There was no regularity to any of it. They might have lectures nine to twelve every morning, but the afternoons were anyone’s guess. Last Wednesday, there’d been a rogue cardiovascular lecture. The Wednesday before, she’d spent all afternoon doing a placement in the hospital next door. Each week followed some kind of mystical rota written by the Gods of Spreadsheets and distributed to mere mortals to paper across the walls of their bedrooms.

According to the list she’d copied from today’s schedule onto the back of her hand, Susan’s afternoon would be spent at the health center over on the other side of the city. Parting ways with Kully, Susan met up with a marginally revived Grace at the bus stop, where students outnumbered regular passengers three to one. Gossiping amenably about the morning’s lectures, they squashed into what standing space remained on the first bus.

“Excuse me . . .”

Susan tensed. She knew that voice. As Grace stepped aside to make space, McGraw set down what looked like a cupboard door, propping it gently against a folded stroller with more care than if it were an actual child.

There was no avoiding him. Susan was held immobile between Grace’s backpack and a woman a little older than her mother who was muttering a constant stream of obscenities under her breath, possibly at Susan.

Surprise and wariness rippled across McGraw’s expression when he saw her.

“Susan.”

“Mm.” As she avoided his gaze, her attention flickered to the cupboard door by his feet, which McGraw mistook for interest.

“To replace one that disappeared from our kitchen in the night.” McGraw ran his hand over the grain. “Better quality than the university deserves.”

He looked at her again then, dark eyes beneath thick dark brows.

“You’re violating the contract,” Susan said, so reluctant to speak that she hardly moved her lips. McGraw issued a barely discernible sigh and turned away.

They rode for six stops before McGraw picked up his stupid cupboard door with his stupid sinewy arms and took his stupid unnecessary self out the doors and off the bus.

“Who was that?” The question exploded from Grace’s lips barely before the bus doors hissed shut. She stood on tiptoe, neck craning to get another look as he crossed the road.

“No idea.”

“Don’t lie—he knew your name!”

“A lucky guess.”

Grace looked at her askance, not yet calibrated to Susan’s level of sarcasm. “Well, next time can you tell him my name? And my address, e-mail, and availability.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Well, yes, but he’s in Plymouth, and I need a crush to pass the time.” Grace gazed thoughtfully at the spot where McGraw had been standing. “That particular gentleman was lush.”

“If you say so,” Susan replied, pulling her jacket tighter and lowering herself gently into the seething hot waters of resentment.