“Doesn’t really do it justice,” he said, looking at the pictures he’d taken. “But my dad will think it’s cool.”

He was trying to be friendly; trying to draw her out. She should allow herself to be drawn.

“So,” she said, “you go to church?”

“Yeah. Everybody at home was sure I’d get ‘distracted’ in New York and end up partying all the time, so my dad made me promise I’d join a church when I got here. Kind of a ready-made group of friends.”

“Like a fraternity,” she said.

“But coed. And they take anybody.”

On the way back to the dorm, in a cab again, Claudia asked Trevor if he’d go with her to Ben’s party on Saturday night. He agreed, and the next morning she realized that she didn’t have a dress or pair of heels at the dorm. She Googled Prada’s Spring Runway, clicked through, and found the rose-colored romper with bell sleeves she’d tried on a few weeks ago at the store on lower Broadway. Hopefully it was still in stock in her size. A few more clicks and she had two shoe options, a bag, a jacket, and three possible necklaces.

A man answered the phone at the store: Yes, of course, Miss Castro My pleasure, Miss Castro. We’ll messenger them over right away. Thank you so much.

On Saturday night, she showered and put on the new outfit. She doubted anyone would comment on an especially heavy makeup job, and Trevor had come up with the idea to say she had an allergic reaction to mascara if anyone asked about the redness in her eye. I can pull this off, she thought. What could be more normal than Claudia bringing a new guy to make Ben jealous? But when Trevor showed up at her door he looked like a waiter from Chili’s. Cheap plaid shirt, tan pants, and tassled loafers. Her friends were going to eat him alive.

TREVOR

A couple hours before he was supposed to meet Claudia for her ex’s party, Trevor came back from the library to nap and shower. As he walked from the elevator to his room he saw a kid with a guitar strapped to his back knocking on Claudia’s door.

“Hey, you know Claudia, right?” asked the kid.

“Yeah.”

“Is she around?”

“I guess not if she isn’t answering.” Trevor had seen him on their floor but didn’t know his name. “Did you text her?”

“Yeah.” He looked frustrated.

“You okay?” asked Trevor.

“Your friend’s kind of a bitch, dude.”

Trevor narrowed his eyes, an unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, aggravation flaring inside him. “Fuck you,” he said.