Tyrel and Ravi now sat side-by-side on the floor like two kids about to open Pokémon booster packs, only what they held were laminated profiles, photo prints, and two mysterious folders marked “CONFIDENTIAL: TYREL BOARD” and “CONFIDENTIAL: RAVI BOARD” in Camila’s loopy cursive.
“Bro,” Tyrel whispered, flipping through glossy printouts. “They really went all out. This one even got a zodiac chart.”
Ravi fanned his cards like trading pieces. “Yeh kya hai, bhai (what is this bro) - this girl’s favorite movie is Scream and she owns a ferret? What does that even an?”
“ans she freaky,” Tyrel grinned.
Behind them, the girls stood in a line like judgntal Power Rangers.
“Alright!” Sarah clapped, stepping forward like she was hosting TRL. “Ti for Round One of the draft. The Selection Committee has prepared twelve candidate profiles. Six potential matches for each of our eligible bachelors: Tyrel 'Can't Shut Up' Johnson and Ravi 'Mansplain' hta.”
“Hey!” Ravi objected.
“You literally explained gravitational potential energy to a girl in the middle of a party,” Camila shot back. “She was holding a red Solo cup and crying, Ravi.”
“I was being supportive!”
“She was crying because her dog died,” Marisol deadpanned.
Tyrel leaned over to Ravi. “Dawg… you gotta stop explainin’ physics at girls.”
“I thought she was a science major!”
“You gotta learn to read the room, macha.”
Bharath and Jorge were now seated on the couch with popcorn like they were watching Monday Night RAW.
Jorge nudged Bharath. “You ever seen anything like this in Chennai?”
Bharath’s voice was soft with wonder. “I have seen aunties arrange marriages... but so far nothing this… entertaining.”
Sarah clicked her chanical pencil and raised a clipboard. “The rules are simple. The girls-aning us-will review each of the candidates and narrow the list to two finalists per guy. Then we deliberate. Then we decide. You”-she looked at the boys-“will sit there and say nothing.”
“Can we vote?” Ravi asked.
“No,” all three girls said in unison.
“Can we trade picks?” Tyrel grinned, holding up a card with lina’s photo. “’Cause I already know who my MVP is.”
“Oh God,” Camila muttered. “You picked lina?”
Marisol rolled her eyes. “Of course he picked lina.”
lina’s profile photo was a cosmopolitan fever dream: she posed in a spaghetti-strap top, hoop earrings, and a smirk that said I’ve sued my ex-boyfriend and won. Her “Red Flag” box had three stars and a footnote that read, “Once pepper-sprayed a guy for interrupting her during ‘No Scrubs.’”
“She got a 10 for style, an 11 for danger, and a 13 for confidence,” Tyrel said reverently. “That’s a baddie, bro. I'm tryna get arrested.”
Ravi leaned over, frowning. “You can’t have lina. I short-listed her already.”
Tyrel turned. “Say what?”
“She’s clearly the smartest one. Law school track, debate team-bro, she could be my Hillary Clinton.”
“You tryna date or get sued?” Tyrel barked. “lina would eat you alive, Ravi. She like a hot piranha.”
“She’d keep humble.”
“You’d be a corpse!”
Camila stepped forward and yanked lina’s folder from Tyrel’s hands like a schoolteacher catching a kid with contraband. “That’s it. She’s the wildcard.”
Sarah nodded. “Wildcard candidate lina now becos draft-locked. She cannot be claid, only considered. That ans she’s a floating variable.”
“Like a restricted free agent,” Tyrel offered.
Marisol smirked. “Exactly. She goes to the final round-maybe. No trades. No swaps. No bribes.”
“Damn,” Tyrel muttered. “Y’all runnin’ this like the NFL draft, huh?”
“This is the NFL,” Camila said. “But with better fashion.”
“Okay,” Sarah continued, flipping pages like a news anchor. “Let’s go through the Round One contenders.”
