Walking Disaster

was that it was female. I flipped around, for half a second hopeful that it was Abby.
    Megan sauntered down the hall, stopping next to me. “I thought you had class?” She smiled. “Doing anyone exciting this weekend?”
    “What do you need?”
    She raised an eyebrow, her eyes bright with recognition. “I know you. You’re pissed. Things didn’t work out with the nun?”
    I didn’t answer.
    “I could have told you that.” She shrugged, and then took a step closer, whispering in my ear so close her full lips brushed against my ear. “We’re the same, Travis: not
good for anybody.”
    My eyes darted to hers, traveled down to her lips, and then back. She leaned in with her trademark small, sexy smile.
    “Fuck off, Megan.”
    Her smile vanished, and I walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Not Good for Anybody
    T HE NEXT WEEK SEEMED ENDLESS. AMERICA AND I DECIDED it would be best if she stayed at Morgan for a while. Shepley
reluctantly agreed. Abby missed all three days of history and found somewhere else other than the cafeteria to eat. I tried to catch up with her after a few of her classes, but she either never
went to them or had left early. She wouldn’t answer her phone.
    Shepley assured me that she was okay, and nothing had happened to her. As agonizing as it was to know I was two degrees from Abby, it would have been worse to be cut off from her completely and
have no idea if she was dead or alive. Even though it seemed she wanted nothing to do with me, I couldn’t stop hoping that at some point soon she would forgive me or start missing me as much
as I missed her and show up at the apartment. Thinking about never seeing her again was too painful, so I decided to keep waiting.
    On Friday, Shepley knocked on my door.
    “Come in,” I said from the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
    “You going out tonight, buddy?”
    “No.”
    “Maybe you should call Trent. Go get a couple of drinks and get your mind off things for a while.”
    “No.”
    Shepley sighed. “Listen, America’s coming over, but . . . and I hate to do this to you . . . but you can’t bug her about Abby. I barely talked her into coming. She just wants
to stay in my room. Okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Call Trent. And you need to eat something and take a shower. You look like shit.”
    With that, Shepley shut the door. It still didn’t shut right from the time I had kicked it down. Every time someone closed it, the time I destroyed the apartment over Abby leaving came to
mind, and the fact that she came back to me not long after, leading to our first time.
    I closed my eyes, but like every other night that week, couldn’t sleep. How people like Shepley went through this torment over and over with different girls was insane. Meeting someone
after Abby, even if that girl were to somehow measure up, I couldn’t imagine putting my heart out there again. Not just so I could feel like this all over again. Like a slow death. Turns out
I’d had it right all along.
    Twenty minutes later, I could hear America’s voice in the living room. The sounds of them talking quietly as they hid from me in Shepley’s room echoed throughout the apartment.
    Even America’s voice was too much to take. Knowing she had probably just spoken to Abby was excruciating.
    I forced myself to stand up and make my way to the bathroom to take care of showering and other basic hygiene rituals I’d neglected over the last week. America’s voice was drowned
out by the water, but the second I turned the lever off, I could hear her again.
    I got dressed, and grabbed my bike keys, set to take a long ride. I’d probably end up at Dad’s to break the news.
    Just as I passed Shepley’s bedroom door, America’s phone rang. It was the ringtone she’d assigned to Abby. My stomach sank.
    “I can come pick you up and take you somewhere for dinner,” she said.
    Abby was hungry. She might go to the cafeteria.
    I jogged out to the Harley and raced out of the parking lot, speeding and running red lights and stop signs all the way to campus.
    When I got to the cafeteria, Abby wasn’t there. I waited a few more minutes, but she never showed. My shoulders sagged, and I trudged in darkness toward the parking lot. It was a quiet
night. Cold. Opposite of the night I walked Abby to Morgan after I won our bet, reminding me of how empty it felt not having her beside me.
    A small figure some yards away appeared, walking toward the cafeteria alone. It was Abby.
    Her hair was