If you’re from Maryland, you know the deal. Senior week means Ocean City. It’s the unofficial graduation ceremony — a week of parties, cheap liquor, and stories you can’t tell your parents. Everybody gets their one crazy night, their one memory that sticks forever.

Mine? More than one.

My senior week was ridiculous. I almost got hit by a car. I snuck out of a party to finally sleep with the boy I’d been waiting for all school year — and no, we’re not talking about him. He doesn’t deserve his own chapter. Anyways, I almost drowned in a pool with a man we’ll call Kevin. And, most importantly, I met my first piece of “White Chocolate.”

But we’ll get there.

Remember Sarah? The friend I wasn’t supposed to have but couldn’t stay away from? Our parents hated our friendship. And they were right. Every time we were together, chaos followed.

Falling out of a three-story window should have been enough of a warning ([Bookmark: Spider-Man Movie Audition]). But it wasn’t. Sarah had a way of pulling me toward trouble. Maybe I liked the thrill of doing the exact thing I wasn’t supposed to.

That thrill had already cost me. There was the hotel party where we disappeared for the night and ignored our parents’ calls. I got grounded for three months. Sarah? Grounded for three days. Our punishments were never equal, and maybe that’s why it always felt like I carried the bigger weight in our friendship. [Bookmark: A video is worth a thousand words.]

So, of course, when beach week came, I went with Sarah.

Our group had a saying that week. Anytime we needed to cross the street drunk, we yelled: “Commit!” That was it. No countdown. No plan. Just chaos.

And somehow, we survived.

Up to this point, I prided myself on holding my liquor. I went to a white high school, where alcohol flowed without limits. Maker’s Mark was considered the cheap stuff. Everyone had their “night” to be sloppy. Mine hadn’t come yet.

Then came Straw-Ber-Rita.

Even typing the word makes me cringe. I drank two — maybe three — in quick succession. Rookie mistake. We were headed out, but before I could even leave the hotel hallway, I turned my body left… and walked straight into the wall on the right. That’s when I knew. Tonight was my night.

Actually, let’s not wait. Because what happened the next day was the beginning of a much bigger story.

This is where I met Kevin. Or, as I called him: White Chocolate.

Now, if you don’t know, “White Chocolate” is exactly what it sounds like. A white man who likes Black women. The ones who wear both Sperrys and Jordans. Or we may call them “spicy white” to prove they’re different then the others. That was Kevin.

Meeting him was my first taste of something I didn’t know I’d crave. But it was also the beginning of how I learned to carry out relationship. Looking back, this was my first villain origin story.

In essence, “Baby Future” was born.

[Bookmark: White Chocolate]