She was working on a tricky scene—Simon and Baz arguing about whether vampires could ever truly be considered good and also whether the two of them should go to the graduation ball together. It was all supposed to be very funny and romantic and thoughtful, which were usually Cath’s specialties. (She was pretty good with treachery, too. And talking dragons.) But she couldn’t get past, “Simon swept his honey brown hair out of his eyes and sighed.” She couldn’t even get Baz to move. She couldn’t stop thinking about Reagan and Levi sitting behind her. Her brain was stuck on INTRUDER ALERT!
Plus she was starving. As soon as Reagan and Levi left the room for dinner, Cath was going to eat an entire jar of peanut butter. If they ever left for dinner—Reagan kept banging on like she was going to type right through the desk, and Levi kept not leaving, and Cath’s stomach was starting to growl.
She grabbed a protein bar and walked out of the room, thinking she’d just take a quick walk down the hall to clear her head.
But the hallway was practically a meet-and-greet. Every door was propped open but theirs. Girls were milling around, talking and laughing. The whole floor smelled like burnt microwave popcorn. Cath slipped into the bathroom and sat in one of the stalls, unwrapping her protein bar and letting nervous tears dribble down her cheeks.
God, she thought. God. Okay. This isn’t that bad. There’s actually nothing wrong, actually. What’s wrong, Cath? Nothing.
She felt tight everywhere. Snapping. And her stomach was on fire.
She took out her phone and wondered what Wren was doing. Probably choreographing dance sequences to Lady Gaga songs. Probably trying on her roommate’s sweaters. Probably not sitting on a toilet, eating an almond-flaxseed bar.
Cath could call Abel … but she knew he was leaving for Missouri Tech tomorrow morning. His family was throwing him a huge party tonight with homemade tamales and his grandmother’s coconut yoyos—which were so special, they didn’t even sell them in the family bakery. Abel worked in the panadería, and his family lived above it. His hair always smelled like cinnamon and yeast.… Jesus, Cath was hungry.
She pushed her protein-bar wrapper into the feminine-hygiene box and rinsed off her face before she went back to her room.
Reagan and Levi were walking out, thank God. And finally.
“See ya,” Reagan said.
“Rock on.” Levi smiled.
Cath felt like collapsing when the door closed behind them.
She grabbed another protein bar, flopped onto the old wooden captain’s chair—she was starting to like this chair—and opened a drawer to prop up her foot.
Simon swept his honey brown hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Just because I can’t think of any heroic vampires doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
Baz stopped trying to levitate his steamer trunk and gave Simon a flash of gleaming fang. “Good guys wear white,” Baz said. “Have you ever tried to get blood out of a white cape?”
*
Selleck Hall was a dormitory right in the middle of campus. You could eat there even if you didn’t live there. Cath usually waited in the lobby for Wren and Courtney, so she wouldn’t have to walk into the cafeteria alone.
“So what’s your roommate like?” Courtney asked as they moved through the salad bar line. She asked it like she and Cath were old friends—like Cath had any idea what Courtney was like, outside of her taste for cottage cheese with peaches.
The salad bar at Selleck was completely wack. Cottage cheese with peaches, canned pears with shredded cheddar. “What is up with this?” Cath asked, lifting a scoop of cold kidney and green bean salad.
“Maybe it’s another Western Nebraska thing,” Wren said. “There are guys in our dorm who wear cowboy hats, like, all the time, even when they’re just walking down the hall.”
“I’m gonna get a table,” Courtney said.
“Hey”—Cath watched Wren pile vegetables on her plate—“did we ever write any fic with Simon and Baz dancing?”
“I don’t remember,” Wren said. “Why? Are you writing a dance scene?”
“Waltzing. Up on the ramparts.”
“Romantic.” Wren looked around the room for Courtney.
“I’m worried that I’m making Simon too fluffy.”
“Simon is fluffy.”
“I wish you were reading it,” Cath said, following her to the table.
“Isn’t every ninth-grader in North America already reading it?” Wren sat down next to Courtney.
“And Japan,” Cath said, sitting. “I’m weirdly huge in Japan.”
Courtney leaned toward Cath, swooping in, like she was in on some big secret. “Cath, Wren told me that you write Simon Snow stories. That’s so cool. I’m a huge Simon Snow fan. I read all the books when I was a kid.”
Cath unwrapped her sandwich skeptically. “They’re not over,” she said.
Courtney took a bite of her cottage cheese, not catching the correction.
“I mean,” Cath said, “the books aren’t over. Book eight doesn’t come out until next year.…”
“Tell us about your roommate,” Wren said, smiling flatly at Cath.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Then make something up.”
Wren was irritated. Which irritated Cath. But then Cath thought about how glad she was to be eating food that required silverware and talking to someone who wasn’t a stranger—and decided to make an effort with Wren’s shiny new roommate.
“Her name is Reagan. And she has reddish brown hair.… And she smokes.”
Courtney wrinkled her nose. “In your room?”