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“Because you are a genius,” Vee says. “I bet you could teach the class.”

I nod. Yeah, I probably could.

Christine points a fry at Lincoln. “So…give me all the details. Quinn said you transferred for an offer you couldn’t resist.”

“It’s not really much more than that. I have five years counting this year, and they offered me a full ride.”

“Damn,” Sarah says, “I would have transferred, too. Free schooling is the dream.”

Lincoln shrugs, but his mouth ticks up. He likes the fact that the school wanted him enough to offer a full ride. I make a note of that the same way I make a note of everything else that matters to my friends.

“So why aren’t you rooming with Quinn?” Christine asks.

“It was after room assignments,” I say.

“Well, maybe you can switch so you don’t have to deal with the bumbling hockey player the whole year,” she suggests.

“Maybe,” I say. But honestly, I don’t mind Daniel. He does seem to be making some kind of effort, unless I’m reading it wrong. I’m not sure. And if he isn’t loud, he’ll be better than Greg from last year.

He also showers more often than Greg did. It’s been three days and he’s taken four showers. As long as he cleans up after himself, it’s fine.

I’ve been cataloguing the rest of the information I know about him in the same way. Everything has its place and, if I’m sharing a space with him, I have to know things so that I can be a good roommate, too.

He’s built like he plays hockey. Toned. A lot of muscles in his legs, arms, and across his shoulders, which makes sense if you spend that many hours on skates. He stocked the mini fridge almost immediately. Full of fruit, vegetables, and cheese sticks. Probably for the energy he burns at practice every morning. That’s efficient. I respect efficient.

His hair is a little long and floppy. He almost needs a band to keep it out of his face when he leans over to tie his shoes because the caramel strands fall into his eyes each time. He just pushes it back with his fingers like he forgets it’s there.

And when he smiles, it’s with his whole face.

It’s an effective smile. People would respond to it. He’d probably be a good candidate for the sports posters they have around campus. It actually changes the shape of his eyes, making them crinkle slightly. I noted that on move-in day, after my beaker broke, when he was still apologizing and the smile snuck in anyway, as if he was trying to charm me or something.

None of that is a problem. Like I said, he’s not terrible as far as roommates go.

Christine steals another fry. “Wait. You’re thinking about him. Have you found someone that might interest you?”

“I’m not,” I scoff.

“You were staring at the table like it had the perfect thesis written on it.”

“I was eating.”

“You were cataloguing,” Lincoln says, which is unhelpful and also accurate.

Christine’s eyes go bright. “Cataloguing a person is step one, Quinn.”

“Cataloguing a roommate and placing them in a box is normal,” I say. “All of it matters when you share a space. Height. Schedule. Noise level. Shower frequency. Food choices. Whether he replaces the toilet paper. That’s not interest. It’s not wanting to date. That’s not even—” I stop, because I can hear myself building a list, and lists make her worse. “He broke my beaker. I’m not interested.”

Sarah’s eyes go wide, and I ignore her while I focus back on Christine. I push my glasses up my nose to see her smile more clearly. She might not let this go. She proves it as she points at me.

“You made a list.”

Vee makes a small sound that might be a laugh, and Sarah nudges her.

“I told you already. I have a four year plan, and it doesn’t involve dating. Anyone.”

She presses her lips together and looks at Lincoln. “Can you please tell our boy that sex doesn’t have to mean dating?”

Lincoln laughs. “I thought you said you were his best friend. Quinn could be a monk at this point. I don’t think he’s ever dated or crushed on anyone.”