I grabbed my key, opened the door, and walked face first into a massive wall of muscle.
Luke stood in the hallway, key in hand, looking like he’d been caught breaking and entering.A beanie pulled low and a thick wool coat suggested the cold, but the lack of a duffel bag made it clear he wasn’t traveling.Instead of luggage, a plastic grocery sack from the 24-hour convenience store on Route 9 dangled from his grip.
We stared at each other for a second.The hallway lights flickered overhead, buzzing in the silence.
“You’re supposed to be in Glen Rock,” I said.My brain scrambled to recalculate.Luke had left yesterday.I’d heard him pack.I’d watched him walk out the door with a “See you Sunday” that felt too casual.
“Travel issues,” Luke said, not meeting my eyes.
“You drive a giant truck.”
“It was making a noise, I think it’s the transmission.”
“You had that repaired in August,” I said.“What’s going on?”
“I told my dad that the truck was making noises, and since it was Thanksgiving, I was stranded here,” Luke admitted.
“You lied to him.”
Luke sighed, his shoulders dropping two inches.He looked exhausted—not physical fatigue, but the bone-deep weariness that comes from holding up a ceiling that keeps trying to collapse.
“I didn’t want to go,” he admitted, voice low.
“I can see that.Why?”
He looked down at the plastic bag in his hand.“Because if I go home, I have to sit at a mahogany table for four hours while my dad critiques my save percentage between courses.And I decided…” He looked up, meeting my eyes.“I decided I’d rather eat gas station nachos in a hallway than do that again.”
The admission hung in the cold air.
I stepped back, opening the door wider.“Get in here.It’s freezing.”The university had reduced the temperature in the dorm’s communal areas.We had heat in our room, but the rest of the building was just warm enough to ensure no pipes burst.
Luke stepped inside.The room felt instantly smaller, warmer.He set the bag on his desk.
“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be here,” he admitted, unwinding his scarf.“Didn’t Maya invite you to Vermont?”
“She did, but I wasn’t in the mood to be around a large group of strangers pretending to be thankful,” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed.“Holidays are chaotic variables.”
“So, we’re both hiding.”
“Strategically retreating.”
He grinned—a flash of the real Luke, the one who emerged when the pressure gauge dropped.“Well, strategic retreat requires supplies.”
He upended the bag.A tragedy of nutrition: two boxes of generic macaroni and cheese, a can of Spam, a bag of frozen peas (ironic, given their usual medical application), and a carton of milk that expired tomorrow.
“I panicked,” he said, looking at the pile.“The store was picked clean.”
“We can work with this,” I said, standing up.“But not in the microwave.We need the communal kitchen.”
“The basement kitchen?The one the freshmen used for a failed candle-making experiment?”
“It has a stove.And I have a pot.”I grabbed the single saucepan I kept for tea emergencies.“Grab the milk.Let’s go.”
The basement of Stony Creek was a concrete bunker that smelled of mildew and industrial-strength cleaning supplies.The kitchen was a windowless alcove with a stove from the 1970s and a refrigerator that hummed in the key of G minor.Fluorescent lights overhead had a distinct yellow tint, casting us both in a jaundice-like glow.
But for today, it was completely ours, even if it was only a few degrees above the average temperature inside an igloo.
I set the water to boil.Luke hopped onto the counter, his legs swinging, watching me measure milk and butter powder.
