“Just taking a break.” Tyler glanced down at his hands, a pack of cigarettes in one, a small black lighter in the other. “I know we’renot supposed to smoke here. And I shouldn’t be smoking anyway. I just—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not going to call the police on you.”
He let out a breath and smiled. “Want to sit?” Before I could reply, he hopped down a few steps. I followed, sitting above him, conscious of keeping a measured distance between us. The dull cold of the slate steps pushed up from below. Tyler tapped the pack against the flat of his palm, gliding a cigarette right to his fingers then lips. The lighter flared, his waxy face lit up in the flash: a ridge of zits across his forehead, faint mustache of sparse brown wisps, the lines of his jaw soft like a pastel drawing. I hadn’t gotten such a close look at him since our first conversation. Kennedy and Addison were more obviously attractive, good looks cultivated over generations of wealthy breeding. Tyler had a kind of raw beauty that reveals itself in a shift of angle or light. Not perfect, or immediately apparent; something mercurial—unfinished. He drew in, exhaled slowly, and then, as if suddenly remembering where he was, slapped the smoky air back and forth to dispel it.
“You’re fine,” I said. A few students walked by on the path ahead but paid us no attention. I stared across the otherwise empty quad—this is where I had first seen Tyler, fighting with Addison.
Tyler pulled the cigarette from his mouth and looked at it, pinched between his finger and thumb. “I know it’s gross. I quit for a while this summer but something about being back in classes. It’s just a way to take a break I guess? Coach would kill me if he saw this.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“It’s strange running into you actually,” he said. “I was just thinking about class.”
“What about it?”
“I don’t know.” He laughed at himself. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean I’m thinking about it a lot.”
“I’m glad.” I hesitated, and then—“I wasn’t so sure. You’ve been quiet.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, I don’t mean to put you on the spot. But you have good insights. Your classmates might want to hear them.”
“I don’t know about that, but thanks.” He laughed again. His cigarette was burning down and I wondered if he wanted to be smoking it rather than talking to me. “I don’t know,” he said, “sometimes I just feel like, I’m either way ahead or way behind. Like the conversation gets interesting or gets to something I think is important and then we change topics and I’m still hung up on where we were. Like I’m still figuring it out. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
“It does.”
“Or I’m somewhere else entirely. I don’t mean smarter.” He looked down at his own hands, thinking. “But just like, my mind is a thousand miles in some totally different direction. And I don’t want to be annoying.”
“You don’t have to worry about the rest of the class. That’s my job.”
“Okay.” He smiled. “I’ll try.” He didn’t say anything more but didn’t seem inclined to go. I let a moment pass and then asked about his other classes. He said he was regretting Anthropology and just trying to get through it. But enjoying his history course, on the Roman Empire; that’s why he was in the library, working on an assignment. “But I’m kind of stuck. I don’t know if it’s the library or if I’m doing something wrong, but they never have the books I need. Or maybe I just don’t know how to find them.”
“Sawyer’s collection is pretty small.”
“I found this one that looked perfect. They have a copy down at Ohio State but it’s too late for me to put in a loan request. It won’t arrive in time.”
Behind us, the door to the library banged open.
“Kennedy’s wondering where you are, dipshit.” Addison emerged beside us. I saw his eyes fall on me and the flicker of recognition. “Oh, I’m really sorry, Dr. Lausson. I didn’t realize that was you.” Even standing still, he exuded a jocky swagger, the hard lines of his face and muscles, his easy smile.
“It’s no problem.” The sense I should explain myself pressed at me. “We just ran into each other.”
“This guy and his nasty habits,” Addison said, eyes on the burned-down stub of Tyler’s cigarette.
“Please no lecture tonight.”
Addison shook his head, but smiled. “I’m just looking out for your well-being.” He was giving Tyler a hard time, but genuine concern lay beneath. And then I felt bad: I shouldn’t have been so approving.
“Are you headed out?” Tyler asked.
“Yeah, I’m going back to P Building.” Addison turned to me. “I’ll have to check out what you’re teaching next semester. Tyler can’t stop talking about your class.”
Tyler let out a dramatic sigh, more a growl. “I thought you said you’re leaving.”
“Relax. See you in the room.” And to me—“Enjoy your evening, Dr. Lausson.”
Addison bounded down the steps, long gliding strides bisecting the void as he cut through. He wore a nylon athletic jacket. Two crisp white stripes ran across each broad shoulder down thesleeves, marking him against the surrounding night. Tyler and I watched until he disappeared from view and then, in unspoken agreement, we both stood.
