things here are going well. there’s something so open about this landscape. all the old bullshit begins to seem so unimportant. maybe you should rethink your whole grad school idea and come live with me in the wintry north? i promise you, that thing they say about the male population is *not* just the stuff of legend.:-)

I think Malcolm may have been spending too much time with his Brokeback Mountain DVD. But all in all, a sweet e-mail. Maybe if it had been him in the Inner Temple last night instead of Poe, I wouldn’t have been so adamant about current-members-only. Malcolm wouldn’t hold my C.B. against me. And the rest of my club—who would later have to offer up their own peccadillos—didn’t judge me for the mistakes I’ve made in my relationships, for breaking the heart of a wonderful boy like Brandon, for engaging in illicit activity with some guy I didn’t even know. Heck, George was probably proud of me for it! I could confess anything and they wouldn’t hold it against me, like I didn’t hold admissions of cheating against—

I heard a thump and a giggle through the wall separating my room from Lydia’s.

— against Josh. I mean, not yet anyway. Besides, everyone makes mistakes.

There was a bit of rustling and then, “Shhh! What are you doing?” A little squeal of pleasure.

Didn’t they have a Monday morning class to get to or something? They were supposed to be so smart and high-achieving and Phi Beta Kappa and all—didn’t they have work to do?

I certainly did. I had yet to schedule a meeting with my thesis advisor to discuss my senior project. Unfortunately, I still didn’t have a firm topic. Or any topic. I clicked over to my word processing program and reviewed my notes. Not exactly impressive. Certainly not worthy of honors in the major, and definitely nothing that would stand out on a grad school application. But, what was three-fourths of a literary degree worth but to make the flimsy look substantial? I began to edit.

There was another giggle from the vicinity of Lydia’s room. I rolled my eyes and kept typing. They’d been sequestered in there all morning, and I’d bet dollars to donuts there was no political science summit going on.

Right after I pressed Save, there was a knock at our suite door. I stilled, waiting to see if there’d be any rustling through the wall to signal they’d get it. But Lydia and Josh were clearly not in any position to be pulling themselves together and answering the door. I sighed, and fingered my messy topknot. Fine. Some of us were doing homework, and some of us were hooking up, but whose right to refuse interruption seemed more valid? The couple’s. Of course.

I padded across our parquet floor and opened the door. Behind it stood Brandon Weare.

“Hi, Amy” were the first two words I’d heard from him in more than a month. “Can we talk?”

I hereby confess:

I’m scarred by the experience.

THINGS I WANTED TO SAY TO BRANDON

1) “Of course. Can we talk about your beautiful girlfriend?”

2) “What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t I love you when I had the chance?”

3) “You couldn’t maybe have come at a time when I looked positively smashing?”

4) “Sure. It wasn’t bad enough that my roommate and my society brother were getting it on while I’m trying to do my homework. I need more romantic torture today and a tête-à-tête with the ex fits the bill.”

THINGS I DID SAY

1) “Brandon. Wow. Hi. Come in.”

And then I put my hand to my hair in the universal girly gesture of “Oh, look what a mess I am, I usually look so much better than this,” and ushered him into the room. I took a seat on the couch. He hesitated, then sat across from me on the coffee table. (Pinprick #1)

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Good. You?”

“Busy.” He smiled sheepishly and began folding a stray piece of paper on the table. “Working my ass off on my thesis. Have you started yours yet?”

I shook my head. “No. I need to soon, though. I was just e-mailing my advisor about our meeting.”

“What are you going to write about?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I admitted. Brandon and I used to talk about our Lit papers all the time. I wondered if he now had those conversations with Felicity. I wondered if he proofread Felicity’s papers for her and then sent them back to her in the shape of little paper airplanes.

Brandon folded a nose onto the airplane he was creating out of a “subscribe to Cosmo” postcard. Yeah, that’s exactly what he did. Brandon flirts with aerogami. I watched his hands. His summer tan had faded, and they were back to being the pale olive color I remembered. I’d always loved how his skin looked against mine. At the thought, my skin flushed with heat.

To get my mind off its train of thought, I said, “I’m thinking maybe something with feminist theory. Maybe some sort of examination of female myths from several traditions.”

He nodded without looking up. “That’s so you.” After a moment he launched the airplane, and it dove straight to the floor. “I know we haven’t talked for a while.”

“Yeah.” And I don’t think that was my fault. The ball was totally in his court after his little “see you later” comment at Clarissa’s party. Probably too busy making four-fold stingers with Felicity.

“Your summer sounded really interesting when you told me about it at the party.”

Me, huh? Not me and my stunning, rich girlfriend, in whom I found solace after you broke my heart? Maybe he was about to tell me it had been nothing more than a summer fling. A rebound. They weren’t together anymore.

“Amy?” he asked, and he waved a hand in front of my face. He was smiling, but it wasn’t the special smile he used to give only me. (Pinprick #2) “Your summer?”

“It was amazing,” I said. “Really made me think a lot about my plans. I don’t think I ever could have learned as much running for coffee as an intern at Horton.”

“So, no more Manhattan editing position for you?”

“I haven’t decided,” I said. “Maybe I’ll go to grad school. Sometimes I think I’d like to do something really important and life-changing, like I did this summer, but full time. But I don’t know if I have that in me. I don’t know if I’m the type of person to do important things.”

Time was, Brandon would have responded with something like, “You’re very important.” But today, he just said, “You have to do what’s right for you.” (Pinprick #3)

He must be over me. Otherwise, he’d still believe I was capable of moving the world. That’s the best part of being loved. Someone attributes to you all kinds of abilities they’re fooled into thinking you possess.

Or maybe that’s the worst part. I guess it all depends if the person you love lets you down or not. I’d let Brandon down. He’d attributed to me a return of affection, devotion, and loyalty. I hadn’t lived up to it.

“So,” he continued, “how’s…everything else?”

“Like?” I asked, leaning forward.

“Like the stuff you don’t talk about?” he prompted, pulling at an imaginary society pin on his shirt.

“I don’t talk about it.” I shrugged. “But…it’s been good.”

The smile reached all the way up to his eyes this time. “I’m glad to hear that.”

I understood his need for paper airplanes. I was dying for something to do with my hands right now. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked. “Is there anything specific you wanted to discuss?”

“No. I just missed you, Amy.” (Pinprick #4)

Amy. Amy. Amy. No one said my name like him. No one had said my name like that in months. Even George only called me Boo. “We used to talk a lot,” said I.