Also, once, when Michelle was holding the elevator for Summer, this very guy had gotten impatient and smacked Michelle’s hand away, and the elevator had closed while Summer was running for it.

“It’s not that loud,” she said.

“It’s pretty fucking loud from where I’m trying to study for a quantum mechanics test. Your speakers are sitting on my ceiling.”

She grimaced. She had no idea this guy lived directly below her. That was an unpleasant thought.

“I’m losing my mind,” he said. “I can hear this song in my sleep. It follows me around campus like a ghost. That Twilight Zone piano . . . I can’t take it. I know you’re sad about your breakup—”

“How do you know that?” Had Charlie told him? Did Charlie talk to this Neanderthal? They did live on the same floor . . .

The guy rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn’t think you were listening to ‘Silent All These Years’ on repeat because you were happy. Either you just got dumped, or you’re having a stroke.”

Summer was blinking. There were tears in her eyes. (It felt good.) “I didn’t get dumped.”

“Oh.” The guy looked thoughtful. “You broke up with him? Good for you. It was about time.”

Summer was crying a little harder. (It felt great.) “I don’t want to talk to you about this.”

“And I don’t want to talk to you!” He waved his finger between them. “This is a win-win situation. Just put on headphones.”

Her headphones were broken. “No.”

“Okay, don’t put on headphones, I don’t care. But I will definitely tell my RA if I hear any more Tori Amos tonight.”

Summer was really crying now. She knew it was mostly embarrassment and anger and the fact that she couldn’t handle confrontation, but it felt fantastic. Like she’d tapped into herself again. Like something was moving inside her.

“Just leave me alone,” she said.

She didn’t slam the door in his face, but she closed it with vigor. Then she crawled onto her bed. She was still crying. It felt so good. It was such a relief. Like her emotions and body were in synch with her brain again. She cried into her pillow until she didn’t have anything left. Maybe now she’d be able to sleep . . .

She was just drifting off when there was another knock at her door.

Summer got up and looked through the peephole. It was the big guy again. He had a dumb-looking tank top on. He loved tank tops. (Summer had seen more of this guy’s armpit hair than her own.)

She opened the door. “I haven’t been listening to anything.” Her voice was hoarse.

“No, I know.” He was looking at her with his eyebrows down, like he felt bad about something. “Look, I made you this.”

He held out a CD in a clear case.

“What is it?”