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"So you're on it as well?" she said. "The other two have been calling me all day telling me how deeply important all our friendships have been, Jason waxing on about how much he loves me all of a sudden. It's so mid-nineties. They've never been to a rave in their life. You guys are all going to wake up depressed with jaw aches."

"I'm not on Ecstasy. I'm not with them."

"So what's with all your calls? What's the emergency?"

"Nothing," he said. "I was just checking in, seeing how it's going up there. Is your roommate still a hassle?"

"I don't believe you're not in a crisis, but whatever. We can talk about that in a minute. To answer your question, yeah, she's definitely a problem. The whole vegan, bisexual, anti-NAFTA, Nader-voter situation I could more or less deal with if she'd just keep it to herself. You'd think she'd at least shut up when she meditated, but no, that's when she chants. And she has the gall to warn me about the false consciousness of cynicism. She's a cross between a Hari Krishna and a Stalinist. It's obviously just an aggressive formation against whatever void of boomer parenting she suffered, but I don't see why I should have to cope with it."

"I need you to cover for me," Nate said.

"Cover for what?"

"I told my mother I was going to visit you. I've been gone a bunch lately and I think she's starting to suspect. I just don't want her to worry, you know?"

"Where are you?"

"The Ritz."

"Oh, my God. You're with him! That is so hot. I mean I should probably be worrying about you as a friend or whatever, but that guy is smokin'. It's so much easier for you guys. The boys in my art history class don't even look at me they're so busy checking each other out. They were comparing underwear brands yesterday. But what's with the hotel?"

"He's negotiating some kind of deal. They stay here all night."

"And he asked you to come with him?"

Nate hesitated, not wanting to disappoint Emily by upending the image behind her playful envy. Besides, what sense could he make of his circumstance if it didn't conform in part, at least, to other people's more ordinary arrangements? How could he explain to her that despite all he and Doug had done they had never actually kissed?

"Do you miss Jason?"

"That drooling pothead? Maybe. I did meet this one guy in Intro Psych. He's German, so at least he knows how to have a conversation. I don't know. This English professor last week, he handed out the syllabus and told us we'd be reading nineteenth-century novels with heroes and heroines our age or not much older, and he asked if we thought our feelings were important enough to write books about. So this one kid said, how could his feelings matter if they didn't have any consequences, like marriage or kids or your reputation? Of course, he looked like he was on meds, but it riled my roommate up enough to insist our feelings about politics mattered. Which I sort of agree with. But who wants to read a novel about some vegetarian's journey to an antiwar stance?"

"Doesn't it depend on how intense they are?" Nate asked, a little jealous that Emily got to spend her time considering such things.

"What do you mean?"

"Your feelings. I mean if they're intense enough, they have consequences, right?"

"You're really gone on this guy, aren't you?"

Just then he heard a knocking at the door. "I gotta go," he said. "He's back."

"Okay, lover boy. Take care of yourself."

When Nate opened the door he was dumbfounded by the sight of Mr. Holland. For a moment the two of them beheld each other in bewildered silence.

"Nate. Hi there. This is Doug Fanning's room, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said, unable to conceive of any reason he would be staying at the Ritz-Carlton on his own dime.

Stepping past Nate, Mr. Holland entered the room, looking about with a befuddled expression, which fell away as he took in the unmade bed and the clothes on the chairs and Nate's knapsack lying on the floor.

Unlike Mrs. Holland, who rarely managed to hide her aggression toward Jason's friends, Mr. Holland had always greeted them warmly. He seemed cheered by the idea that his son had friends at all, as inattentive parents often were, relieved by some vague notion of their child's social success. He was friendly in a general way. But he suffered from no lack of focus now.

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