Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
20: Halloween Draft 1998
Coming of Age Sex Story: 20: Halloween Draft 1998 - Bharath always thought going to America would mean fast love, wild parties, and maybe a stewardess or two. What he got instead? A busted duffel bag, a crying baby on the plane, and dormmates he never thought could exist in real life. Thrown into the chaos of Georgia Tech’s freshman year, Bharath begins an unforgettable journey of awkward first crushes and culture shocks. A slow-burn, emotionally rich harem romance set in the nostalgic 90s—full of laughter, lust, and longing.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Fiction Humor School Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Female Hispanic Female Indian Female
The Tekken 3 theme music blared from the television like a war anthem.
Tyrel’s thumb slammed furiously into the controller as Eddy Gordo spun across the screen, legs flailing in capoeira chaos. Ravi cursed in Hindi under his breath, mashing buttons as if his life depended on it.
“BRO, you can’t just spam the same move!” Ravi yelled, twisting in his seat. “That’s cheating, yaar!”
Tyrel didn’t even blink. “Ain’t no rules in love, war, or Tekken, my man. That’s gospel.”
“You’re not even blocking yaar! You’re just pressing kick!” Ravi shouted.
“Strategy, baby. It’s called mental warfare.”
“You guys are loud as hell,” Jorge muttered, lounging backwards and eating Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and watching them like it was a spectator sport. “It’s a fighting game, not a telenovela.”
Marisol peeked out from the hallway where she and the girls had been whispering.
“Qué telenovela?” she murmured to Camila.
“The one where the boys think they matter,” Camila whispered, biting back a grin.
“Ready with the names?” Sarah asked, setting a large foam-core poster board on the table.
“All set!” Camila said. She uncapped a pink marker and began writing in block letters:
“OPERATION TRICK OR TREAT HEARTS: HALLOWEEN DRAFT 1998”
In the living room, Bharath sat cross-legged on the rug, politely amused.
“Tyrel, is it normal to scream like this when losing?” he asked, blinking at the screen.
“Boy, please. I ain’t losin’. I’m just letting Ravi feel himself for a minute.”
Ravi threw his hands up. “This is emotional manipulation! He’s literally breakdancing me into depression.”
“Ravi, you’re pressing triangle like you’re trying buy something from the vending machine,” Jorge snorted.
“I play better under pressure,” Ravi muttered, adjusting his cap. “And bhai, if I win this match, I want ice cream. That’s the rule.”
“You made that rule up just now,” Bharath said.
“Exactly.”
Behind them, Marisol quickly added bullet points beneath the draft title.
“All set with LaTasha?”
“Yup. And I found a yearbook photo of Nandita. She’s adorable. Glasses. Shy smile. Ravi’s gonna combust.”
Sarah taped up the first columns like she was unveiling the results of a science fair. “Tyrel and Ravi are in for a wild ride.”
Back on the couch, Tyrel leaned back, controller on his chest.
“Dawg, I swear. Y’all hear somethin’? Sound like secrets bein’ cooked up in the back.”
Ravi paused, brow furrowed. “Wait ... what are you doing?”
Bharath turned slowly and noticed the foam board, squinting. “Is that ... your handwriting Sarah?”
Sarah spun on her heel like she was about to host Wheel of Fortune.
“Gentlemen,” she said with mock-serious flair, “you are cordially invited to bear witness to a social experiment unlike anything ever seen before on or around the Georgia Tech’s campus. Presenting - Operation Trick or Treat Hearts: The DraftTM.”
She gestured at the board like Vanna White on a sugar rush. Camila followed, tapping the freshly inked candidate names under two columns: “Tyrel” and “Ravi.”
Tyrel blinked. “Wait, hold up. What y’all mean Operation? That sounds like somethin’ with clipboards and consequences.”
“It is,” Camila said, deadpan. “We’re fixing your busted love lives before Halloween.”
Ravi’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? Busted?! My love life is ... under renovation.”
“Uninhabitable,” Sarah corrected.
Marisol held up a post-it with hearts doodled on it. “And condemned.”
Bharath blinked between the girls and the board, smiling awkwardly. “Wait. This is like ... matchmaking?”
