Free Consent by Eric Lasseter Page A

become “friends” to keep watch on the competition. It’s why all friend groups look alike. Some may believe it’s because they share a common interest and I would agree. That interest is guys.
                  Just like a class system, girls naturally place themselves into groups based on their physical appearance and potential with guys. Those of average attraction, and I’ll be lenient with who can stay here, has the largest group, while the unattractive has the next largest. The final and smallest bracket contains the best looking. Once arranged into a group, girls will begin to make friends based on their socially assigned placement. Here they grow close, watch, and backstab until a pecking order is created as the girls settle into their ranks. Since humanity is presumably good at the core of their beings, some girls manage to develop some kind of connection that’s not based on ulterior motives. But most are friends out of a need. Deep down, maybe even at a subconscious level or dormant stage (those girls are still single) girls hate each other until it’s clear they’re not a threat. Call it survival of the fittest or natural instinct, but each girl views another as competition. But friends? Well, we all know you keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Jenny and Mary had been close, roommates for two years, but Jenny had won. She held the prize within her literal grasp, clutching Nick close and pressing her lips against his.
                  Jenny was short, half Persian, and from San Francisco, California. She dressed the part, always seen in high heels, designers labels, most of which are unknown to the lay people. She loved the small boutique shops, the exclusive looks, the fact that no other girl could match her scarf or Hudson jeans perfectly. She loved the looks she received from all the guys, thriving with the attention, but never succumbing to their desperate pleas. Jenny was naturally pretty, therefore light on the makeup, heavy on the attitude.
                  Then there was Nick. Tall and wiry, he had been born and raised around Atlanta, Georgia and was proud of it. He wasn’t afraid to wear boots and flannels to the city or play that country music a little too loud in a world that preferred music at 120 beats per minute. And what girl doesn’t like an accent? He was smooth with his tongue, and growing up on the farm, even better with his hands. What he wanted, he got, and it didn’t usually take any asking or prodding.
                  It’s interesting how people come to date. Many relationships start with friendships. Take a second to pause and contemplate. Think about your friend group, specifically those of the opposite sex.  Are they attractive? Would you kiss any of them? Maybe you’d dare get coffee in a that one tacky coffee shop boasting only the “Best Coffee in the World.” Maybe you’d go to a candle lit dinner with that guy who’s always making you laugh. Remember that awkward moment when your eye contact was a hair too long? Truth is, we’re friends with the opposite sex, but only with those that we could have interest in one day. It’s natural. Of course, there are outliers and exceptions, like the token fat friend, but if you assume that every group has access to such a friend...well, then their hook up is then inevitable.
                  Nick and Jenny had been best friends since they met at the start of college, two years ago. They were the perfectly rivaled match. The man-whore and the flirt.  The v-slayer versus the untouchable. A clash of the sexual titans. They say that opposites attract and this situation filled the requirements with ease. The gorgocity and sexual tension had been undeniable, pointed out long before either one cared to admit it. Nick had even lost fifty dollars betting against them, telling a roommate that they would never go on a date, but that, “Hell, I’d hook up with her.”