Can we try again?

One.

"There's always that one stupid mistake that changes everything."

The street of the campus was bustling with people. Girls walked in their high-heeled stilettos, clothed, or rather, barely clothed in their mini-skirts and dresses, crop tops and bum shorts, which revealed more than 80% of their bare bodies. Their laughter and chattering filled the Friday evening air. The guys talked ever so loudly, whistling, cat-calling and trying to get the attention of the girls.

Tall, short, skinny, plump, light-skinned, dark-skinned; they all had one thing in common. They were all heading for one destination.

Bello House building.

Every year, the residents of the Bello House threw a huge party and opened the doors to every student. Bello House was a cluster of five buildings. Each building - divided into several flats for the students - was large; one connected to the next one by a walkway. It was located in one of the high-class areas in the University of Lagos campus. To say that you lived in Bello House, was basically saying, your parents were balling. The people who lived there were those from well-to-do homes of bankers, CEO's, Lawyers, and some politicians.

Outside the building was already filled with over a hundred students, with more making their way in through the gate; from the freshmen in their first year to the nearly graduates in their final year. They were all equals tonight. They were all just students trying to have a good time.

Music filled the air. Loud, deafening music that could be heard from 5 miles away. Neon lights flashed everywhere in the evening sky, like police sirens, but much more colourful. The atmosphere was pulsating.

Inebriated bodies crammed the dance floor, swaying from side to side, in an attempt of a dance; girls, winding and grinding, twerking and going down low on the boys.

Some people played in the pool, tossing jumbo beach balls, and splashing at each other, giggling and screaming. And others, sat by the pool; the boys with a glass of alcohol in one hand and a girl on the other.

The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the damp evening air.

In the corner, just by the bushes, out of sight from everyone, two bodies pressed against each other. The intensity of the music or the presence of everyone didn't do much to deter them, because they both seemed to be more indulged in their act, oblivious to the people around them. Their moans of pleasure were drowned by the loud music and they both appeared to be having the time of their lives.

At the same time, a tall skinny girl approached a small group of boys, who sitting by the pool and chatting away.

"Hi. Excuse me, have you seen my friend, she's roughly this tall," she motioned with her hands to a few inches down from her head. "Bright red dress, long braids . . ." She looked at the boys as if waiting for what she'd said to sink in. The boys on the other hand just stared at her, wondering what she was on about.

". . . Not too slim, curvy . . ." she added, like that extra bit of information would joggle the boys' memory.

It was no use anyway. She was talking to a group of intoxicated boys, asking if they'd seen one girl in the midst of about a hundred other girls. Talk about looking for a needle in a hay stack. Mission impossible.

And just as she turned around to leave, one of the boys stopped her in her tracks. "Oma Oma," he slurred. "Is that you?"

What a stupid question. But it was no surprise, as it was coming from a stupid person. She didn't have to turn around to see who it was. She already knew. She would always remember that annoying high-pitched voice anywhere. It was her former classmate Kevin. She was in the same lecture group with him in her first year.