Sarah nodded. “With analytics.”
Camila: “And spidey-sense.”
Marisol: “And chisme.”
Jorge raised both eyebrows. “I thought we were playing Tekken...”
Tyrel was grinning now. “So lemme get this straight. Y’all out here settin’ us up? Like, for real for real?”
Ravi’s eyes narrowed. “This is no prank, right? Because if this ends with me dating someone who collects roadkill for science, I swear -”
Sarah slapped a paper folder into Ravi’s lap.
“Ravi. Welcome to the draft. First pick starts soon. You may be a nerd. But tonight? You’re our nerd.”
“Boom!” Camila declared, tossing a folder onto Tyrel’s lap like a contract.
Tyrel flipped it open. “Yo. This looks like a scouting report. Y’all wrote bios?”
“Of course,” Marisol said. “We’re not animals.”
“You rated them in categories?” Ravi asked, holding up a laminated card. “Star sign, favorite band, dating red flags, and-bro, did you put a ‘costume potential’ score?!”
Camila nodded, smug. “Melina got a 9.5. She owns leather pants.”
“Sweet Black Jesus,” Tyrel whispered.
“You’ll be spectators,” Sarah said, walking backwards with purpose. “You’ll observe. You’ll learn. But you do not get to influence the outcome.”
Ravi stood. “What?! That’s a dictatorship!”
Tyrel put his feet up. “Man, I’m just enjoyin’ the ride. Draft me a baddie and I’ll thank the Lord twice.”
Bharath and Jorge leaned back, silently exchanging glances. Jorge raised his soda can like a toast. “Aquí vamos.”
Bharath smiled wide. “This is insane. But ... I am entertained.”
Sarah flipped to the first slide on the projector she had smuggled from the university.
“Let the draft begin.”
Tyrel and Ravi now sat side-by-side on the floor like two kids about to open Pokémon booster packs, only what they held were laminated profiles, photo prints, and two mysterious folders marked “CONFIDENTIAL: TYREL BOARD” and “CONFIDENTIAL: RAVI BOARD” in Camila’s loopy cursive.
“Bro,” Tyrel whispered, flipping through glossy printouts. “They really went all out. This one even got a zodiac chart.”
Ravi fanned his cards like trading pieces. “Yeh kya hai, bhai (what is this bro) - this girl’s favorite movie is Scream and she owns a ferret? What does that even mean?”
“Means she freaky,” Tyrel grinned.
Behind them, the girls stood in a line like judgmental Power Rangers.
“Alright!” Sarah clapped, stepping forward like she was hosting TRL. “Time for Round One of the draft. The Selection Committee has prepared twelve candidate profiles. Six potential matches for each of our eligible bachelors: Tyrel ‘Can’t Shut Up’ Johnson and Ravi ‘Mansplain’ Mehta.”
“Hey!” Ravi objected.
“You literally explained gravitational potential energy to a girl in the middle of a party,” Camila shot back. “She was holding a red Solo cup and crying, Ravi.”
“I was being supportive!”
“She was crying because her dog died,” Marisol deadpanned.
Tyrel leaned over to Ravi. “Dawg ... you gotta stop explainin’ physics at girls.”
“I thought she was a science major!”
“You gotta learn to read the room, macha.”
Bharath and Jorge were now seated on the couch with popcorn like they were watching Monday Night RAW.
Jorge nudged Bharath. “You ever seen anything like this in Chennai?”
Bharath’s voice was soft with wonder. “I have seen aunties arrange marriages ... but so far nothing this ... entertaining.”
Sarah clicked her mechanical pencil and raised a clipboard. “The rules are simple. The girls-meaning us-will review each of the candidates and narrow the list to two finalists per guy. Then we deliberate. Then we decide. You”-she looked at the boys-”will sit there and say nothing.”
“Can we vote?” Ravi asked.
“No,” all three girls said in unison.
“Can we trade picks?” Tyrel grinned, holding up a card with Melina’s photo. “‘Cause I already know who my MVP is.”
“Oh God,” Camila muttered. “You picked Melina?”
Marisol rolled her eyes. “Of course he picked Melina.”
