How much pizza can four people eat in a single night?

Another month went by before I knew it, and I wondered why time went by so quickly like that. Wasn't there some way to slow it down? I wanted to stop and enjoy each moment, but they kept flying past me, like the tiny particles of snow that had become a familiar sight on the Kale campus. At this rate, my life would be over before I knew it, and I would never have a chance to truly reflect on why I was going through life like this.

Throughout that month, the same thing happened day after day. I woke up, went to each of my classes, occasionally attended a Guyliner Club meeting, did my homework, went to the Aubergine early, chatted with Brendon for a while, played the piano, and then went to bed. I never spoke to Patrick, even though we shared the same dorm. Despite the repetitive nature of my daily routine, I loved it. I enjoyed talking and flirting with Brendon every night, and although I missed speaking with Patrick, I had other friends that made up for the loss. My life was going just fine.

In mid-December, finals arrived. Knowing that my mother expected a satisfactory GPA, I tried my best to study as much as I could. However, that was especially difficult in Advanced Piano Studies.

A few days before final exams began, Professor Leopold came into my practice room to check on me. I was working on the set of études that he had assigned me, but he glared at me when he entered the room. "Ryan, what are doing?!" he asked.

"I'm just practicing," I said.

"You are massacring Liszt's great piano études!" Professor Leopold exclaimed. "Are you even reading the music?"

"I'm reading it," I said as I took a closer look at the sheet music. The music was difficult, but I thought that I was playing it correctly.

"Clearly you're not," Professor Leopold said. "Those notes are marked as marcato."

"I'm playing them that way," I said.

"No, you're not," Professor Leopold said. "They need to be more separated."

"Alright," I said. I attempted to play the piece again, tripping over some of the faster notes. Although there were plenty of errors, I did play the étude in the style that my professor wanted.

"Not quite, Ryan," Professor Leopold. "You missed almost every note there, and your articulations still aren't correct."

"Seriously?" I shouted. I played through the piece again, but every time I saw a marcato marking, I played it as long as possible, just to annoy my professor. I just couldn't stand a man like him. Was there any meaning in a tiny dash of ink of a page of sheet music? I didn't think there was, but perhaps I'm not the one who gets to decide things like that. On the other hand, maybe I could decide for myself what a marcato marking meant.

"Are you even trying, Ryan?" Professor Leopold said. "That sounded horrendous. If you played that way on your final, I would have no choice but to fail you."

That was when I picked up my packet of sheet music and threw it across the room. "I'm done with this class!" I screamed. "I'm not taking it again next semester!"

Professor Leopold simply shrugged and left the room, leaving me to deal with my own rage. I did mean what I said, however. I swore that I would never again take a music class. Philosophy was my one true love, not music, so why was I even bothering with a classical piano course? All it was doing was bringing my GPA down.

That day, I stormed back to Flack Hall, still angry at Professor Leopold for his constant criticisms and myself for taking that class in the first place. I crashed down onto my bed and immediately got started on my paper on Leonhard Euler for Great People of Mathematics. A few minutes later, Patrick entered the dorm room, carrying a biology textbook.

"Hi Ryan," Patrick said. "You look like you're in a bit of bad mood. What's wrong?"

"I'm just mad at my piano professor," I said.

"What happened?" Patrick asked.

"He won't stop nagging me about this piece that I'm playing," I said. "I'm just worried that I'm going to fail that class."

"Why are you even taking it?" Patrick asked.

"I'm not taking it next semester," I said.

"It's better to take classes that you actually like," Patrick said. "I'm definitely taking Principles of Ecology next semester. I heard from someone in the Cookie Baking Club that ecology is a fun class."

"I'm sure it is fun," I said. "I still need to get a science class into my schedule next semester. I haven't finished that particular requirement yet."

"Why don't you take Principles of Ecology?" Patrick suggested. "It doesn't have any prerequisites."

"I'll think about it," I said. "Why are you even talking to me, Patrick? I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Ryan," Patrick said. "I was mad at you, but I've missed talking to you."

"I've missing talking to you too," I admitted. It did feel nice to be able to talk to Patrick again. Perhaps we would be able to mend our friendship one day. After all, broken friendships were often fixable.

"Why don't we just forget about all of this?" Patrick said. "Let's go back to just being friends with each other."

"That sounds great," I said.

"Fantastic," Patrick said. "Andy, Joe, and I were talking about trying the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge the night before finals. Would you like to join us?"

"What's the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge?" I asked.

"How have you never heard of the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge?" Patrick asked. "It's a Kale tradition."

"Nobody has ever brought it up to me," I said.

"It's a competition that takes place the night before finals to see who can eat the most pizza between sunset and sunrise," Patrick explained. "Apparently Pete Wentz wins every year, but it might be different this year."

"That sounds cool," I said. "I'll do it with you guys."

"Awesome," Patrick said. "We'll meet you in Willoughby library."

