“Really, Dan, I can’t accept this. I seriously cannot pay you back. I barely have enough money to eat.”
“Then let me take you to dinner,” he said, instantly.
I starred up at him, blinking my eyes, while he waited for my answer.
“I . . .”
“It’s not a date, Grace.”
“It feels like a date.” I was hesitant to agree; I still wasn’t sure what Dan wanted from me.
“It’s just a meal. We can talk about the orchestra I’m forming this summer. I was thinking I’d like you to be a part of it.”
“Okay. Um . . .”
“Come on. Please?”
My college music professor was begging to take me to dinner. I looked around for other signs that I had been transported to an alternate universe.
“What time?”
“I’ll come by Senior House at seven. You like Thai food?”
“Sure.”
“There’s a place about two blocks away from your dorm. It’s pretty good.”
“I know the place. I’ll meet you there.” The restaurant was right across from the photo store Matt had just started working at. I hoped we wouldn’t see him.
By the time I got back to Senior House it was freezing out. I scurried through the lobby and up to my room and practiced for a few hours with my new bow. It was amazing how much it changed the quality of the sound. It amplified the music even more, filling the room with crisp notes.
By six o’clock I was starving, and frankly looking forward to dinner with Pornsake, even though I knew it would be uncomfortable. My plan was to eat the crap out of the free meal and try to keep the conversation light. I chose purple wool leggings and a long gray sweater with boots. I pinned my hair up into a bun on the top of my head and then wrapped a thick black scarf around my neck. I added a tiny bit of mascara and lip gloss for good form and then smoked a half a joint, against my better judgment. I thought dinner with my music professor warranted a little chemical mind alteration. I trotted down the stairs and into the lounge, where I made a cup of hot chocolate.
Carey Carmichael and Jason Wheeler, two students who lived on my floor, were sitting on the leather sofa, whispering to each other.
“Hey, Grace, where’s Matt?” Carey asked.
I fumbled through the stack of magazines on the console table behind the couch. “I think he’s in the darkroom at school, developing prints.”
I noticed Carey shoot Jason a questioning look.
Jason turned around to face me. “So, are you guys dating or what?”
Not this again. “We’re friends,” I said, cautiously. “Why?”
“Oh, good,” Carey said, laughing. “We thought you guys were together-together.”
“What if we were?” And why does anyone care?
“But you’re not,” Carey said. I shot her daggers. I’d never noticed she looked like the female version of Danny Bonaduce.
“What if we were?” I said again, trying to be nonchalant.
“The whole world knows that it’s just a big party on Fridays in the campus photo lab. Everyone sneaks booze in and they all fuck each other in the film-processing rooms. It’s like a giant celluloid orgy.”
My mouth dropped open. Matt had been going to the dark rooms every Friday night, and he always came back a little drunk and stoned.
“Not like an orgy,” Carey said, seeing my expression. “Everyone just goofs off. You know how tight those photo-
graphy students are. There’re rumors that people do it in the private dark rooms.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything like that to me. I also didn’t know why I cared. It was his life, and I wasn’t in a position to tell him what to do.
“Carey,” Jason said, looking pointedly at her. “I’m sure Matt’s not just developing prints in there.”
I felt gut-punched. “Fuck you, Jason.”
“What’s your problem, Grace? You a goody-fucking-two-shoes or something?”
“Nothing.” I looked at the clock. It was almost seven. “I have to go.”
9. Why Didn’t We Tell Each Other?
Grace
The air outside of Senior House hit me like an arctic blast. Winter was settling in. I rushed to the stoplight, hit the crosswalk button, looked across the street, and then completely froze in my boots. Matt was standing on the other side, looking right at me. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a gray long-sleeved thermal shirt underneath, jeans, and his boots. It was coat weather, and as I watched him from across the street, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack, I thought I could see him shivering.
My heart skipped a beat; I swallowed. He smiled and I couldn’t help but return it, even though I wanted to ask him a million questions I knew I couldn’t. It was his life and we were friends. When it was time to cross, we walked toward each other and stopped in the middle of crosswalk.
“Where you headed?” he asked.