Tom’s dramatic coloring was what he and Hannah first talked about on the night they finally acknowledged each other.

Tom had been a friend of Rob’s—one of the few people Rob had deemed worthy of his attention during his three years at school. The two young men had met in a women’s studies class that fulfilled the campus’s “cultural understanding” course requirement, which had been created just a few years before, shortly after swastikas were found painted on bathroom stalls in a few of the dorms.

Tom and Rob had taken to getting beers after their Wednesday afternoon women’s studies “discussion lab,” which Rob described to Hannah as “twelve women in fur-lined boots talking about the potential for fourth-wave feminism.”

“Based on the forty-five minutes of unintelligible bullshit I hear each week, I fear for your gender,” Rob told Hannah during one of their illicit, late-night discussions. Rob had arrived shortly after eleven thirty, and they’d quickly agreed that they were both too tired for physical intimacy. Rob positioned himself so his head was on Hannah’s chest, which put them in an uncharacteristically tender embrace. Hannah stroked the top of his head with her fingers and wondered for a split second if, with Bee’s approval, she and Rob could be more than what they were.

Rob then snapped her out of the fantasy with talk of his new friend. “You should really spend some more time with Tom though,” he said, thoughtfully. “He said he’ll probably come to the show on Friday.”

“I’m shocked that you like that guy,” Hannah responded, moving her fingers in light circles on his scalp. She stared at the ceiling, examining the mistakes in her fall-semester paint job, the small splashes of green that had found their way onto the light fixtures, probably because she and Vicki had been drinking while they decorated.

“I thought you said I should make more male friends.” Rob shifted away from her and moved so he was on his back, his hands behind his head.

“I know,” Hannah said, sighing and shivering as she let him go. “There’s just something about Tom that makes me feel weirdly defensive. I’ve barely talked to him the two times we’ve met, and I feel like he’s staring at me, judging me.”

“I think you’re being neurotic. He’s a good guy,” Rob said. Within minutes, they were both asleep.

It was just a few days later that Hannah had her first real conversation with Tom. They were all at some forgettable house party, a bunch of acquaintances all connected by the band Ostrom and Madison, named for the off-campus intersection where Rob had been cited by a police officer for public urination in his freshman year. The classic rock–inspired group featured Rob on guitar, Vicki’s then-boyfriend Rich on drums, Matt Dorfman on bass, and a musical theater major named Jared Novak doing lead vocals. No one ever called Jared Novak by just his first name. He was always Jared Novak, said quickly as if it was one word.