The elevator doors opened, and they got off on Cath’s floor. “He loves it,” she said. “Simon Snow. Fanfiction, everything. He makes me read my stuff out loud to him.”
“Isn’t he squicked by the slash?”
“No, he’s Zen. Why? Is Jandro?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Is he squicked by gay people?”
“No … Well, maybe. It’s more the idea of straight girls writing about gay boys; he thinks it’s deviant.”
That made Cath giggle. Then Wren started giggling with her.
“He thinks I’m the deviant one,” Cath said.
“Shut up.” Wren shoved her again.
Cath stopped—there was a boy standing outside her room.
The wrong boy.
“What’s up?” Wren stopped, too. “Did you forget something?”
“Cath,” Nick said, taking a few steps forward. “Hey. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Hey,” Cath said. “Hey, Nick.”
“Hey,” he said again.
Cath was still six feet away from her room. She didn’t want to come any closer. “What are you doing here?”
Nick’s eyebrows were low, and his mouth was open. She could see his tongue sliding along his teeth. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Is this your library guy?” Wren asked, looking at him like he was a photo on Facebook, not a human being.
“No,” Cath said, reacting more to the “your” than to anything else.
Nick glanced at Wren, then decided to ignore her. “Look, Cath—”
“You couldn’t just call?” Cath asked.
“I didn’t have your cell number. I tried to call your room phone—you’re in the student directory—I left a bunch of voice mails.”
“We have voice mail?”
The door to her room opened abruptly, and Reagan looked out. “Is this yours?” she asked Cath, nodding at Nick.
“No,” Cath said.
“I didn’t think so. I told him he had to wait outside.”
“You were right,” Wren said, not very quietly. “He does look very Old World.…”
Reagan and Wren didn’t know what happened with Nick, how he’d used Cath. All they knew was that she didn’t want to talk about him anymore—and that she refused to go to Love Library. She’d been too embarrassed to tell anyone the details.
Cath didn’t feel embarrassed now, now that she was looking right at him. She felt angry. Robbed. She’d written some good stuff with Nick, and now she’d never get it back. If she tried to use any of those lines, any of those jokes, people could say she stole them from him. Like she’d ever steal anything from Nick—except for the paisley scarf he was wearing; she’d always liked that scarf. But Nick could keep his shitty second-person, present-tense. And all his skinny girl characters with nicotine-stained fingers. (Those girls were telling Cath’s jokes now; it was infuriating.)
“Look, I just need to talk to you,” he said. “It won’t take long.”
“So talk,” Wren said.
“Yeah,” Reagan said, leaning against the doorjamb. “Talk.”
Nick looked like he was waiting for Cath to bail him out, but she wasn’t in the mood. She thought about walking away and leaving him here to deal with Reagan and Wren, who were difficult and unpleasant a lot of the time even if they liked you.
“Go ahead,” Cath said. “I’m listening.”
“Okay…” Nick cleared his throat. “Um. Fine. I came to tell you, to tell Cath”—he looked at her—“that my story was selected for Prairie Schooner. That’s the university’s literary journal,” he said to Wren. “It’s an incredible honor for an undergraduate.”
“Congratulations,” Cath said, feeling all used up all over again. Like he was robbing her again, this time at gunpoint.
Nick nodded. “Yeah. Well … The faculty adviser, you know, Professor Piper, she, um—” He looked around the hallway, agitated, then gave a little huff. “She knows that you helped me out on my story, and she thought it would be nice if we shared the credit.”
“His story…” Wren looked at Cath.
“Nice?” Cath asked.
“It’s a prestigious journal,” Nick said. “And it will be a full coauthor credit—we can even do it alphabetically. Your name will come first.”
Cath felt someone’s hand on her back. “Hey,” Levi said, kissing the top of her head. “Got off early. Hey,” he said brightly to Nick, holding his arm out and around Cath to shake hands. “I’m Levi.”
Nick took his hand, looking confused and hassled. “Nick.”
“Nick from the library,” Levi said, still cheerful, resting his arm around Cath’s shoulders.
Nick looked back at Cath. “So what do you think? Is that cool? Will you tell Professor Piper that it’s cool?”
“I don’t know,” Cath said. “It’s just…” Just, just, just. “After everything, I’m not sure I’m comfortable…”
He pressed his navy blue eyes into her. “You’ve got to say yes, Cath. This is such an opportunity for me. You know how badly I want this.”
“Then take it,” Cath said quietly. She was trying to pretend that everyone in her whole life wasn’t standing right there listening. “You can have it, Nick. You don’t have to share it with me.”
Nick was pretending, too. “I can’t,” he said, moving another step closer. “She—Professor Piper—says it runs with both of our names or not at all. Cath. Please.”
The hallway had gotten very quiet.
Reagan was looking at Nick like she was already tying him to the railroad tracks.
Wren was looking at him like she was one of the cool girls in his stories. Oozing contempt.
Levi was smiling. Like he’d smiled at those drunk guys at Muggsy’s. Before he’d talked Jandro into throwing a punch.
Cath went back to pretending they weren’t there. She thought about Nick’s story—their story?—about everything she’d poured into it and the chance, now, that she might get something out.
And then she thought about sitting next to Nick in the stacks, trying to get him to let go of the notebook.
Levi squeezed her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Cath said. “But I don’t want any credit. You were right all along. It’s your story.”
“No,” he said, clenching his teeth. “I can’t lose this.”
“You’ll get another opportunity. You’re a great writer, Nick,” she said, and meant it. “You don’t need me.”
“No. I can’t lose this. I already lost my teaching assistantship because of you.”
Cath stepped back. Into Levi.
Reagan opened the door wider, and Wren pushed past Nick, pushing Cath into the room. “It was nice to meet you,” Levi said, and you’d have to really know Levi to know that he didn’t mean it.
Nick held his ground, like he still thought he might talk Cath into helping him.
Reagan kicked the door shut in his face. “Were you really going out with that guy?” she asked before it had quite closed. “Was that your library boyfriend?”
“Writing partner,” Cath said, avoiding them all, setting her bag on her desk.
“What a douche,” Reagan muttered. “I’m pretty sure my mom has that scarf.”
“Did he steal your story?” Wren asked. “The one you were working on together?”
“No. Not exactly.” Cath spun around. “It doesn’t matter,” she said with as much iron as she could. “Okay?”
She looked up at all three faces, all ready to be offended for her, and she realized that it really didn’t matter. Nick—Nick who couldn’t write his own anti-love story without her—was ancient history.
Cath grinned at Levi.
“Are you okay?” he asked, grinning back because he couldn’t help it. (Bless him. Bless him to infinity and beyond.)
“I’m great,” she said.
Her sister was still sizing Cath up. “Great,” Wren said, deciding something. “Okay. Great.” Then she turned to Levi and punched his arm. “All right, Lieutenant Starbuck, since you’re here, you might as well take me to FarmHouse. And you might as well get us White Chocolate Mochas on the way.”
“Might as well leave now,” Levi said gamely. “I’m parked in the fire lane.”
Cath picked up her bag again.
“And I want you both to know,” Levi said, opening the door—Cath peeked out to make sure Nick was gone—“that I know that was a Battlestar Galactica reference.”