It was too cold to wait outside before Fiction-Writing, so Cath found a bench inside Andrews Hall and sat with one leg tucked beneath her, leaning back against the cream-colored wall.
She took out her phone and opened a fic she’d been reading. (She was too nervous to study.) Cath never read other people’s Simon/Baz anymore—she didn’t want to unconsciously mimic another author or steal someone’s ideas—so when she did read fic, it was always about Penelope. Sometimes Penelope/Agatha. Sometimes Penelope/Micah (the American exchange student who only appeared in Book Three). Sometimes just Penelope, all on her own, having adventures.
It felt like an act of open rebellion to be reading fanfiction while she sat in the English building, waiting to see Professor Piper for the first time since their talk. Cath had actually considered skipping class today, but she figured that would just make it even more painful to face Professor Piper the next time. It’s not like Cath could skip class for the rest of the semester—better to just get it over with.
Cath’d already faced Wren, and that hadn’t gone nearly so badly as she’d expected. They’d eaten lunch together twice this week, and neither of them had brought up the scene at Muggsy’s. Maybe Wren had been too drunk to remember the details.
Courtney didn’t seem to get that they were avoiding the subject. (That girl had the subtlety of a Spencer’s Gifts shop.) “Hey, Cath,” Courtney said at lunch, “who was that cute blond boy you were with Friday night? Was that your hot librarian?”
“No,” Cath said. “That’s just Levi.”
“Her roommate’s boyfriend,” Wren said, stirring her vegetable soup. Wren seemed tired; she wasn’t wearing mascara, and her eyelashes looked pale and stubby.
“Oh.” Courtney stuck out her bottom lip. “Too bad. He was super cute. Farm boy.”
“How could you tell he’s a farm boy?” Cath asked.
“Carhartt,” they both said at once.
“What?”
“His coat,” Wren explained. “All the farm boys wear Carhartt.”
“Trust your sister on this.” Courtney giggled. “She knows all the farm boys.”
“He’s not my hot librarian,” Cath had said.
No one is my hot librarian, she thought now, losing her place in the fic she was reading. No one is my hot anything.
And besides, Cath still wasn’t sure whether Nick was actually hot or whether he just projected hotness. Specifically in her direction.
Someone sat down next to her on the bench, and Cath glanced up from her phone. Nick tilted his chin up in greeting.
“Think of the devil,” she said, then wished she hadn’t.
“You thinking about me?”
“I was thinking … of the devil,” Cath said stupidly.
“Idle brains,” Nick said, grinning. He was wearing a thick, navy blue turtleneck sweater that made him look like he was serving on a Soviet battleship. Like, even more so than usual. “So, what did Piper want to talk to you about last week?”
“Nothing much.” Cath’s stomach was such a mess today, she hardly felt it wrench.
Nick unwrapped a piece of gum and set it on his tongue. “Was it about taking her advanced class?”
“No.”
“You have to make an appointment to talk to her about it,” he said, chewing. “It’s like an interview. I’m meeting with her next week—I’m hoping she’ll give me a teaching assistantship.”
“Yeah?” Cath sat up a little straighter. “That’d be great. You’d be great at that.”
Nick gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, well. I wish I would have talked to her about it before that last assignment. It was my worst grade of the semester.”
“Really?” It was hard to make eye contact with Nick—his eyes were almost buried under his eyebrows; you had to dig into his face. “Mine, too,” Cath said.
“She said that my writing was ‘overly slick’ and ‘impenetrable.’” He sighed.
“She said worse about mine.”
“Guess I’ve gotten used to writing with backup,” Nick said, still smiling at her. Still sheepish.
“Codependent,” Cath said.
Nick snapped his gum at her. “We writing tonight?”
Cath nodded and looked back at her phone.
*
“Reagan isn’t here,” Cath said, already closing the door.
Levi leaned into the door with his shoulder. “I think we’re past that,” he said, walking into the room. Cath shrugged and went back to her desk.
Levi flopped down on her bed. He was dressed in black—he must have just gotten off work. She frowned at him.
“I still can’t believe you work at Starbucks,” she said.
“What’s wrong with Starbucks?”
“It’s a big, faceless corporation.”
He raised a good-natured brow. “So far, they’ve let me keep my face.”