Tracey lived with another guy and some big girl in an apartment in the Residence Center. I was an RA and came in to bust them for smoking weed. Tracey was very upset and implored me to believe that it was the big girl smoking out of the tiny, box-shaped one-hitter, not her. She was crying. The guy was sitting at a computer, mesmerized by the screen and unable to move his head or respond. Tracey and I started talking about why she was hanging out with this guy and not me. "I can’t decide what I want to do," she said. "Then don’t be with him while you’re deciding, " I beg. I can’t tell if it did any good. The apartment was curious and seemed to consist of only a small corner with a desk and computer to the right and a low bed from the left and going into the corner.