Lexicon

and sometimes demons, and sometimes they were just ordinary people—ruled over a kingdom or nation or whatever. In four of the books, they began building something impressive, like a crystal palace or the world’s largest pyramid. Then something bad happened and people died and everyone started speaking different languages. This story felt vaguely familiar to Emily, but she didn’t place it until she came to a book in which the impressive thing was a tower named Babel.
    She thought she heard a noise and froze. But it was far away. She suddenly saw herself: sitting on the floor of a library in a blazer and pleated skirt, navy ribbons in her hair, reading old books. Before she had come here, Emily had seen girls like this—girls who wore ribbons, and enjoyed books—and thought they were a different species. She had thought they were separated by walls. Yet here she was, on the other side, and she didn’t know how she had done it. She didn’t feel like a different person. She was just in a different place.
    • • •
    The junior dining hall made excellent chocolate milk shakes. Emily got into the habit of swinging by after Macroeconomics and carrying one out to a sunny spot on the grass at the side of the building, where she could read. The cup was comically big. She always felt a little sick at the end of it. But she kept going back.
    One day she passed a boy with a laptop at one of the outdoor tables. She had seen this boy in the halls, but they didn’t share any classes because he was older. He was more advanced. She snuck a glance at him, and another, because he was pretty cute.
    The next day he was there again, and this time he looked up as she passed. His eyes took in her enormous milk shake. She kept walking to her sunny spot but couldn’t concentrate on her book.
    The day after that, he saw her coming, stretched, and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “Thirsty, huh?” She smiled, because she had been thinking of saying something, and the something was
Boy am I thirsty!
    “Yeah,” she said. “I am thirsty.” She walked on.
    On Wednesday, she bought an extra milk shake and deposited it on his table. His eyes, gray and soft as pillows, registered surprise. “I thought you looked thirsty, too.” She walked away, pleased with herself.
    On Thursday she brought him no drink. She had thought about this. She simply walked by. There was a terrible moment when she thought he wouldn’t say anything—maybe he was too engrossed in his computer and hadn’t even noticed her. Should she circle around again, or was that too humiliating?
    “Hey, wait,” he said.
    She stopped.
    “Thanks for the shake yesterday.”
    “No problem.”
    She stayed, smiling, hoping it wasn’t over.
    “I’ve never been a milk shake guy. But they’re good.”
    “They’re better than good,” she said. “I’m addicted.” She sucked at her straw.
    He leaned back. “Do you want to sit?”
    “I have a bunch of reading to do. Thanks, though. Maybe another time.” She walked away. He didn’t try to stop her, which was a little disappointing, and he didn’t seek her out later, either. But that was okay. She was playing a long game. It was naughty. What she was doing was
practicing
. Trying to persuade another student. But only a little, nothing she’d get in trouble for. The fact was, if you paid attention, people tried to persuade each other all the time. It was all they did.
    The next day, she headed for her sunny spot with no milk shake. Her heart thumped, because if he saw this and didn’t respond, she would look pitiful. But she rounded the corner and his computer was closed and on the table were two milk shakes. He smiled, and gestured for her to sit, and she did.
    • • •
    His name was Jeremy Lattern. He had wanted to be a zookeeper. His family had a tiny house in Brooklyn but his mother rescued animals: rabbits and mice and ducks and dogs and two chickens. One of the chickens was insane. It ran in circles, making noises like it was drowning. His parents had wanted to get rid of it, but Jeremy pleaded for mercy. He thought he could cure it. He imagined this chicken becoming his friend, and people saying, “Jeremy’s the only one who can go near that chicken.” But this never happened. One day the chicken attacked him, pecking his face, and his father wrung its neck. That was how he got the small scar near his left eye, and decided against zoology.
    Emily told him that her family were Canadian and she was