The Stories We Carry
If you’d walked past our table that evening, you probably would’ve assumed we were just a group of friends gathering for a rooftop dinner on one of the hottest evenings of the summer.
What you wouldn’t have assumed was that, before anyone had even ordered a drink, our book club discussion of The Score and the Off Campus TV show had taken center stage.
There was no awkward small talk.
Instead, we picked up where Elle Kennedy had left us.
We discussed Garrett Graham and Dean DiLaurentis and what qualities make them such compelling representations of healthy masculinity. We admired Garrett's emotional maturity, talked about Dean's growth throughout The Score, and discussed why readers connect so deeply with both characters as well as the rest of the Briar U hockey team. We may have even talked about how attractive they are—or aren’t, based on some guests’ opinions.
The conversation also turned to the readers who gravitate toward books like these, noting that many of the readers who fall in love with stories like Off Campus are often the same people who spend much of their lives reading quietly on their own or as introverts in their own worlds.
We returned to the series and to the way it portrays intimacy. We appreciated that Elle Kennedy doesn't treat those moments as simply sex; in fact, they open the door for us to talk about consent, communication, vulnerability, mutual respect, and safe sex—subjects that somehow feel easier to discuss because we began with fictional characters instead of ourselves.
One guest wondered aloud whether books like these should find their way into the hands of more young men—not because fiction offers perfect role models, but because stories like these can spark conversations about respect, emotional intelligence, and healthy relationships.
It struck me that before any drinks and food had even arrived, we'd already spent at least half an hour talking about ideas much bigger than college hockey romance.
Then, the colorful cocktails and ice water came. Food was ordered, shared, and set aside to make room for the first of our activities. A copy of The Score rested quietly beside the table while tiny piles of bedazzling rhinestones, stickers, and motel key tags waited to become Briar U keepsakes for our totes.
We ate salads (hoping the lettuce was safe), Jimmy Madison’s caramelized brussel sprouts (with sweet pecans, candied bacon, and honey thyme vinaigrette), and baked crab dip.
Then, we bedazzled, all thanks to Dana, her amazing ideas, and her bedazzling kit.
In full transparency, I didn’t participate in the activity; instead, I sat back and watched, soaked it all in while the heat lifted ever so slightly.
I watched as my guests searched for their key tag color of choice, determining whether they wanted to match the colors of the Briar U jerseys, the book cover, or the colors of their workplace. I watched as they selected their stickers, smiling when both one of our younger and also older guests considered selecting stickers for the same character because he’s their favorite. I watched as they carefully placed rhinestone dots in a variety of sparkly patterns.
While my guests created their keychains, conversation flowed as naturally as if we'd known each other for years.
At one point, I switched places with Jessica so she could engage in conversation with Miranda, not about the book but about their current jobs as PE teachers. I love that through our events, people who are meant to find each other do exactly that.
Catching up with Erin—a former student who has now read the entire series three times—felt like stepping into two different chapters of my own life at once. I realized how much I'd missed seeing her in the library, hearing stories about her dog, Remi. Somehow, years later, Off Campus had brought us back to the same table.
I met Erin’s mother, Carrie, and was delighted to discover that she enjoys the books and the show as much as her daughter. We were also intrigued by some other reading choices she revealed; we may have to circle back to those at some point.
I found myself frequently starting sentences with, “I draw the line when it comes to…”, referring to romance novel topics and tropes I don’t think I’ll be reading anytime soon. Miranda will most likely remind of that for some time to come, but I won’t let her forget that she taught me something I didn’t know when it comes to abbreviations.
While I think back on the two weeks that have passed since this event, I find myself coming back to the same thought: Contemporary romance is often reduced to a single stereotype. Yet before our food had even arrived, we'd already spent almost an hour talking about emotional intelligence, healthy relationships, communication, and vulnerability with time left over to do the catching up on our lives.
That's the version of romance readers I wish more people could see.
Here we are—different generations, different life experiences, different perspectives—all sharing food, decorating keychains, laughing together, and discussing topics that many people would consider taboo.
How beautifully ironic.
The solitary and lonely act of reading had brought us into a community that’s so much like a sisterhood.
We didn’t all agree; we didn't have to.
Readers of different ages noticed different things.
Some connected most deeply with Hannah or Allie.
Others admired Garrett's sensitivity.
Some defended Dean; others challenged him.
We questioned each other.
We reconsidered our own opinions.
We laughed.
We listened.