The night before finals, after my show at the Aubergine, I crunched my way through the snow and into the library, where Patrick, Joe, and Andy were waiting. "Hi there, Ryan," Joe said as I sat next to him. "I'm so glad you're here. Have you figured out what that Emily Dickinson poem on the study guide was about?"

"Not yet," I admitted.

"Maybe you'll figure it out after you have a slice of pizza," Andy said as he passed me a box of vegan pizza. I took a slice and appreciated the cheesy goodness for a moment before returning to the Freshman Writing Seminar study guide.

"My seminar professor gave us the same study guide, and I'm pretty sure that poem is about death," Patrick noted.

"No, that's far too simple," Joe argued. "I'm pretty sure it's about dark matter."

"Dark matter hadn't been proposed yet when Emily Dickinson was alive," Andy said.

"What if time isn't linear?" Joe said. "People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually - from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint - it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff."

"I think you've been watching too much Doctor Who, Joe," I concluded.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Joe asked.

"Perhaps not," I said. "However, excluding the possibility that Emily Dickinson met a time traveler at some point, I think that Patrick's interpretation is correct."

"Thank you, Ryan," Patrick said. "Maybe we can finally move on from this silly argument and look at the next question on the study guide."

"Then again, who can say whether Emily Dickinson met a time traveler or not?" I said. "If time is linear, then we can safely say that she didn't because time travel isn't possible, but if it isn't linear, then we could go back in time to check, but that in itself would cause Emily Dickinson to meet a time traveler. Therefore, it would be simple to find out, but it would be much more difficult to prove the nature of time...you know, thinking about time travel makes my head hurt."

"Why don't you have some more pizza, Ryan?" Patrick said as he handed me another slice.

The four of us stayed up until dawn, ordering more and more pizza until our stomachs were ready to explode. However, with the help of my friends, I felt well prepared for my exams.

Around 7:30 in the morning, I was so exhausted and stuffed with pizza that I took a break from my studies and dragged myself into the dining hall for a cup of coffee. I found Gerard and Pete waiting in line in front of me, and I asked both of them, "Did you guys do the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge too?"

Gerard and Pete both nodded. "I didn't eat that much though," Gerard said. "I don't know why I did it, other than because it's a Kale tradition."

"I think I might have won it," Pete said.

"How many pizzas did you eat?" I asked.

"Forty three," Pete answered.

"You must be joking," I said. "That's not possible."

"It is possible," Pete said. "I have the empty pizza boxes in Shadow Hall if you want proof."

I wasn't sure that I believed Pete's claim, but there were a few other students that I ran into who claimed that they had seen him eat all forty three pizzas. Since nobody else on campus claimed to have beaten that number, Pete Wentz became the official winner of the All-Nighter Pizza Challenge. Meanwhile, I was stuck taking my finals while sleep-deprived and with too much pizza rolling around in my stomach. It was worth it, however, to know that I had such wonderful friends at Kale.

In the end, my final grades were good, but not great, but that was enough for me. I did quite well in Introduction to Philosophy, I had mediocre grades in Great People of Mathematics and the Freshman Writing Seminar, and I barely passed Advanced Piano Studies. They weren't the best grades in the world, but if I did better during second semester, I knew that I might be able to bring my GPA back up.

Unlike Thanksgiving break, I had enough time and money to go home for winter break. It would be nice to see my mother, but what else would I leave behind? I wouldn't see my dorm room, Patrick, my professors, the Guyliner Club, the gorgeous, snow-covered campus, the Aubergine, or Brendon for three whole weeks. Just thinking about all of the people and things that I wouldn't see over Winter Break was enough to dampen my spirits.

That night, I went to the Aubergine one last time before my flight back to Las Vegas the next morning. As usual, Brendon was waiting for me with a peach and lime daiquiri in his hand. I definitely had to say goodbye to him before I left. After all, he was the one who had helped me live a life from a new perspective. "Hey Ryan," Brendon said. "What's up?"

"Not much," I said. "I'll probably have to go home a little early tonight."

"Why?" Brendon asked.

"I have to pack up for my flight tomorrow," I said. "I'm going back to Las Vegas for winter break."

"That's too bad," Brendon said. "I wish you were staying here."

"That's pretty odd," I said. "I wish that you were coming with me."

"Maybe I'll do that for Spring Break," Brendon suggested.

"That sounds nice," I said. I sat down on the piano bench and began to warm up. "Is there anything that you'd like to hear, Brendon?"

"Bohemian Rhapsody!" he exclaimed.

"I played that last time I took a request from you, and I didn't do a particularly good job," I said.

"I still want to hear it," Brendon insisted.

I shrugged and began to play the song, and within a few bars, both of us were singing along. Brendon's voice sounded far better than mine, but it was still a wonderful experience.

All I could think about was how much I would miss the beautiful man in a glittery suit standing next to me.