Occasionally, we were joined by Tits and her friends, but usually it was just us nerds—me, Nicole, Hannah, Eki, Darya (wearing her Russian roots on her face and clothes), Emily, Ward and Thomas, the cute little token gay boy.

Nicole had a crush on Darya, who was flattered but straight.

After seven hours of pizza and funny YouTube videos and Facebook chatting with the person sitting opposite us, we would head down to the vending machines in the lobby to get cookies and Cokes, and then it was five and we were screwed.

We moved around in packs, donning companions like protective cloaks. One day, classes were called off on account of twelve inches of snow. We went out on to the white, empty streets and had a snowball fight, then stole a bunch of trays from the cafeteria and used them as mini-sleds to slide along the frozen surface of Glass Lake.

Nicole enjoyed the idea of Jay. ‘It’s like one of those wonderful, doomed love stories.’

‘I mean, I hope it’s not doomed.’

‘Well, do you ever see it happening?’

‘Not really.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s a proper grown-up with a girlfriend, living somewhere in Europe, last I heard. And I’m a college freshman who barely knows him. I’d say the chances look slim.’

‘You never know what can change over time. Plus, you could always just send out some frequencies.’

‘I don’t know that I ascribe to your concept of frequencies, to be honest.’

‘You will.’

‘Right. Anyway, he’s also too rich.’

‘You’re rich.’

‘Not his kind of rich.’

I wondered again at how she lacked a reactionary bone in her body—being only inquisitive where she could have expressed a reflexive disgust—and tried to satiate her curiosity by explaining the social structure of money, which, honestly, I didn’t entirely understand myself.

‘We go to the same places and wear the same clothes, but we’re not the same. He’s in a different league of money.’

‘And that’s really important?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

She didn’t push further. Unlike Button and Cookie, Nicole asserted her affection quietly, somehow weaving together what I presumed were the opposing forces of personal space and support.

‘Hannah wants me to take down the Christmas lights.’

‘Why? They look so pretty!’

She shrugged. ‘She didn’t say. ‘

‘Are you going to do it?’

‘I guess.’

‘When?’

‘Now.’

‘Fine, c’mon, I’ll do the ones near the dressers and you take the other end.’

‘Thanks, you.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

I watched her loop out a string of lights entwined around the iron stead at the foot of her bed and copying the motion, looped lights off dresser handles and wardrobe curtain-rods. They went back to being plain wood and plain steel. Just wood, just steel. No light.

We worked without talking for a while. It made me very happy that we could.