It reminded me that the best book discussions aren't about reaching the same conclusion.
They're about leaving with a broader perspective than the one you brought and meeting new friends along the way.
Then, as the sun disappeared behind the buildings, we packed up our glitter-covered keychains, gathered our Page to Palette totes, walked down the stairs, through the refreshing air-conditioned restaurant, and back out into the humid evening to begin the second part of our Off Campus adventure.
We said goodbye to two of our guests, picked up three new friends, and walked the short distanced to our karaoke spot.
There's something symbolic about leaving one chapter together and stepping into the next.
If dinner had given us conversation, karaoke was meant to give us courage.
While we arrived to our karaoke spot fairly early, the sign-up sheet had already begun to fill up.
And we were nervous to do what we’d come to do; after all, none of us felt the confidence of Hannah after six pina coladas, or Allie, a theater major. We live vicariously through these characters, and we were reluctant to actually become the main characters.
Someone had to sing first, though.
Every community needs someone willing to step into the spotlight before everyone else feels brave enough to follow.
Thankfully, Courtney would show up and channel her inner Alanis Morissette.
Of course, we stood there, supported her while she sang, and felt brave enough to sing like we were the best singers in the room, all from the front row.
Erin and I were then brave enough to sign our whole group up to sing.
In spite of the fact that we had a song list, and we knew “Cherry Pie” was the most obvious and best choice based on our reason for being there, we chose “Party in the USA” instead.
While we waited to be called to the mics, we chatted.
We laughed—especially when a naked scene from Family Guy in the locker room came up on the TV behind us, reminding us of the infamous episode 8 of the TV show.
We danced—which brought the most laughter of the night, perhaps because we attempted the Garrett Graham dance that’s been circulating on social media for at least a month.
Just as we were ready to call it a night and give up on our karaoke dream debut, Erin got the courage to ask the DJ to move us to the top of the line.
Not long after, it was our turn.
Jessica and I shyly took the mics, and the entire room joined us as we (sort of) sang.
For one evening, Ruby's Lounge didn't feel like Ruby's anymore.
It felt like Malone's.
When we walked out into the terribly humid night air, it was almost midnight, and several of us had to get up and work early the next morning. We hugged, parted ways, and ensured that we’d let each other know when we’d made it home safely.
And that was it; our night was over, and everyone was wondering how videos we made each other promise not to share would make it onto the blog.
I screenshotted the videos, of course, and this results in blurry photos; however, they’re perfectly part of the story we shared and the memories we made.
It was a perfect night, dripping sweat and all.
A few days later, I met a former student and made a new friend at a local café to begin planning one of our upcoming Page to Palette events.
Before we settled into planning, we naturally found ourselves talking about our Off Campus night.
Almost on cue, Hannah's version of "Baby, Now That I've Found You" began playing over the café speakers.
We smiled.
My new friend, Heidi, told me she had recently performed Alison Krauss's version of the song at one of her own local performances, and that the audience immediately recognized it.
Not because it was a classic song.
Because they knew Off Campus.
Strangers revealed themselves to be part of the same story.
Later that afternoon, I found myself sitting in the waiting room of an ophthalmologist's office while I waited to drive a friend home.
Just as I pulled out my notebook to draft this blog post, an instrumental version of the very same song floated quietly through the speakers.
No lyrics.
No television show.
No hockey players.
Just a melody.
And I smiled.
Not because I was thinking about Hannah and Garrett or Allie and Dean anymore.
I was thinking about us.
About food scattered across a rooftop table.
About tiny bedazzling rhinestones catching the evening light.
About conversations that wandered from fictional relationships to real ones.
About readers who became friends.
About karaoke.
About courage.
About community.
People sometimes ask why contemporary romance has become so popular.
I don't think it's because readers are searching for the next "spicy" scene.
I think they're searching for connection.
Connection to characters.
Connection to ideas.
Connection to hope.
And, if they're lucky, connection to other readers who understand exactly why one song can instantly transport them back to a fictional college campus.
That's what happened to us.
The stories didn't end when we closed the book.
They followed us onto a rooftop patio.
Into a karaoke bar.
Across a café table.
Into a waiting room.
Into conversations we never expected to have.
Into friendships we didn't know we were looking for.
Maybe that's what Page to Palette has been about from the very beginning.
Not recreating fictional worlds.
But giving people a place where those worlds become real relationships.
We may leave each event carrying a tote decorated with patches and keychains that remind us where we've been.
But the best thing we carry home is each other.
