Sometimes, life doesn't go as planned. For Brand Mitchell, nothing ever has. Like in high school, when his mom's cat thought jumping in the dryer was an okay idea. Or at prom where he and his date ate Olive Garden, and the chicken landed them in the hospital for a week with food poisoning. Or when his dad left him and his mom for a hooker named Shiela.

He is used to it by now. So, when his dad forced him to go to Barden University, he thought it was just another bump in the road. He will go to L.A. after he proves to his dad college isn't for him. He lives to produce music. He wants to live the dream. But, unfortunately, he will have to wait.

All of this weighs on his mind as his cab pulls up onto Barden Campus.

Finally, the small DJ thinks as he steps out out of the cab. He takes off his headphones and stashes them in his bag as the cab driver opens the trunk, and some student starts to assist Brand with his bags.

"Don't touch my equipment!" he snaps. It came out a little harsher than he meant it, but no one touches his equipment.

He loads his bags onto a cart, and some bubbly blonde from the welcome committee stops him. "Hi!" she half shouts with what Brand hopes is a fake beam, "Welcome to Barden University! What dorm?"

"Barden Hall, I think," he says, averting his eyes.

Brand zones out of the directions she begins to give as a blue four door car pulls up blaring Carry On My Wayward Son. The tan burly dude in the backseat jams out to the music complete with air guitar, and his head bangs into the seat as the car pulls away. Hope that guy is not my roommate. .

"Official BU rape whistle. Don't blow it unless it's actually happening!" the blonde finishes with a bright smile.

"What?" How many freaks are at this school? "Uh, why do I need a rape whistle?" He asks with a disgusted frown. He takes the rape whistle by two fingers like it is a used tampon.

Welcome Committee's over exaggerated smile is replaced with an expression of impatience, "Now mister don't be sexist. Women can rape guys too. Then there's also anal rape." She says that all in her bubbly flight attendant voice.

Brand's eyes go wide. "Did you really just say that? You know what?I don't even know how to respond to that."

The DJ walks off shaking his head. What kind of school is this?

"Make sure you don't blow it unless it's actually happening! Nobody likes that!" Her shout comes from behind him, and he does his best to ignore her.

Brand finds the door to his dorm room ajar. "God please don't be a freak," he whispers to himself as he walks through the door coming face to face with his roommate. His eyes narrow, "I don't even know why I try," he sighs. Jesse, his roommate, is the Air Guitar guy.

"Hey, I know you Brandon. I sang to you. I remember because you were in a taxi. Is your dad a taxi driver?" he says happily, extending his hand.

"Kansas guy, and it's just Brand," Brand says wearily, staring down at Jesse's outstretched hand. "Twenty questions already?" he asks taking his roommates hand. This dude is way too friendly.

Jesse shrugs setting up the last of his side of the room. His wall is covered with movie posters, and Brand can't help, but frown. Why do people even like movies?They are so boring.

"No, my dad is not a taxi driver," Brand replies dropping his bag on the bed as he begins to set up his music equipment. "And I have one rule." The DJ turns back to his much taller roommate. "My music is everything to me, so please don't touch it."

Jesse nods, "I'm going to head down to the activities fair. Do you want to come with?" he asks, gesturing to the door.

No chance in hell. For a DJ, Brand is not a social person. It's easier that way. He just shakes his head, saying he had to set up the rest of his equipment which is true. His roommate finally leaves, and the short alternative guy breathes a sigh of relief.

He is just beginning to play the mix he has been working on when a knock at the door scares him out of his skin.

"This is campus police. Hide your wine coolers." The door opens to reveal Dr. Mitchell, a comparative literature teacher at Barden University.

"Dad," Brand dismisses, turning back to the computer screen.

"Well, I thought it was funny," says Dr. Mitchell cheerfully, glancing around the empty room. "Where's your roommate?"

"Activities fair," his son says, trying to concentrate on his work.

"So when did you get here? How did you get here?" the professor interrogates.

