“Financial aid office,” I answer. “Past it, that’s the counseling center.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I, uh … all students have a certain number of sessions allotted each semester. You can request more, if you want, but they don’t have the staff for everyone to show up, like, every day.”
“Did you go?”
I nod. “A few times. It was nice, talking to someone who didn’t know anything about me. I guess she must have had access to my information, but she acted like we were total strangers. I told her about Skylar and about my dad, and it … it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it’d be. I don’t know if I’ll go back again, but I think it was good that I went.”
Wren squeezes my hand. “I talked to a therapist after what happened with Third. His name was Dr. Hurts, ironically.”
“Did it help?”
“In some ways. He said the same things my parents had—that it wasn’t my fault and that however I was feeling was valid. I think I resented that going to see him meant I couldn’t totally pretend it had never happened. Looking back, I needed that so I could … process it. So, yeah, it helped.”
This time, I squeeze hers. “Good.”
She points at a glass building ahead. “What’s that?”
“The giant molecule models hanging from the ceiling didn’t give it away? That’s the science center.”
“I thought those were decorative balls or something.”
I snort as we continue toward the sports center.
Showing Wren around campus takes about an hour and a half. We wind up reaching the main dining hall right in the midst of the dinner rush.
“You hungry?” Wren asks, surveying the crowds of chattering students streaming in.
“Yeah,” I reply. “But we don’t need to eat here. There are places intown?—”
“I want to eat here,” she insists.
“Okay,” I say dubiously.
The dining hall food isn’t bad, but it’s nothing special either. And it’s definitely not up to the standards of someone who’s spent most of the past year eating authentic Italian food. But Wren seems set on it, so I follow her inside. She tries to pay for her own meal ticket, and we get into an argument about it.
I win.
“Thanks,” Wren says as we walk toward the salad bar.
“You could have said that to start with,” I comment dryly.
“Hey.” Wren tugs my sleeve.
My steps slow.
“I know you think I’m spoiled and used to people paying my way?—”
“I don’t think either of those things, Wren. I think that you came here to see me, and the least I can do is buy you dinner. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
I want to kiss her. Right here, in the center of the dining hall, despite being annoyed seeing other couples do the same.
I want to tell her that every aspect of her life I’ve ever pretended to be annoyed by was me attempting to not lose sight of how incompatible we were.
Before I can do or say anything, someone says my name. My head turns left reluctantly, but I manage a smile when I see Lillian Hale. We share a physics course and wound up in the same study group.
