He didn’t cross paths with Iris again until months into the new year. She stayed on campus more, went to parties, but David kept his distance. (He’d ask Ray: “She still pissed at me?” Ray: “Yup!”) He’d fallen in with a new crowd of Leah’s anyway, centred on a small old house in Northeast. The house had a name and its name was Arnold and its walls were papered with art prints and jokes and photographs of loved people. The bathroom sported one of those signs over the shitter that said, PLEASE DO NOT THROW CIGARETTE BUTTS IN URINAL. IT MAKES THEM SOGGY AND HARD TO LIGHT. Thirtyish people drifted in and out of this crowd, but only four lived in the actual house, sweet considerate people all, expats from eastern Montana who’d gone to high school together. One, a moody girl who wore bandanas, had transitioned years back, and she told David, “Hey, if you wanna talk, you know. I can be nice.” But all four were always nice. They hosted a Rock Band night every Tuesday, and David would hang there in a dress and heels and straightened hair. At one a.m., he’d change into pants and sneakers and take the last bus home. He would shower, and then stand in his room naked and put his head against the wall, and he wouldn’t leave the house again until he had to, and once, he chain-smoked out the window until the sun came up. In late spring, Iris IM’d him. Hey kid.

They met at a neighbourhood bar. David got there early, and then Iris swept up to him in her white glasses. Her nails were silver. She said, “Fuck, it’s good to see you. I’m starving. What’s the food here?”

“I hope you like tater tots.”

“This place would have fucking tater tots. This whole town is turning into a middle school.” She hailed the bartender with her eyes on the menu. “Let me have a pint of PBR and the fries.”

“Oh, you don’t want to order the food.”

Iris put the menu down. “What do you mean?” The bartender was a young guy with pretty eyes. “I’m hungry, of course I do.”

“It’s not good.” The bartender pulled her beer and shook his head as if he, too, was just as disappointed. “Try C Bar across the street.” He nodded to the door. “Their food’s great.”

“But I want to eat here!” Iris said, audibly bouncing between enraged and confused. “I want to drink with my friend, and I just need some calories. I literally don’t care if you dump astronaut food on a plate. Can I not just order what’s on your menu?”

“I’d rather you didn’t!”

They went back and forth, and the bartender was pretty persistent, but it was hard to win an argument with Iris, and eventually, she had a plate of fries. She showered them in salt and ate one, and then looked from her food to David.

For half a second, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she took him in.