I dropped his arm. “How dare you?!”
He shrugged.
“Have you ever even seen it?”
No response.
“Well, that settles it,” I said, the two of us peeling off Belmont and onto the Buck Building’s flagstone pathway. “Please be at Daggett by 7:45 tonight. We’ll watchSurvivor, and then chart out our map.”
Luke sighed. “Will there be snacks?”
I smirked. “Do youwantsnacks?”
“If you’re forcing me to watch reality TV, then yes.”
“Listen, it’s a reality TVcompetition,” I told him. “LikeThe Amazing Race, orTop Chef.”
“Which I’m guessing you also watch.”
I smiled. “Amazing Racestarts Friday.”
Luke rolled his eyes, and I laughed as I pulled open the building’s front door. We crossed the lobby’s well-worn marble floor and then turned left down the hallway, Dr. Latham’s classroom at the very end. Luke was in his Immigration Theories elective.
“What kind of snacks?” I asked once we were outside the door. “Sweet? Savory?”
“How about,” Luke said, “a nice cheese plate, with some charcuterie”—he thought for a second—“and maybe an assortment of macarons for dessert.”
I nodded. “And sparkling or still water?”
“Still.”
“Okay.”
“With a lemon wedge.”
“Ice?”
“Yes, crushed.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you for being so accommodating.”
“I try.”
Luke smirked and turned to go. “See you later.”
“7:45,” I responded, and after waiting for him to disappear inside the classroom, I retraced my steps down the hall and broke into a sprint once I was back outside.
Because the Buck Building was for history, and I had French.
French was in Knowles Hall.
Eight minutes in the opposite direction.
And class started in three.
I showered after dinner, since the rumor about Humpty Dumplings turned out to be true; you walked out smelling like you’d bathed in Chinese food.