"Took a cab. Didn't want to inconvenience you and the prostitute. How is the step monster?"

"For the last time Brand, she's a sales manager."

The DJ scoffs, "Same difference."

"And for your information, she is fine. She's actually in Vegas at a conference-"

"Oh no, Dad. I don't actually care," Brand says, putting a box away, " I just wanted to say step monster."

The professor puts his tongue in his cheek, not wanting to fight with his son. He tries to mask his guilt with a smile, but Brand sees right through it. "So, uh" he says, hastily changing the subject, "Have you been out on the quad yet? In the spring the students go out and study on the grass-"

"I don't want to study on the grass, Dad. I want to move to L.A. and get a job at a record label, and start paying my dues."

"You know Brand, DJing is not a profession. It's a hobby. Unless you're Rick Dees or somebody awesome."

"Not a radio DJ, Dad. A music producer. You might want to know the difference," Brand huffs, unpacking his last box, and he heads toward the door, "I'm going to the activities fair." And with that, he leaves, leaving his stunned father alone in the empty dorm room.

Walking through the numerous booths, all Brand can wish is that his dad would just screw off. It's my life, and he didn't want an interest in it before. Why does he have to interfere now?

"This is a travesty! If we can't even recruit bologna Barb, then we can't get anybody!" A little up ahead of him, an anxious looking redhead girl paces up and down her booth. She's freaking out at her blonde friend who looks as if she has a stick up her butt. Sensing a cat fight, he stops at the booth beside theirs and pretends to look interested in a flier.

Her hot blonde friend tries to come to the rescue, "Just take the dramatics down a little, okay?" she tries to hand a flier out to a group of girls who ignore her.

"You're the one who got us into this hot mess!" the redhead girl fires back. She clutches the clipboard tighter to her chest, and walks to the front of the booth to stand next to her blonde friend.

"It'll be fine." The blonde turns away. "I am confident," she says louder with one of those girly hand motions "That we can find eight super hot girls with bikini ready bodies who can harmonize in perfect pitch."

Brand can't help snorting at that. The blonde glares at him "Excuse me, is something funny?"

The shorter DJ shrugs. The ginger girl however, meets his eyes and gets a light bulb look. She whispers, "What about swim trunk ready guys?" to her friend, but Brand doesn't catch that sentence.

He just raises an eyebrow when the blonde one starts having a cow about, "Bellas" and not "Edwards."

The redhead walks up to him, "Any interest in joining our acapella group?"

So that's what this is about. "That's a thing?" he asks.

"Oh totes," the redhead says happily while the blonde is giving her a 'shut up now' look. "We sing covers of songs, but we do it without any instruments. It's all from our mouths." She points to her mouth with her pen.

"Yikes." Not joining this group.

"There's four groups on campus, and we're the best!" she tells Brand like it's the best thing in the world. This chick is almost as peppy as Welcome Committee. "Any interest?"

"Sorry, it's pretty lame," he replies.

"What did you just say?" the blonde says, not bothering to hide her anger.

"P.M.S.?" Brand smirks his famous smirk at the redhead, gesturing to the blonde.

The blonde's mouth is hanging wide open, obviously offended, and sensing danger, her friend cut in. She grabs Brand's arm, "Our dream is to win nationals. Help us turn our dreams into reality?"

He steps away from her, not liking people touching him. "Sorry, I don't even sing, but it was really nice to meet you guys."

"Nice to meet you too. I'm Chloe." the redhead girl mutters as the shorter freshman walks away. She feels oddly disappointed.

"Brand," he says back as he heads to another booth.

"What the hell, Chloe?!" her blonde friend fumes. "He's a guy."

She looks longingly down where the freshman is signing up for an internship at a radio station. "Maybe we need something different."

Just then, a chubby girl bounds up to them and curtsies , "My name's Fat Amy."

"You call yourself Fat Amy?"