Melina’s profile photo was a cosmopolitan fever dream: she posed in a spaghetti-strap top, hoop earrings, and a smirk that said I’ve sued my ex-boyfriend and won. Her “Red Flag” box had three stars and a footnote that read, “Once pepper-sprayed a guy for interrupting her during ‘No Scrubs.’”
“She got a 10 for style, an 11 for danger, and a 13 for confidence,” Tyrel said reverently. “That’s a baddie, bro. I’m tryna get arrested.”
Ravi leaned over, frowning. “You can’t have Melina. I short-listed her already.”
Tyrel turned. “Say what?”
“She’s clearly the smartest one. Law school track, debate team-bro, she could be my Hillary Clinton.”
“You tryna date or get sued?” Tyrel barked. “Melina would eat you alive, Ravi. She like a hot piranha.”
“She’d keep me humble.”
“You’d be a corpse!”
Camila stepped forward and yanked Melina’s folder from Tyrel’s hands like a schoolteacher catching a kid with contraband. “That’s it. She’s the wildcard.”
Sarah nodded. “Wildcard candidate Melina now becomes draft-locked. She cannot be claimed, only considered. That means she’s a floating variable.”
“Like a restricted free agent,” Tyrel offered.
Marisol smirked. “Exactly. She goes to the final round-maybe. No trades. No swaps. No bribes.”
“Damn,” Tyrel muttered. “Y’all runnin’ this like the NFL draft, huh?”
“This is the NFL,” Camila said. “But with better fashion.”
“Okay,” Sarah continued, flipping pages like a news anchor. “Let’s go through the Round One contenders.”
TYREL’S CANDIDATES
LaTasha Williams – ATL native, DJ on WREK Radio, Scorpio, fluent in gangsta and sarcasm.
Red Flag: Will punch if disrespected.
Costume Potential™: “Janet Jackson in Poetic Justice” - 10/10.
Tonya Delmar – Visual Arts, Taurus, reads tarot.
Red Flag: Might hex you.
Costume Potential™: Witchcore Queen.
Melina Vega – Law school hopeful, Libra.
Red Flag: All of them.
Costume Potential™: Dangerously high.
Danielle “Dani” Cruz – Chemical Engineering, Capricorn.
Red Flag: Hates people that are not smart.
Costume Potential™: Lara Croft with lab goggles.
Tiffany Banks – Cheerleader, undecided major, Aries.
Red Flag: Owns a beeper and a stalker.
Costume Potential™: Spice Girl #6.
Amber Riley – Sociology, Cancer, DJ’s intern.
Red Flag: Will emotionally dismantle you with a mixtape.
Costume Potential™: House party princess.
RAVI’S CANDIDATES
Nandita Rao – Library tech, CompSci minor, Virgo.
Red Flag: Will correct your syntax mid-date.
Costume Potential™: Desi Hermione.
Ami Banerjee – Biology major, Sagittarius.
Red Flag: Has a frog sanctuary in her dorm.
Costume Potential™: Miss Frizzle meets X-Files.
Melina Vega – See above.
Red Flag: Ravi might die.
Priya Singh – Psych major, Gemini, fluent in sarcasm and Bollywood references.
Red Flag: Will psychoanalyze your mom.
Costume Potential™: 90s Rani Mukherjee.
Leslie Mendez – Art history, Leo.
Red Flag: Collects perfume samples like they’re Pokémon.
Costume Potential™: Mona Lisa with attitude.
Meghan Roberts – Journalism major, Pisces.
Red Flag: Owns fifteen Trapper Keepers labeled “Chaos.”
Costume Potential™: Carmen Sandiego’s messy cousin.
Tyrel rubbed his hands together. “A’ight. I want LaTasha or Melina. Lock it in.”
“No,” Marisol said.
“I request Melina,” implored Ravi
“No.”
“Can I petition for Melina?” begged Tyrel
“No.”
Ravi raised a finger. “I object to being denied access to Melina. This is discrimination based on testosterone levels.”
“Ravi,” Sarah said, leaning down, “she’s on your list too.”
“So you’re saying there’s still a chance?”
Bharath snorted. “You are digging your own grave with a broken spoon, macha.”
