“You coming?” Kelly asks, stopping.

“Sure,” I say warily, following her out the door. Frank’s sitting on a bench outside. He quickly extinguishes the cigarette he’s smoking and throws it into a nearby trash can. He hoists the handheld back onto his shoulder and falls into step behind me and Kelly.

“So where do you live?” I ask Kelly, walking fast and hoping that Frank will get the message. He doesn’t, and just walks faster. After a few seconds, his breath starts coming in great gasps, like it’s hard for him to keep up. Reluctantly, I slow down, imagining the chaos that will ensue if my cameraman has a heart attack in the middle of the quad.

“Ontario Hall. In a suite, which is cool. And I also got to pick my roommate.” She pushes her hair behind her ears. “You should have seen the freak I had to live with last year. But I guess you probably know all about that,” she says, smiling and tilting her head toward Frank.

“Yeah,” I say, not sure if this is a dig or not.

“Does that ever get annoying?” she asks.

“Kind of, at first,” I admit. “But the weird thing now is that I don’t even really notice it. It’s like he’s just become a part of me.”

“That’s cool,” she says, slowing down as we come up on her residence hall. “Hey, listen, if you ever need any help with your photography, I’m all about it. I mean, not that you’re bad or anything,” she adds quickly. “It’s just that I know getting used to college classes can be hard.”

“That’d be great,” I say honestly.

“So I’ll see you next class,” she says. “Maybe we can get lunch or something. Meeting people sucks when you’re a freshman, and it’s probably even harder with . . . you know.” She rolls her eyes to show it doesn’t bother her.

Kelly smiles, and I smile back. Yay! My first out-of-the-house, non-Grant friend! And to think it all happened because my professor humiliated me.

When I walk into the house, Simone and Jasmine are in the kitchen. Simone’s stirring something in a huge tainless-steel bowl, and Jasmine’s looking over her shoulder. The counter is strewn with mixing bowls, flour, vanilla, sugar, and other baking necessities.

“Good,” she says, watching Simone stir. “Make sure you get all of it, even the flour that’s on the side of the pan.”

“Whatcha guys doin’?” I ask, sitting down at the counter and looking at the recipe book that’s open to a picture of chocolate peanut butter cookies.

“Making cookies,” Simone says, and then flushes. She uses her wrist to push a stray auburn curl off her forehead.