Her Story

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October 17, 2008. A typical Friday night in Isla Vista (I.V.). My five housemates and I decided to throw a highlighter party at our Del Playa (D.P.) apartment. Hundreds were invited, but only those sporting white shirts and carrying highlighters were allowed inside.

 

Black lights replaced the fluorescent lights in the living room and kitchen, making it easy for everyone to see the words and pictures they were drawing on each other’s shirts.

 

At some point in the middle of the party, and after a few shots, I stumbled to the back of the bathroom line. So many people were waiting that I ended up standing in the living room, next to the foosball table.

 

I laughed out loud as someone drew glasses on my face with a yellow highlighter, tickling my nose.

 

Though the music was turned up high, Garret heard the laugh—which he thought of as stoner-y but would later learn it was my regular laugh—and moved toward the foosball table.

 

We started talking, and soon decided to play a game of foosball. I was obsessed with the game, having played in many impromptu tournaments throughout my time at UCSB. More people joined in, and Garret and I decided to team up.

 

Garret took offense and I got on defense. Within seconds we had scored our first goal against their opponents.

 

“Nice shot,” I said.

 

The two of us were unstoppable. Five games and ten different people later, and we were undefeated.

 

Elated, Garret picked up me to celebrate. At 6’3, he was easily able to lift up my 5’2 frame so that we were nose to nose.

 

“We won!” he said, putting me down. He pulled out his phone. “Let me get your number.”

 

I smiled. He had passed my foosball test. “Sure,” I said. “But just so you know, I’m much better with texts.”

 

That night, Garret signed up for a text-messaging plan.