TYREL’S CANDIDATES
LaTasha Williams – ATL native, DJ on WREK Radio, Scorpio, fluent in gangsta and sarcasm.
Red Flag: Will punch if disrespected.Costu Potential™: "Janet Jackson in Poetic Justice" - 10/10.Tonya Delmar – Visual Arts, Taurus, reads tarot.
Red Flag: Might hex you.Costu Potential™: Witchcore Queen.lina Vega – Law school hopeful, Libra.
Red Flag: All of them.Costu Potential™: Dangerously high.Danielle “Dani” Cruz – Chemical Engineering, Capricorn.
Red Flag: Hates people that are not smart.Costu Potential™: Lara Croft with lab goggles.Tiffany Banks – Cheerleader, undecided major, Aries.
Red Flag: Owns a beeper and a stalker.Costu Potential™: Spice Girl #6.Amber Riley – Sociology, Cancer, DJ’s intern.
Red Flag: Will emotionally dismantle you with a mixtape.Costu Potential™: House party princess.
RAVI’S CANDIDATES
Nandita Rao – Library tech, CompSci minor, Virgo.
Red Flag: Will correct your syntax mid-date.Costu Potential™: Desi Hermione.Ami Banerjee – Biology major, Sagittarius.
Red Flag: Has a frog sanctuary in her dorm.Costu Potential™: Miss Frizzle ets X-Files.lina Vega – See above.
Red Flag: Ravi might die.Priya Singh – Psych major, Gemini, fluent in sarcasm and Bollywood references.
Red Flag: Will psychoanalyze your mom.Costu Potential™: 90s Rani Mukherjee.Leslie ndez – Art history, Leo.
Red Flag: Collects perfu samples like they’re Pokémon.Costu Potential™: Mona Lisa with attitude.ghan Roberts – Journalism major, Pisces.
Red Flag: Owns fifteen Trapper Keepers labeled “Chaos.”Costu Potential™: Carn Sandiego’s ssy cousin.
Tyrel rubbed his hands together. “A’ight. I want LaTasha or lina. Lock it in.”
“No,” Marisol said.
“I request lina,” implored Ravi
“No.”
“Can I petition for lina?” begged Tyrel
“No.”
Ravi raised a finger. “I object to being denied access to lina. This is discrimination based on testosterone levels.”
“Ravi,” Sarah said, leaning down, “she’s on your list too.”
“So you’re saying there’s still a chance?”
Bharath snorted. “You are digging your own grave with a broken spoon, macha.”
The girls regrouped near the board.
“We will now comnce the Shortlist Debate,” Sarah said.
The boys leaned forward in anticipation.
“Behind closed doors.”
The boys groaned in unison.
“You may talk amongst yourselves,” Camila said. “But rember. Your opinions are decorative.”
The girls stood shoulder-to-shoulder like news anchors ready to cover election night. Camila had a stack of Polaroids and a clipboard thick with notes. Sarah wielded a chanical pencil like it was a sword. Marisol adjusted the projector with the slow, lethal calm of soone setting up a live dissection.
The boys-Tyrel, Ravi, Bharath, and Jorge-sat in a row on the couch with half-eaten pizza, their Tekken controllers abandoned and useless.
“You boys may speak,” Sarah announced. “But no one is listening.”
Tyrel raised his hand. “Quick question. Is this… legally binding?”
“Yes,” Camila said without looking up.
“No,” Sarah added.
“Emotionally? Definitely,” Marisol finished, smirking.
Ravi leaned toward Bharath. “Yaar, I haven’t been this nervous since my JEE exams.”
Tyrel clutched his heart. “I feel like this is The Bachelor, but we the ones gettin’ eliminated.”
The lights dimd. The popcorn was gone. The projector whirred like a low-flying aircraft. Camila popped the cap off her purple glitter pen with a snap that echoed like a gavel.
“We now enter,” Sarah intoned, “the Deliberation Phase.”
“Black Jesus save ,” Tyrel whispered. “They got phases.”
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