The girls regrouped near the board.
“We will now commence the Shortlist Debate,” Sarah said.
The boys leaned forward in anticipation.
“Behind closed doors.”
The boys groaned in unison.
“You may talk amongst yourselves,” Camila said. “But remember. Your opinions are decorative.”
The girls stood shoulder-to-shoulder like news anchors ready to cover election night. Camila had a stack of Polaroids and a clipboard thick with notes. Sarah wielded a mechanical pencil like it was a sword. Marisol adjusted the projector with the slow, lethal calm of someone setting up a live dissection.
The boys-Tyrel, Ravi, Bharath, and Jorge-sat in a row on the couch with half-eaten pizza, their Tekken controllers abandoned and useless.
“You boys may speak,” Sarah announced. “But no one is listening.”
Tyrel raised his hand. “Quick question. Is this ... legally binding?”
“Yes,” Camila said without looking up.
“No,” Sarah added.
“Emotionally? Definitely,” Marisol finished, smirking.
Ravi leaned toward Bharath. “Yaar, I haven’t been this nervous since my JEE exams.”
Tyrel clutched his heart. “I feel like this is The Bachelor, but we the ones gettin’ eliminated.”
The lights dimmed. The popcorn was gone. The projector whirred like a low-flying aircraft. Camila popped the cap off her purple glitter pen with a snap that echoed like a gavel.
“We now enter,” Sarah intoned, “the Deliberation Phase.”
“Sweet Jesus,” Tyrel whispered. “They got phases.”
The girls moved like choreographed surgeons. Camila laid out profile cards like tarot. Marisol hung headshots on the whiteboard in two columns. Sarah drew boxes labeled “Potential,” “Chaotic Neutral,” and “Absolutely Not” in perfect handwriting.
“Let’s begin with Tyrel’s list,” Sarah said. “Six candidates. One winner. Possibly a restraining order.”
“We ready, chicas?” Camila asked, tapping her clipboard.
“Born ready,” Marisol said.
“Already scared,” Ravi muttered.
The overhead projector clicked on again, casting a faintly crooked light over the whiteboard. Camila fanned out Tyrel’s six candidates like tarot cards, each profile trembling under the judgment of three very opinionated women.
“Alright,” Sarah said, clicking her marker like a weapon. “We start with LaTasha.”
Tyrel sat up straighter. Ravi whispered, “Here we go, bro. She’s your MVP.”
1. LaTasha Williams
Photo: DJ booth, hands mid-scratch, looking like she just called someone out over the mic.
“Powerhouse,” Marisol said instantly. “Takes no crap, demands respect. Exactly what Tyrel needs.”
“She wears Timberlands to Sunday brunch,” Camila said, grinning. “That’s queen energy.”
“She once threw her gum in a guy’s Red Bull and said, ‘Now you know how I feel when men interrupt me,’” Sarah added.
Tyrel’s eyes lit up. “Y’all ... she’s perfect. I will write poetry. I’ll stop eating Flaming Hots in bed. Just ... please.”
“Plus,” Ravi chimed in, “she got that ATL bounce. She’s got roots. Not like these transplant girls.”
Tyrel fist-bumped him. “Respect.”
The girls looked at each other and all nodded.
Camila: “LaTasha is shortlist material. Next.”
Tyrel slumped in relief. “Oh thank you, Jesus and Lauryn Hill.”
2. Dani Cruz
Photo: Holding a blowtorch and a Bunsen burner, smirking like she knows how to destroy your GPA and your self-esteem.
“She intimidates me and I like that,” Sarah said flatly.
“She intimidates me,” Marisol added, and she wasn’t smiling.
“She once reorganized the ChemE tutoring schedule and took the top spot. By herself,” Camila said. “And she won the Spring Chili Cookoff with a vegan recipe.”
Tyrel’s mouth dropped. “Wait-she got spice and spreadsheets? Oh I’m in. Lock it in. Double lock it.”
“You’d cry within the first hour,” Sarah said. “She’d make you take notes on your own emotional growth.”
“I’ll bring the clipboard,” Tyrel declared.
Ravi whispered, “Honestly, if you don’t pick her, I might convert to ChemE.”
