He felt the tug of it, leaving Sheria, more than he would have expected. He had only meant to say goodbye in a friendly way; he stood at the junction of the wings of the women’s side of the building and listened to the wind pulse along the exterior, watched it carry a fold of newspaper high in the air toward the pines beyond. Sheria was special, he felt her emotion as if it matched his own, and it surprised him. She was a person who felt too much. The dorm had become even more of a home than he knew if he was so sorry to leave it.

Otis was out of his room, the door closed, the shade pulled. Ben’s room was open and Heart pounded a bass line on the stereo, Dreamboat Annie, “Crazy on You.” Tate was spitting blood into a bowl and looked like he’d been in a fight the night before. Some bruising over his eye gave him the aura of a movie thug. He had a pint of brown liquor in his hand and took a hit from it.

“What happened to you?”

“Wrecked my car. Drunk. I knocked a tooth out.”

“Sorry. At least it was just your head.”

“Funny fucker.”

“Bad wreck? What happened?”

“Ask your buddy Ben. We were trying to swap drivers while we were on the road. We had the top down, thought it would be a kick.”

“What? You guys are nuts.”

“It was his idea. And there’s not a scratch on him. Crazy-ass idiot. Showing off to Jenny. Owes me for a fender.”

It sounded to Ronny like both of the guys were idiots, as far as that went. Made him think again, what was it in Ben that made him do those things? “Where is he?”

“In the dorm some fucking where. Shit, I don’t know.” Tate wasn’t in the mood for any talk, glaring at his TV, watching a Road Runner cartoon. Angry about the wreck or maybe sore because Ronny wouldn’t help him with the paper.

So he might not see Ben again till fall, having missed him now. The thought was sobering. Walking back up the stairs, to his suite door, he focused on the heat of the concrete, warmth on his bare feet. Two of the custodians were having an easy morning out by the parking lot, sitting on the ground, sipping cold drinks—people here at school called them sodas or pop but he couldn’t get used to that. He remembered what Tate had said, they’d been switching drivers in a moving car. Showing off for his girlfriend. Ronny stopped thinking after that, standing in the suite door, listening to the rooms. A slight smell of dirty socks, stale sweat, from the open doors.

He waited at his desk, turning on the light, picking up his book. Kelly had made an effort to clean the room again, the trash can fragrant of egg rolls and fried cabbage. Promptly on schedule, Jamal knocked on Ronny’s door.