“Are you stupid, boy?” the cabbie said. “I could’ve killed you.”

Matt apologized, though he wasn’t sure why, since he’d been shoved into traffic. Mugged right in front of the guy, though the assailant had picked the worst victim possible, a college student in borrowed clothes with no wallet, money, or phone. Matt’s eyes darted around, looking for the man in the ball cap. An obese guy scuttled over and offered him a hand up.

Matt yanked himself to his feet, and the two made their way to the sidewalk. Matt’s side ached from the fall. He watched as the cabbie stormed back to his car amid the cacophony of honking horns.

Matt turned to thank the man who’d helped him up, when he was assaulted with camera flashes.

“You mind?” Matt said, realizing the guy was one of the paparazzi.

“You said you were okay.” He said it like it gave him permission to invade Matt’s space.

“Did you see who pushed me?” Matt asked.

“Pushed you?” The paparazzo said it almost with glee. Like the value of the photos had just increased. “I was just gettin’ here. I didn’t see nothing until I heard the commotion. I thought you tripped.” The guy looked up and down the street. “You’re Matt Pine, right?”

Matt didn’t answer. He started walking toward the lobby of the dorm tower.

“Someone pushed you?” the guy said, keeping pace. “Who’d wanna do that?”

Matt kept walking, the pain in his hip and leg from hitting the asphalt intensifying.

“How are you feeling? Did the Mexicans tell you what happened to your family? Have you spoken with your brother? Do you think this will help with getting Danny a pardon?” the man asked while simultaneously taking shots with his camera.

Matt wanted to tell the guy off. Punch him in the face. But he just limped to the dorm entrance. Turning his head from the camera, Matt pushed the red intercom button. At last, a guard appeared and buzzed him inside.

Normally, the guards were unfriendly and sent you to the student center to get a new security card before letting you in. But today the guard just put a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you to your room, Matt.”

The guard must have heard the news. The man quietly escorted Matt to the tenth floor and unlocked the door to his room. Jane was in the entryway. She was bleary-eyed and uncharacteristically disheveled. She flung her arms around him. Matt noticed that the communal area, the small prison cell that passed as the living room, was crowded with friends. The gang from freshman year was on the IKEA couch and beanbag chairs and spots on the floor. Empty beer and wine bottles from the vigil were piled in the recycling bin in the corner.