She knew he knew! She hadn’t forgotten how space and sound worked. She couldn’t afford new headphones right now. It was either listen to the CD and know he could hear it—or not listen to the CD, which was . . . untenable.

Summer stopped, just past his table, and came back around to the other side. He grinned up at her.

“Is anyone sitting here?” she asked.

He kicked the chair across from him, pushing it away from the table. He was wearing a neon tank top, and his weight-lifting gloves were sitting next to his tray. She sat down anyway.

“So,” he said.

“So,” Summer conceded.

“You usually sit on the south side.”

“So do you.”

He shrugged. “The line was shorter on this side tonight. I’m trying to get to the gym.” He narrowed his eyes. “I know what you’re doing over here—you’re trying to avoid that dipshit.”

She shrugged. “It seemed advisable.”

“You should make him sit on this side, to avoid you. You can’t let him get the good soft serve in the divorce.”

“The soft serve is perfectly fine over here,” she said.

The sides of his mouth pulled down. “Is it?”

“It must be.” Summer spread her paper napkin in her lap. “All these people eat here every night. They seem happy.”

The guy looked around. “The only people who eat on this side of the cafeteria are freshmen and the lactose-intolerant.”

Summer shook her head. None of this mattered. She was too sad to eat ice cream. “I know you know,” she said.

He was grinning at her. He had a very big head. And a very big smile. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a month. “What do I know?”

“That I’m listening to that CD you gave me. I like it, okay?”

He grinned down at his tray. He had two dinner plates wedged onto the tray, with two servings of roasted chicken. He’d covered it all with spinach and cottage cheese. He also had three bananas. “I did know that.” He looked up at her. “It’s pretty good shit, huh?”

“Yes,” Summer said, sounding irritated, “it’s very good. I listen to it all the time.” She leaned over her own tray (where there was a very normal cheeseburger with a normal serving of French fries). “How did you know? I mean—was that just a mix that you had left over from the last time you got dumped? Is that your go-to breakup mix?”

He looked offended. “No. I made it for you.”

“But you don’t even know me!” Summer practically shouted.

“You’re right!” he practically shouted back. (He was so loud.) “But I know a lot about what kind of music you like.”

Summer shuddered. Mostly for effect. “Are you listening to me listen to music?”