I gather my things and fall in beside him. We walk in silence toward the food court area. Staring at the ground, I try to figure out why I’ve decided to join him.

Neil shoves his hands into his loose pockets. “So, what’s he like? It must have been incredible hanging out with him.”

Him? I tense.  I don’t need the ‘him’ explained to me. I hate being reminded of all the junk that was in the press last spring.

I shrug. “Alan Manzone is a nice guy.”

Neil frowns. “That’s it. You spent three weeks with the greatest guitarist of our generation, a musical genius, and that’s the best you can do? Nice guy?”

I feel my temper flash. “Listen, there are two things I never talk about. Alan Manzone and my father. If you can’t get that, then we are done being friends.”

He pauses mid-step and gives me a quizzical stare. “Crap, you do presume a lot, don’t you?”

I flush. “Meaning?”

He shrugs. “I’m not sure I want to be your friend.” He continues to walk.

I stare after him. God, Neil is still as irritating and unpredictable as he was the first night I met him. I shake my head in frustration. Why am I following him?  I do double time steps to catch up to him.

“So, what are you doing here, working as a janitor?” I ask, struggling to keep pace with him. “Last April you were living in Seattle, had a band, and were just taking off on a six month tour.”

He looks at me and smiles. “So, it’s OK for you to ask about my personal shit, but I ask you one question and you fly off the handle.”

The flush moves down my face and covers my neck. “I didn’t fly off the handle. I was just making clear the boundaries.”

“Ah, boundaries.” Neil shakes his head. “Why do girls always think it’s necessary to establish boundaries? We’re just having coffee. We’re just talking here. I don’t know if we’ll do it again. I don’t know if I even like you, but you’ve jumped into setting boundaries.”

The way he says that makes me sound ridiculous. And yet, there’s something kind of sweet and good-natured in how he says that which keeps me from being totally pissed off.

“Maybe we find it necessary because guys get everything wrong all the time,” I counter, shaking my head in frustration.

Neil stops walking again. “So, I’ve already failed and we’re just having conversation.”

“Something like that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Remind me never to ask you on a date.”

The burn on my face has just turned up to surface-heat-of-the-sun level. “Trust me, that is never going to happen.”

His smile is pleasant this time. “Good. We’re on the same page. Détente. Can we get coffee now, please?”

He pulls back the door to a small, independent coffee shop. It’s dark, with a hippie-style feel to it, and only sells vegan drinks and snacks.

“Why isn’t there a McDonald’s in the food court? What’s with the weird 60s vibe and vegetarian shit?” Neil asks.

I study the muffins in the cooler case. “Really? You’re asking me that? You work here and you don’t know the answer to that?”

The counter girl stops in front of him. Neil points at an apple muffin and orders a large coffee black. “Do you know what you want yet?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Do you want coffee?”

I nod. He orders my coffee. I point at the vegan chocolate cookie in the case. “I think I’ll have that.”

We stand side by side at the cash registering waiting for our order. Why is it taking so long? All we ordered were two coffees, a muffin and a cookie. I rummage through my pack for my wallet.

“No, Chrissie, I can pay for a cookie and a coffee,” he says clearly irritated with me.

I lift my brows. “I didn’t want you to think this is a date or anything.”

He rolls his eyes. “No chance of that.”

We settle at one of the tables in front of the shop.

After adding vegan creamer and raw sugar to my coffee, I look up at him. “Really, how did you end up here?”

He leans back in his chair. “Got tired of the Seattle thing. Got tired of the road. Four months out, broke and it just wasn’t happening. My uncle got me this job and I figured, why not? Just get away from it all, clear my head, get straight on what I want to do again. Shit was getting crazy on the road. We were forgetting why we were out there. I wanted to get back to writing music again.” He lifts his keys from his belt and rattles them. “And they’ve got everything here I need. Recording studios, rehearsal rooms, talent. And I’ve got the keys to everything.”

I break off a small piece of my cookie. “So, you’re going to push a broom and wait for musical inspiration to flow through you? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good luck with that.” I take a sip of my coffee.

He points at me and shakes his head. “You know you don’t have to be so negative. That’s half your problem. Haven’t you noticed that everyone is freakishly happy here?”

I laugh. “No, I haven’t noticed that one.”

“Well, they are. Even worse than in Santa Barbara. I used to think it was something they put in the water at home, but they are just like that here. But Berkeley is OK. It’s a good place to chill, Chrissie. A good place to get it together.”

I fix my eyes on the last bite of my cookie. Get it together. God, is it so obvious that I’m not together? Somehow I don’t think that I’ll ever get it together.

Neil picks up our trash from the table and tosses it into the can. “I can tell you one thing, after pushing a broom behind people, you never leave a mess anywhere.”

I laugh and grab my pack. We walk back towards the music department and neither of us talks. Neil lumbers beside me, hands in pocket, a kind of cute half-smile on his face.

He stays with me all the way to the door of my lab.

“I’d give you my number,” he says unexpectedly, “but I don’t have a phone. Don’t want to commit to anything since I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

He says that in a way that tells me he remembers me offering him my number last April, and that he blew by it, without taking it. It was a very well done brush-off.

I lift my chin, smiling. “I’d give you my number, but it won’t do you any good since you don’t have a phone.”

He pulls open the door. “I’ve got an idea. You need to reach me on Tuesdays and Thursdays, just step into the hall and shout ‘Neil.’ I promise I’ll answer if I’m here.”

I laugh. “OK. It’s a deal. I don’t have to tell you how to reach me. You seem to know my schedule pretty well.”

“Yep.” His expression turns from smiling into something serious. “It’s Thursday. You have rehearsal until 9 p.m. I’m going to meet you at nine and walk you home from symphony practice. You shouldn’t walk this campus alone at night. Don’t you read the security bulletins? You need to take the alerts seriously. Pushing a broom I hear lots of things. Make some friends, Chrissie. Talk to people. Don’t expect me to walk you home every Tuesday and Thursday.”

I flush and nod. That was a really sweet thing to say, but then, Neil was kind of sweet at times that night at Peppers. And it is so embarrassing that he’s noticed I don’t have any friends.

“See ya at nine, homegirl,” he says laughingly.

“See ya at nine, homeboy.”

~~~

At nine, I find Neil waiting on the steps of the symphony rehearsal building smoking a cigarette. He stomps it out and crosses to me, taking the cello case from my hand.

So he did show up to walk me home. I’m surprised, and a little confused, that he did. Why is he suddenly acting like my big brother?

“You’ve got to tell me which way you live,” he says.

I smile at him, more friendly this time, since it is nice having him waiting here. “So, I guess you’re not a stalker since you don’t know where I live.”

He lifts his brows. “Maybe I’m a stalker and I just want to find out where you live.”

I shake my head and sink my chilled hands into my pockets.