happen. They don’t talk about how much he smokes, how thin he is. They don’t talk about her scars, how fast she rides her bike. For the first time, it feels like they have secrets between them, and it aches a little, but it’s comforting, too. Secrets mean that all of this is really happening.
Two weeks pass before Roger appears on the doorstep again, ringing the bell this time. It has a thin, buzzy quality to it, like a hive of wasps sounding a greeting from inside the wall.
A woman he doesn’t recognize answers the door, short and plump and beautifully proportioned, with expertly feathered brown hair. She frowns. “Can I help you?”
“Candace, I presume,” he says. “Is Dodger home?”
The frown takes on a puzzled quality. He’s clearly not a mathematician: he doesn’t have any of the visible characteristics, the calculators, the geeky T-shirts with their math puns. Some of the underclassmen even carry antique slide rules, just to make sure they can be spotted by their own kind. It’s a fascinating form of collegiate tribalism. Kelly—the ex-girlfriend with the cat—has written papers about it, documenting student clique behavior at both high school and college levels.
“Did someone sign her up for the new student social?” she asks. “Because if you’re here to serve as her escort, I want you to wait right here while I get my phone. I want pictures of the colors she turns while she’s yelling at you.”
“Not a date,” he says. “Best friend.”
“Dodger doesn’t have friends,” says Candace.
“Brother,” says Dodger, coming up behind Candace. There shouldn’t be room for her to get around the other woman, but she manages. It’s a surprisingly elegant movement. Turning to face Candace, she puts a possessive hand on Roger’s shoulder, and says, “We’re going to see a lot of him, since this is the first time he and I have been at the same school. Be kind. Or at least, don’t be horrible.”
“That’s Erin’s job,” says Candace. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I am a font of mysteries,” says Dodger gravely.
Candace shakes her head, says, “Nice to meet you,” and retreats down the hall.
Roger shoots Dodger an amused look. “A font of mysteries?” he asks. “I thought words were supposed to be my thing.”
“Can you make change for a dollar?”
“Yes . . .”
“Then I can occasionally come up with a witty one-liner. If I want something translated from the original Greek, I promise, I’ll come to you. What’s the plan?”
“Hanging out on campus is great and all, but I was hoping we could sit and talk for a while? In semi-privacy?” Roger looks over his shoulder at the street before returning his attention to Dodger. “That means letting me inside.”
“Ah, but you see, I have two roommates in residence, so . . . how much do you trust me?”
It’s a simple question. After everything they’ve been through, it doesn’t have a simple answer. But there’s only one answer he can give. “Completely.”
Dodger grins. “Good. Follow me.” She turns and heads down the hall. Roger follows, closing the door behind himself. Dodger may not care if he leaves it open, but he’s willing to bet her roommates would, and he has no desire to inspire their wrath.
Candace’s door is closed—at least, he presumes it’s Candace’s door; the other door they pass is open, showing a room with equations scrawled on the walls and a bed situated in the middle of the floor. If that’s not Dodger’s, he’ll be genuinely shocked. Dodger doesn’t stop to point out features of the apartment; she’s heading for the back door, where old Bill is once again perched on the fence, waiting for someone to come along and pay attention to him.
“I don’t think there’s enough room out here for us to sit comfortably,” says Roger.
“That’s because we’re not going to,” says Dodger. “Close the door so Bill can’t get in.” She drags a collapsible ladder from the fence to the wall. Roger does as he’s been told, and watches with growing trepidation as she unfolds the ladder and props it against the side of the building. It doesn’t reach the top. It does reach the bottom of a rusty old fire escape–style ladder that appears to have been bolted to the roof.
“Come on,” she says, and starts climbing.
Dodger has always been the risk-taker of the pair. Watching her bike accidents and tumbles told Roger what not to do when his own time for those stunts arrived. She’s also better at risk assessment. When she