No.“Yeah. It’s fine.” I smile politely, searching for another place to sit.
"I'm Serena," she says. She has the smile that makes rooms feel warmer. "I've seen you around campus."
"Adela."
"I know." She tilts her head slightly. "You're Cody's girlfriend."
Something moves through me at the name. I keep my expression easy. "Yeah."
"He's a good guy," she says. Warm. Sincere. "We're all so relieved he's okay."
"Me too," I say, wondering if everyone on campus knows him and knows I’m his girlfriend. Good lord.
She asks if I want to share the table, and I say, "Sure," because what else can I say? We sit across from each other for forty minutes while she studies, and I try to read. I mostly look atthe empty chair between us, where Theo usually sits, and think about his body over mine in the alleyway.
When I start gathering my things, she says, "It was so nice to meet you. We should hang out."
"Yeah," I say.
“What’s your number?”
I hesitate for a moment, but she smiles kindly, so I give it to her.
She enters it in her phone and says, “Okay. Got it. Maybe we can meet here and study together.”
I nod. “Sure, yeah. That’d be great.”
I smile all the way to the elevator.
Serena.Serena? Where do I know that name?
My ten o'clock lecture is European Political Theory.
I sit in the third row and take notes on Rousseau and think about Theo's annotation in the margins of The Prince.Power is the only honest language. Everything else is translation.I wrote back that power is just the symptom, and he wrote back that thetreatment becomes the disease, and I haven't been able to stop turning that over since I read it.
The treatment becomes the disease.
I look at my notes without seeing them.
He is so specific in the way he thinks. Not just intelligent — precise. Like every idea has to survive interrogation before he'll commit to it. I want to know how that happened. I want to know about the scar on his forehead, his forensic psychologist mother, and what he's like in a room when he's not performing.
I want to know what he's like when nobody's watching.
The thought sits in my chest with a warmth I'm not supposed to feel.
I write something down about the general will and feel guilty about it all.
I'm walking the two blocks from Elm Hall at eleven forty-five when my phone buzzes for the third time since I woke up. Cody. I've been letting them go, but three times means I need to answer, or he'll decide something is wrong.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice warm. Easy. A girl walking to work without a care. "Sorry, I've been getting ready."
"I was starting to think you were ignoring me." He says it lightly, but it isn't light.
"Never." I shift my bag on my shoulder. "Are you going to the game tonight?"
"No." A beat. "Doctor's orders. I'm not cleared to leave the house yet."
"That's frustrating." I mean it, even if not in the way he thinks I do.
