On Sunday night, I sat in the living room of my off-campus apartment, berating my television. The three women sitting and screaming alongside me were my roommates. We have very strong opinions on the characters in the show, “The Summer I Turned Pretty,” that we love to hate: Jeremiah, Conrad and Belly.
The four of us, donning our most comfortable pajamas, sat cross-legged, absentmindedly eating Keebler Cookies and Sour Patch Watermelon, exchanging laughs at every unhinged comment we added to the incestuous love triangle unfolding on our screen.
It was at this moment that I stopped to reflect on how lucky I was to have met my roommates, something I’ve done a lot since our senior year — or “our year of lasts,” as we call it — began. I looked around at the three of them, tucked under blankets and debating whether or not to turn on the subtitles, and I smiled to myself.
It was three years ago, right around this time of year, we met under typical first-year circumstances: introducing yourself to everyone because you are desperate for friends and terrified to eat alone in the caf.
Really, our friendship started with first-year roommates and Loschert Hall.
I met Erica Lapreay, FCRH ’26, on move-in day in Aug. of 2022. Excited, but nervous, we quietly set up our respective sides of the dorm, careful not to disrupt each other. It wasn’t until our families had gone and the two of us were left to navigate college that we realized we wouldn’t just be polite roommates; we’d be friends.
One week into our first year, Erica and I were introduced to Ava Rabeni, GSB ’26, whose roommate had lasted 48 hours at school before deciding she wasn’t ready for college and promptly moved back home. The three of us fell into an easy routine of taking walks in the New York Botanical Garden and dinners in the caf.
One night, Erica, Ava and I were sitting at a high-top in Così when someone ran up to our table and, without introducing herself, began peppering Ava with questions about her infamous roommate who’d fled school after two days. Ava then introduced us to Jenny Lockel, FCRH ’26. We invited her to sit with us, unknowingly sealing our friendship fates.
As our first year went on, and the change in weather made it impossible for us to stay outside longer than was absolutely necessary, the four of us spent all of our time in mine and Erica’s dorm, Loschert 231.
In between classes, we’d sit cross-legged on the floor in the carpeted space between our two beds. We’d fall over laughing at ridiculous jokes and bond over the universal experiences all first-year students share. It was there that we’d made our plans to live together the following year. By a stroke of luck, we secured our fourth-floor Walsh apartment.
As sophomores, we learned how to live together, managing each other’s quirky habits and desired cleanliness levels. Once we were comfortable, the year flew by in a haze of living room dance parties and reality television marathons. Between episodes of “The Bachelor,” we made plans for our junior year and semesters abroad.
As psychology majors, Erica and Jenny chose the DIS program in Copenhagen, Denmark, for the fall of 2024. Ava would spend her spring semester in London, and I would go to Sydney, Australia. Despite the distance, these opportunities seemed too incredible to pass up, so with the knowledge that we’d be separated for an entire school year, we begrudgingly moved out of our Walsh apartment with promises to keep in touch as best we could.
Luckily, our study abroad adventures and long-distance FaceTime calls kept us distracted from the time apart. When we reunited in June to move into our senior year off-campus apartment and begin our summer internships, it was like no time had passed.
Today, we’re halfway through September and trying to relish every moment of “our year of lasts.” Balancing class schedules, jobs in the city and club requirements has proved to be more difficult than we thought, and so our time spent together feels both precious and fleeting. These last few weeks have made me realize that the unscheduled moments — sitting on the couch in our PJs, yelling at the TV — are the ones I’ll remember most.
It is in those moments that I’m transported back to Loschert 231. It might feel like we’ve drastically changed since then, but in a lot of ways, we’re still those same first-years sitting in a circle on the floor of that dorm.
When you learn to live with roommates, you strike a delicate balance. Sharing space, splitting chores and navigating each other’s weird habits. If you get lucky like me and you’re able to make it work, you’ll still want to be friends at the end of it all.
