Deep blue matched my eyes almost exactly, too, a fact that seemed to go entirely unnoticed here. I handed him his favorite peach-flavored candy, sent me by family from Georgia, and sat down on the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of my laptop, while he took the bed.

“So how’s it going with Sébastien?” he asked. “Has he shown any signs of being curious about homosexuality?”

“Will you stop?”

“What? I’m just checking. I’d hate to waste a guy that cute.”

“Yeah, you know, you and a whole bevy of females think that when they see him with me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hey. You do all right.”

I’m just surrounded by people who lavish me with praise, I’m telling you. When dating a sex god, a girl does not need to hear she “does all right,” even if it’s true. “So what do you think I should wear? This top—close your eyes”—I turned my back and did a quick change, trying to concentrate on clothes—“or this top?”

“The black one,” he said. “Definitely. But straighten the neckline.”

“Damn it. What’s wrong with the blue sweater?”

“Black is more neutral. Do you have a necklace or something that will go with it? When are you meeting him?”

I glanced at my watch and swallowed. “In fifteen minutes.”

Another lift of his eyebrows. “You’re going to be late.”

“Yeah,” I said. Then I burst into tears.

“Oh, boy.” He pressed his tail more firmly into the bed and gripped the edge of it with both hands, deeply uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to do! I’m leaving in a month. He’s just so—okay, so I won’t go to Prague. That’s fine. But that only gives us two more weeks!”

“Have you paid for Cambridge, then?” he checked, surprised. “You didn’t tell me.”

“No.” I sniffed and rubbed a finger under my nose.

Philippe glanced at my hand and looked pained. If I got anywhere near him with it, he’d be bolting for disinfectant. “Are you going to go to Cambridge?”

“I don’t know!” I wailed. “Even if I don’t, I’ve still got to leave by mid-August. I’m in the middle of my degree! So what good does it do to put off leaving for six more weeks? It will just make things worse!”

“I don’t know.” He stared at me. Long-term commitment was not part of our dorm way of life. We all knew we were only here for a school year. This was the year of the fling, the year of the hookup, whether you thought a fling was a kiss, as Adela did, or whether you thought it was a lot more, as most of the rest of the people in the house did. “Maybe you’re getting in over your head.”

“Right,” I said. “Right.”