Tyrel snapped his fingers at him. “Back off.”
Sarah underlined Dani’s name. “Possible shortlist. But she’s high-risk. She has very low nonsense tolerance.”
“She once said, ‘I don’t date men who say ‘vibe’ as a verb,’” Camila added.
Tyrel blinked. “That’s 70% of my vocabulary.”
“You’ll adapt,” Marisol said. “Or die.”
3. Amber Riley
Photo: Mid-twirl at a party, big hoops, electric energy. Her smile? Reckless joy.
“She DJ’d the radio takeover last semester and played Aaliyah, Rage Against the Machine, and Boyz II Men back to back,” Sarah said. “That’s taste.”
“She writes poetry that rhymes ‘healing’ with ‘feeling’ and makes it work,” Camila noted.
“She also cried over a pigeon last week,” Marisol said.
Tyrel’s eyes sparkled. “Yo. That’s soul. That’s the kind of girl who reads your birth chart, cries during The Lion King, and still punches you in the arm when you get cocky.”
“She deserves peace,” Sarah said slowly. “Tyrel is ... not peace.”
“I can be peace,” Tyrel said. “I’ll start doing yoga. Say ‘namaste’ instead of ‘nah, I’m straight.’”
“You literally just lied to a woman at the gas station and told her you were a backup dancer for Usher,” Ravi reminded him.
“Bro, I’m versatile.”
The girls all tilted their heads.
“She’s a maybe,” Camila said. “High empathy, low tolerance for foolishness.”
“Then what’s she doing on my board?” Tyrel asked.
“Shh! Quiet in the peanut gallery”
4. Tiffany Banks
Photo: Blond highlights, baby blue mini dress, peace sign fingers, chewing gum like it’s a weapon.
“She once asked if Alaska was a country,” Marisol said.
“She has a beeper. A working beeper,” Sarah said. “That she uses.”
“She also once said Tupac was ‘that guy with the bandana who dated JLo,’” Camila added.
Tyrel threw a hand in the air. “She fine, though.”
“She asked the dining hall if pizza was vegan because it doesn’t ‘have animals on it,’” Sarah deadpanned.
“Y’all hatin’ on a visionary,” Tyrel muttered.
Jorge said, “Hermano. You said Bharath was a rabbit for not eating meat and that you hated vegetarians on principle.”
“Yeah. But he ain’t fine though”.
Ravi leaned over. “I’m just saying. I’d go to a party if she was there.”
Tyrel nodded. “Exactly! She’s like ... that one chaotic party guest who doesn’t bring anything but leaves with everyone’s heart.”
“She also once left a guy at a party for stepping on her platform heels,” Camila said.
“Shortlisted?” Tyrel asked.
The girls all made faces. “She’s in the ‘Chaotic Neutral’ pile,” Marisol said, pushing her profile sideways.
Tyrel groaned. “She’s gonna haunt me forever.”
5. Tonya Delmar
Photo: Black dress, crystal necklace, a black cat in the background of the photo.
“She runs the Wicca club,” Sarah said.
“She is the Wicca club,” Camila corrected.
“She told someone in the dining hall their ‘aura smelled like fraud,’” Marisol added.
Tyrel raised a hand. “Quick question. Did she really make a voodoo doll of her ex?”
“Not a voodoo doll,” Camila said. “A ‘cord-cutting poppet.’”
Ravi muttered, “That’s worse, right?”
Tyrel leaned back. “I ain’t gonna lie. That’s hot.”
“She wears black lipstick to breakfast,” Marisol noted.
“Yo. That’s commitment to the brand,” Tyrel said. “I want a woman who might hex me.”
“You need therapy,” Sarah said.
“She goes in the ‘Possibly Summons Demons’ column,” Camila added, moving her card accordingly.
Tyrel sighed. “That’s the most accurate thing anyone’s said all night.”
6. Melina Vega
Photo: Leaning on a Mustang, sipping a Slurpee, not smiling but looking hot.
“She once took a guy’s pager, looked through his texts, handed it back, and walked away. Without saying a word,” Sarah said.
“She sued her roommate over cable bills and won,” Marisol added.
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