Parallel

want to check out that starts pretty soon.” I move toward the door, hoping she won’t ask what class.
    “No worries,” she replies. “See you tonight!” She waves, then disappears into the bedroom. I grab the course schedule from the coffee table and hurry out the door.
    When I reach the courtyard, I realize that I don’t really have a plan. What I need is a place to think, preferably somewhere quiet with internet access. I flip through the course schedule and find a campus map on the inside back cover. It’s not exceptionally detailed, but the words Sterling Memorial Library leap out at me. Perfect. Now how the hell do I get there?
    The courtyard, like the building around it, is U-shaped. The open part of the U faces a busy street, but there’s a high, wrought-iron fence stretching the entire length of the opening. Who gives someone a view of a major street but no way to get to it? I briefly consider yelling at someone through the bars but quickly decide against it. Probably wise to avoid crazy-person behavior, at least for the time being. At the base of the U is a wide tunnel through the buildings, which appears to be my only way out.
    The tunnel dumps me into a massive enclosed quad. A quick glance at my map is all I need to get my bearings. The layout of the buildings, the size of the courtyard . . . this has to be Old Campus, which means I’ve just come from Vanderbilt Hall, the U-shaped building on the southern end. The library is just a couple of blocks northwest of here, so I head for the arched gate at the far corner of the quad. As I’m passing through the archway, a group of girls emerges from a door a few yards away, carrying coffee cups and pastry bags. My stomach growls with envy. The sign above the door says DURFEE’S and has a picture of a coffee mug on it. I dig through my bag for my wallet, praying that there’s money in it. I find four dollars and some change, enough for coffee and a bagel.
    Durfee’s is bustling with activity. No one pays any attention to me, which is great, and the place is dirt cheap. I buy a large coffee, a sesame seed bagel, a bottle of water, and a granola bar for later, and still have a dollar left over. I’m a long way from L.A., that’s for sure.
    As I’m walking out, two guys, both wearing polo shirts with the collar flipped up and smelling like day-old (okay, make that week-old) beer, walk in. They see me, look at each other, and smile. “Hey, hey,” one of them says to me. His shaggy red hair looks like it hasn’t seen a shampoo bottle in quite some time. “You looked like you were having fun last night.”
    “Last night?”
    The guys laugh. “Yeah, it’s all a little foggy, huh?” the other one says. His blond hair is sticking straight up, like it dried while he was upside down.
    Dirty Hair nods at my coffee cup and sack of goodies. “Lemme guess—coffee, water, and a bagel.” I stare at him. “Am I right?” I nod, not sure whether to be frightened or impressed. “Hangover essentials,” he explains. “But you forgot the Advil.”
    “Oh . . . right.” I flash what I hope is a friendly smile, trying not to grimace as I feel my stomach churn. Standing this close to them and their beer-emanating pores is making me nauseous.
    “They’re out of Advil,” the blond one says, pointing to the empty box. “Man, something must be up with the barometric pressure. Everyone I’ve talked to has a headache.” He nods at the line of people waiting to pay. All of them are clutching travel packs of pain relievers. “You want some Tylenol?” he asks me.
    “Uh, no. I’m okay, actually. But thanks.” Blond Spikes just shrugs.
    “So, what’re you up to today?” Dirty Hair asks, alcohol heavy on his breath. I seriously might puke. Right now.
    “Uh, you know . . . nothing much. Hey, gotta run.” I don’t bother to wait for a response. Rude, maybe, but I figure a hasty exit is less socially scarring than dumping the contents of my stomach on their suede loafers.
    A few minutes later, I’m flashing my ID card to the security guard at the entrance of Sterling Memorial Library, which I recognize from the photograph Marissa gave me. It looks more like a Gothic church than a library. The exterior is impressive, but the interior is breathtaking. The main entrance, adorned with symbols and writings in various ancient languages, opens into a cathedral-like nave with vaulted aisles, clerestoried lighting, and too many stained-glass windows to count. I