Fangirl

in here, especially now that Reagan’s boyfriend, Levi, was standing guard—or sitting guard, whatever—out in the hall. Cath would feel better if she could just talk to somebody. She wondered if it was too soon to call Wren.…
    She called her dad instead. And left a voice mail.
    She texted Abel. “hey. one down. what up?”
    She opened her sociology book. Then opened her laptop. Then got up to open a window. It was warm out. People were chasing each other with Nerf guns outside a fraternity house across the street. Pi-Kappa-Weird-Looking O.
    Cath pulled out her phone and dialed.
    “Hey,” Wren answered, “how was your first day?”
    “Fine. How was yours?”
    “Good,” Wren said. Wren always managed to sound breezy and nonchalant. “I mean, nerve-racking, I guess. I went to the wrong building for Statistics.”
    “That sucks.”
    The door opened, and Reagan and Levi walked in. Reagan gave Cath an odd look, but Levi just smiled.
    “Yeah,” Wren said. “It only made me a few minutes late, but I still felt so stupid—Hey, Courtney and I are on our way to dinner, can I call you back? Or do you just want to meet us for lunch tomorrow? I think we’re going to start meeting at Selleck Hall at noon. Do you know where that is?”
    “I’ll find it,” Cath said.
    “Okay, cool. See you then.”
    “Cool,” Cath said, pressing End and putting her phone in her pocket.
    Levi had already unfurled himself across Reagan’s bed.
    “Make yourself useful,” Reagan said, throwing a crumpled-up sheet at him. “Hey,” she said to Cath.
    “Hey,” Cath said. She stood there for a minute, waiting for some sort of conversation to happen, but Reagan didn’t seem interested. She was going through all her boxes, like she was looking for something.
    “How was your first day?” Levi asked.
    It took a second for Cath to realize he was talking to her. “Fine,” she said.
    “You’re a freshman, right?” He was making Reagan’s bed. Cath wondered if he was planning to stay the night—that would not be on. At all.
    He was still looking at her, smiling at her, so she nodded.
    “Did you find all your classes?”
    “Yeah…”
    “Are you meeting people?”
    Yeah, she thought, you people.
    “Not intentionally,” she said.
    She heard Reagan snort.
    “Where are your pillowcases?” Levi asked the closet.
    “Boxes,” Reagan said.
    He started emptying a box, setting things on Reagan’s desk as if he knew where they went. His head hung forward like it was only loosely connected to his neck and shoulders. Like he was one of those action figures that’s held together inside by worn-out rubber bands. Levi looked a little wild. He and Reagan both did. People tend to pair off that way, Cath thought, in matched sets.
    “So, what are you studying?” he asked Cath.
    “English,” she said, then waited too long to say, “What are you studying?”
    He seemed delighted to be asked the question. Or any question. “Range management.”
    Cath didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t want to ask.
    “Please don’t start talking about range management,” Reagan groaned. “Let’s just make that a rule, for the rest of the year. No talking about range management in my room.”
    “It’s Cather’s room, too,” Levi said.
    “Cath,” Reagan corrected him.
    “What about when you’re not here?” he asked Reagan. “Can we talk about range management when you’re not actually in the room?”
    “When I’m not actually in the room…,” she said, “I think you’re going to be waiting out in the hall.”
    Cath smiled at the back of Reagan’s head. Then she saw Levi watching her and stopped.
    *   *   *
    Everyone in the classroom looked like this was what they’d been waiting for all week. It was like they were all waiting for a concert to start. Or a midnight movie premiere.
    When Professor Piper walked in, a few minutes late, the first thing Cath noticed was that she was smaller than she looked in the photos on her book jackets.
    Maybe that was stupid. They were just head shots, after all. But Professor Piper really filled them up—with her high cheekbones; her wide, watered-down blue eyes; and a spectacular head of long brown hair.
    In person, the professor’s hair was just as spectacular, but streaked with gray and a little bushier than in the pictures. She was so small, she had to do a little hop to sit on top of her desk.
    “So,” she said instead of “hello.” “Welcome to Fiction-Writing.