The girl throws her fork down and shoves her plate away. “The food here is terrible,” she declares. “I don’t know how you stand it.”
“It’s not terrible,” the boy replies. “It’s just not LA.”
LA. It explains the girl’s Urban Outfitters style and the magazine-cover bronze of her skin.
“Exactly,” she shoots back.
The boy sighs. “Then go home, Cameron. I don’t know why you’re even here.”
“Fine. You want to do this now?” She leans back, and from where I’m sitting, it looks like the girl—Cameron—very much wants to do this now.
“I don’t know what this means,” the boy says, exasperated. “We already broke up. A month ago. It’s over.”
I glance at Fitz, not wanting to hear this, yet I can’t help but listen. I don’t want to think about breakups. Not now. Not yet. Fitz looks focused on his book, and I consider getting up and joining him on his side of the table, immersing myself in philology instead of dwelling on fights and distance and endings.
“You broke up with me in the middle of a fight,” Cameron says, crossing her arms. “I had more to say.”
The boy lets out a harsh laugh. “You flew across the country to get the last word in an argument?”
“Yes,” Cameron says simply, like it’s reasonable.
The response nearly cracks the boy’s anger, but he finds it again quickly. “What did you want to say, then, Cameron? We tried long-distance. It didn’t work. You said yourself you weren’t happy.” There’s heartbreak in the way the boy admits it. I can tell he’s still hurting over it, over losing her.
Cameron furiously wipes tears from her eye. “Stupid,” she says under her breath, like she’s frustrated by the show of emotion. “I’m not even sad,” she tells the boy. “I’m mad. I should’ve been the one to end this.” She looks upward, no longer meeting his eyes. “I still can’t believe Brendan Rosenfeld dumped me.”
“I can’t believe I dumped you either,” Brendan Rosenfeld replies. “Everyone from Beaumont must be reeling.” They share a look, and this time it’s not bitter or despondent. It’s halfway to humorous.
Then Cameron’s face falls. “Paige told me you weren’t coming home for winter break. She said you’re doing some winter program and staying with your roommate’s family for the holidays.” She self-consciously runs her hand through her sun-bleached hair. “That’s why I flew across the country.”
“You didn’t wonder if you were the reason I didn’t come home?” Brendan asks. “I knew seeing you would be hard, and I was right.”
I glance up, hoping Lewis will walk in and deliver me from having to overhear the rest of this disastrous conversation. He doesn’t. The student center remains nearly empty, and there’s nothing I can do to block out Cameron and Brendan.
Cameron frowns. “Yeah? Well, too bad,” she replies harshly. “Because sometimes being with the person you love is hard. Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes you’re unhappy. Sometimes you need time to adjust to your formerly reclusive boyfriend now having fifty million friends who are stupidly smart and, in certain cases, frustratingly attractive.”
“You think it was easy for me when you started college?” Brendan’s voice is low, his eyes fixed on hers. “You think I enjoyed hearing about the fraternity parties you would go to with your sorority? No.”
“You could’ve spoken up,” Cameron says, her face flushed. “You always shove everything down and then you use it against me. Speak your mind, Brendan,” she orders. “Like this. I’m pissed at you for breaking up with me when we were having a real conversation. It was immature, stupid, and selfish of you.”
Cameron is close to combusting, but I notice Brendan’s lips twitch. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to apologize,” he says, sounding like he finds this funny.
“Of course I’m not apologizing, Brendan,” she replies with a withering glare. “If anything you owe me an—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence because Brendan reaches forward and takes her hand.
“Cameron,” he says. “I’m sorry. Take a walk with me?”
I watch Cameron’s anger evaporate. It’s uncanny, how her expression, her whole