Fangirl

cute.
    “But there wouldn’t be time in class for all of us to read,” she said.
    “We’ll probably break up into groups first,” he said, again like she should know this.
    “Oh … I’m kind of new around here.”
    “Are you a freshman?”
    She nodded and rolled her eyes.
    “How did a freshman get into Professor Piper’s three-hundred-level class?”
    “I asked.”
    Nick raised his furry eyebrows and pushed out his bottom lip, impressed. “Do you really think a pen is a terrible idea?”
    “I’m not sure what you want me to say now,” Cath answered.
    *   *   *
    “Do you have an eating disorder?” Reagan asked.
    Cath was sitting on her bed, studying.
    Reagan was holding on to her closet door, hopping, trying to pull on a black heeled boot. She was probably on her way to work—Reagan was always on her way somewhere. She treated their room like a way station, a place she stopped between class and the library, between her job at the Student Union and her job at the Olive Garden. A place to change clothes, dump books, and pick up Levi.
    Sometimes there were other guys, too. Already in the last month, there’d been a Nathan and a Kyle. But none of them seemed to be a permanent part of Reagan’s solar system like Levi was.
    Which made Levi part of Cath’s solar system, too. He’d seen her on campus today and walked with her all the way to Oldfather Hall, talking about some mittens he’d bought outside the Student Union. “Hand-knit. In Ecuador. Have you ever seen an alpaca, Cather? They’re like the world’s most adorable llamas. Like, imagine the cutest llama that you can, and then just keep going. And their wool—it’s not really wool, it’s fiber, and it’s hypoallergenic.…”
    Reagan was staring at Cath now, frowning. She was wearing tight black jeans and a black top. Maybe she was going out, not to work.
    “Your trash can is full of energy bar wrappers,” Reagan said.
    “You were looking through my trash?” Cath felt a rush of anger.
    “Levi was looking for a place to spit out his gum.… So? Do you have an eating disorder?”
    “No,” Cath said, pretty sure it was exactly what she’d say if she did have an eating disorder.
    “Then why don’t you eat real food?”
    “I do.” Cath clenched her fists. Her skin felt drawn and tight. “Just. Not here.”
    “Are you one of those freaky eaters?”
    “No. I—” Cath looked up at the ceiling, deciding that this was one of those times when the truth would be simpler than a lie. “—I don’t know where the dining hall is.”
    “You’ve been living here more than a month.”
    “I know.”
    “And you haven’t found the dining hall?”
    “I haven’t actually looked.”
    “Why haven’t you asked someone? You could have asked me.”
    Cath rolled her eyes and looked at Reagan. “Do you really want me asking you stupid questions?”
    “If they’re about food, water, air, or shelter—yes. Jesus, Cath, I’m your roommate.”
    “Okay,” Cath said, turning back to her book, “so noted.”
    “So, do you want me to show you where the dining hall is?”
    “No, that’s okay.”
    “You can’t keep living off diet bars. You’re running out.”
    “I’m not running out.…”
    Reagan sighed. “Levi might have eaten a few.”
    “You’re letting your boyfriend steal my protein bars?” Cath leaned over her bed to check on her stash—all the boxes were open.
    “He said he was doing you a favor,” Reagan said. “Forcing the issue. And he’s not my boyfriend. Exactly.”
    “This is a violation,” Cath said angrily, forgetting for a moment that Reagan was probably the most intimidating person she’d ever met.
    “Get your shoes,” Reagan said. “I’m showing you where the dining hall is.”
    “No.” Cath could already feel the anxiety starting to tear her stomach into nervous little pieces. “It’s not just that.… I don’t like new places. New situations. There’ll be all those people, and I won’t know where to sit—I don’t want to go.”
    Reagan sat at the end of her own bed, folding her arms. “Have you been going to class?”
    “Of course.”
    “How?”
    “Class is different,” Cath said. “There’s something to focus on. It’s still bad, but it’s tolerable.”
    “Are you on drugs?”
    “No.”
    “Maybe you should be.…”
    Cath pushed her fists into her bed. “This isn’t any of your business. You don’t even know me.”
    “This,” Reagan said. “This is why I didn’t