Who is Trevis Allen ????

the Pi Kapps house was packed—music blaring, the air thick with cheap beer and sweat. I stuck close to my roommate, trying to blend in, when I noticed a guy in a wrinkled Bass Pro Shops hat pacing near the back fence. Someone whispered his name—Trevis Allen. He was talking fast, eyes wide, waving his arms like he was mapping out blueprints in the air. “We need wood, man! Dry wood. That’s the key to a good campfire,” he rambled to no one in particular, patting his pockets like he was searching for a lighter. “I swear, we can get this going—just need, like, a spark.” A couple guys were half-listening, nodding along, but most people just laughed and moved on. I locked eyes with my roommate. “Is he serious?” I whispered. She just smirked, taking another sip of her seltzer. “It’s Trevis. He’s always like this.”