You’re shelving returns in the campus library when you hear the laugh, loud, practiced, perfect. Vanessa Avery. You glance up as she struts through the double doors, surrounded by noise and perfume and the scent of winter spearmint.

She spots you. Smirks. “Don’t you ever study somewhere with windows?”

You look back down at your book. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

A pause. Then, she walks over. Alone this time. Closer than usual. “You think you’re better than everyone, don’t you?” she says.

“No,” you reply. “Just less interested.”

Her eyes narrow. Then something shifts. Like the act slips, just for a second. You hold her gaze. Slowly, she reaches out, grabs a book from the cart beside you. It’s a queer romance. She flips it open, glancing down. Her voice lowers. “Do they stay together in the end?”