on. Sometimes I’m slow like that. My grandma always said I was book smart, but dense as a brick when it came to people. Looking back, I guess there was something else Carter was trying to teach me. Something he couldn’t just spell out.

But it wasn’t just the ice cubes. There was something else on my mind.

You know, the kind of videos everyone talks about in hushed voices or with a wink. Honestly, I’d never really watched any, but lately... it felt like I was missing out on something everyone else just knew.

Just as I was about to ask my roommate, Noah Whitaker, for some videos—bam, my mouth was suddenly stuffed with an ice cube.

He moved fast—one second I was about to speak, the next I was sputtering, cold shooting through my teeth. I couldn’t even finish my sentence. I blinked up at Carter, confused, my question stuck somewhere behind the melting ice.

I whimpered. The cold made my eyes water.

It was so cold, my brain short-circuited. I squinted, trying to blink away the sting, but Carter just watched me with that unreadable look.

I was about to spit it out, but Carter’s hand clamped gently over my mouth.

His palm was warm. Almost gentle. But there was no way I could get that ice cube out now. The way he held me there—God, my heart was thumping in my ears.

“Mmm... what are you... mmm...”

My words came out muffled. More protest than question. I tried to glare, but it was hard to look tough when you’re drooling ice water.

Carter’s voice was cool. Steady.

He didn’t even flinch, just kept his hand there, calm as ever. “Charlie Dean,” he said, “have you noticed your speech is usually kind of mumbly?”

I’m from a small town. Ever since I came to college in the city, people keep telling me my accent’s pretty thick.

Back home, nobody cared how I talked. Here, though, it felt like everyone noticed. Sometimes I caught myself trying to hide it, swallowing my words just to avoid another comment.

Even on the basic English proficiency test—I only got a Level 2B, whatever that means. Not great.

It was embarrassing, honestly. My folks teased me, but I could tell they were worried, too. I kept the test result folded up in my desk drawer, hoping no one would ever ask to see it.

But I didn’t interact much with Carter—he was always so distant.

He’s the type who always has headphones on. Lost in his own world. We shared a room, but it sometimes felt like we lived on different planets. He never joined in on the late-night pizza runs or group video game marathons.

Why is he suddenly talking to me about this?

I stared at him, confused. Did I miss something? Carter usually kept to himself—why was he paying so much attention to me now?

Carter flipped the ice cube around in my mouth.

He nudged it with his finger, rolling it over my tongue. It was like he was testing something. My teeth ached from the cold. I could feel the flush rising up my cheeks.

My mouth was freezing.

It felt like my whole face was going numb. But with Carter watching, I didn’t dare spit it out.

I could feel saliva pooling, threatening to spill over.

I could feel it pooling, threatening to dribble down my chin. I clamped my lips tighter, trying not to make a mess. God, this was embarrassing.

Carter watched me. “Do you know why your pronunciation is off?”

His gaze was sharp. Almost clinical. I felt like I was being examined under a microscope, every flaw on display.

Unable to speak, I just shook my head, slurping awkwardly.

I tried to swallow, but the ice cube blocked me. All I could do was shake my head, eyes wide.

Carter’s voice was low and a little rough. “Your tongue isn’t flexible enough. Needs practice.”

He sounded like a coach, not a roommate. I wasn’t sure if I should be embarrassed or grateful.

Carter withdrew his hand.

The sudden absence of warmth made me flinch. I stared at his fingers, weirdly missing the contact.

My mouth was so cold, the ice cube slipped right out.

It landed on the carpet with a soft thunk. Already melting into a little puddle. I scrambled for a napkin, cheeks burning.

I wasn’t sure why Carter fed me ice just then, but I still grabbed a napkin and handed it to him, face burning.

My voice came out small. Almost shy. I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I stared at the napkin instead.

Carter didn’t take the napkin. He tucked his fingers into his sleeve. “No rush, I’ll wash them off in the bathroom later.”

He gave me a half-smile, the kind that made it seem like he was in on some private joke. Then he turned away, as if nothing unusual had happened. I wondered what he was thinking.

Noah, sprawled out on his bed, called out, “Which type do you want? MILF? College girl? Hurry up and pick, I gotta go be raid leader in my game after I send them to you.”

Noah’s voice echoed across the room, casual as ever. He was always juggling three things at once. Videos, games, and some new meme he’d found online. The way he tossed out those categories made me blush even harder.

I’m just a straightforward guy from the sticks. Never watched those kinds of videos before.

My friends back home used to joke about it. I always laughed it off. Now, surrounded by city kids who seemed to know everything, I felt hopelessly out of the loop.

It’s not that I don’t want to—I just never knew where to find them.

I’d heard guys in the locker room trading links. But I never worked up the nerve to ask. The internet felt like a maze, and I was always afraid of clicking on something I shouldn’t.

Noah loves watching videos—he’s got a ton of sources.

His phone was basically a library of everything you weren’t supposed to watch in class. He’d send me random clips sometimes, but I always chickened out before opening them.

I used to think there was nothing interesting about them. Whenever Noah tried to share, I always turned him down.

I’d pretend I was too busy. Or just shrug it off. But lately, that curiosity had started to eat at me.

But lately, more and more couples have been hanging out under the dorm building. It made this country boy’s heart burn with longing.

Every night, I’d see them—arms around each other, laughing softly in the glow of the streetlights. It made me ache for something I couldn’t quite name.

I’m already in college—I should be dating, too.

It felt like everyone else had figured out the secret to growing up. I was still stuck at the starting line. I wanted to catch up, to know what everyone else seemed to know.

So today, as soon as Noah flopped onto his bed, I called out to him.

My voice wobbled a little. But I forced myself to sound confident. This was my chance, and I didn’t want to back down.

“Noah, I want to get ready for dating. I want to watch too. Send me some?”

I could hear the hope in my own voice. I just wanted to fit in.

He asked me what kind I wanted to watch.

He didn’t even pause, just grinned at me from across the room. “So, what’s your flavor, Charlie?”

Honestly, I hadn’t thought about it before.