A month later

Brand finds himself elatedly singing Titanium as he walks to the shower. His dad is going to help him move to L.A., and all he has to do is join a club for a year. A year, and he'll be out to L.A! Today cannot get any better.

He throws off his clothes, starts the shower, and belts it. " I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose. Fire away! Fire away! Ricochet, you take your aim. Fire away! Fire Away!"

"You can sing!"

"DUDE!" He jumps a foot in the air, and attempts to cover himself with the shower curtain. It's the redhead from the activities fair. Naked. In his shower. Is this a good thing or a bad thing? She's hot. Dude, stop looking at her! He turns his back to her. What is wrong with his friggin' school?
"How high does your belt go?"

Nakedness. "My what?" he asks breathlessly, shielding his eyes.

"You have to audition for the Bellas," she says. This girl has absolutely no concept of personal space.

Brand looks up at the shower head trying not to focus on the hot naked senior in front of him. "I can't c-concentrate on anything you're saying until you cover your junk," he stares into her in her bright blue eyes and back up at the ceiling. That's one sexy ceiling. That pattern just takes my breath away. There is no naked senior in my shower. It's just me and this ceiling.

He tried to distract himself, but the ceiling doesn't help. "Just consider it. One time we sang back up for Prince. His butt is so tiny I can fit it in like one hand."

"Is now a really good time to be discussing someone's butt?" Brand asks, looking down at his feet. Wonder how her butt feels in one hand. Stop it, Brand. You're such a pervert. I'm going to die. Why do they even have co-ed showers here? That's not a good idea. His bar of soap slips out of his hand and hits the floor. He turns his back to her.

"Seriously?" she asks.

"I am nude," he says, feeling as if he is about to vomit.

"You were singing Titanium right?" she asks.

His eyes light up. She knows his idol. He turns his head to look her in the eyes with a half smile, "You know David Guetta?"

"Have I been living under a rock?" Chloe says sarcastically, "Yeah. That song's my jam, my lady jam," She gives Brand an innocent smile. She is killing me right now.

"Okay," The short DJ snaps. His tone becomes serious, almost desperate, "You have to go. Now." He smashes himself as far as he can against the wall, trying to keep his breathing steady.

"The song really builds." She winks at him.

Brand blinks. Are you trying to get raped? No wonder this school needs rape whistles. If I was any other guy, it would've happened already.

"Will you sing it for me?" she asks.

"What no. Ew. Get. Out. Are you trying to get raped?" he asks.

A look of disgust appears on her face. "Not for that reason. I'm not leaving here until you sing so..."

Brand claps a hand to his forehead, and Chloe takes a long breath, standing there. Naked. Like she will never go away. Oh no, I'm going to have to sing naked to someone. Who I don't know. In the shower. Good thing? Bad thing? The jury is still out on that one.

"I'm bullet proof

Nothing to lose "

She joins in, harmonizing with Brand's tenor voice.

They stare into each other's eyes, and it suddenly becomes less awkward. Brand can't seem to stop staring into those haunting blue eyes.

"Fire Away!

Fire Away!

Ricochet

You take your aim

Fire Away

Fire Away

Shoot me down, but I won't fall

I am titanium

Shoot me down, but I won't fall

I am titanium."

Wow. Brand has never sang a duet with someone before, let alone with a naked super hot girl.

They smile at each other.

"Oh yeah, I'm pretty confident about all this," she gestures at her body. Her naked body.

He smiles awkwardly, "You should be."

There's a long pause, and they just stare at each other, naked. Chloe hands him a towel, and they just linger there, grinning at each other.

Brand leans in. Their faces are inches from each other. Brand feels her hot breath on his face. She moves in even closer, if that is possible.

"What the -?" an angry voice booms.

The small DJ takes in the heavily muscled senior. He looks awkwardly at Chloe. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, and he bolts, pulling his towel around his waist. The freshman DJ runs through the dorms, dodging people as they laugh.

AN: So this one erupted out of pure boredom. Please tell me what you think:DDDD Comments are appreciated.