That’s all I’m comfortable saying because there’s a lot I still haven’t processed with my dad. Mostly the idea that one day, someone could just decide they’re no longer in love with the person they married. Mom was devastated when he packed a bag and left. And Taylor and I got the whole “it’s not you, it’s me,” but clearly, neither of us was enough to make him stay. He didn’t even leave for another woman, which I might have understood in some weird way. He left to be alone. He just so happened to meet Krissy once he was alone.

Jack gets this faraway look in his eyes. Sure, we just met, and no, I don’t know him, but he does seem a bit … lost. I can’t put my finger on it, but I want to make him feel better.

“You okay?”

“Is it weird to be a bit homesick already?” he admits, and I shake my head. He looks away before returning to meet my gaze. “And that I feel a bit less homesick talking to you?”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

I try not to overanalyze the crinkle of his smile, but I can’t help that I’m already kind of maybe completely totally lost in it.

4

Benny is gone when I leave for my first class on Monday. He’s an early riser, up at 5:00 a.m. for a run before heading to the music school to practice. Apparently, all the “HiNotes”—the ridiculous moniker given to all students of CIA’s Highland School of Music, named after some famous composer I’ve never heard of—are required to log ten hours of weekly practice time outside class, and the clock starts ticking move-in weekend. Yesterday I made a joke about how he was probably meeting up with Rhett in a practice room, and he blushed and turned the tables on me and Jack.

But that’s the thing. There is no “me and Jack.”

I haven’t seen him since we ate at the dining hall. We didn’t exchange numbers, so I can’t text him. He’s not on social media. Fact, because I spent part of the day yesterday scouring Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok—so I can’t even cyberstalk him. I even tried Grindr, but no such luck. None of the headless torsos matched the one now forever burned in my mind. That little freckle under his right nipple kept me up last night.

Jack’s probably not even gay or bi or pan. I’m probably misreading all the signs, and he’s just super friendly. Vermonters do have a reputation for being free-spirited hippies, so maybe he’s one of those sensitive New Age dudes, the kind who aren’t afraid of feelings but are still very much straight. Plus, I’ve never had a boyfriend, never even been kissed, so my baseline knowledge of Interested Men stems purely from studying straight male characters played by Chris Evans in romantic comedies.

Wow, I’m a lost cause.

The next morning, I take the long way to the visual arts building. This particular path may involve a detour past Jack’s dorm. Because casual, not-at-all-planned run-ins happen, right? It’s merely a coincidence that the other night at dinner, Jack mentioned that he, too, had an 8:00 a.m. class, so the chances that we could be walking toward the academic quad at the same time would be fairly high.