of Richmond and a beefy student from Baylor who had his bare, tattooed arm draped over the shoulders of the girl. Corbin excused himself, deciding it was time to leave. He wandered back into the flat, looking down a side hall for a bathroom. Henry was in the frame of his bedroom door, an unlit cigarette between his lips. Corbin generally hated long hair on men, but Henry’s dark hair—two inches below his shoulders, at least—suited him. He was on the short side, strong looking through the chest and shoulders, and with small facial features. Corbin thought of a fox, anthropomorphized, cocky and handsome.
The bathroom door swung open and a tall redhead in a short skirt emerged. She brushed past Corbin on the way to Henry’s bedroom, trailing a hand across Henry’s shirt as she entered.
Henry smiled, the cigarette still between his lips, and cocked his head toward the interior of the bedroom, raising an eyebrow. Corbin was confused for a moment, then realized that Henry was asking him to join them. Casually, Corbin held up both hands and shook his head. He could feel the blood rushing to his face and ducked into the bathroom. When he emerged Henry’s bedroom door was shut.
Corbin had seen Henry several times since the party, and there was never any indication that Henry remembered the incident in the hallway. Corbin began to doubt what he’d seen. Had he really been asked into the bedroom for a threesome? The details of the night had blurred and now he wasn’t so sure. But every time Corbin saw Henry, he felt a click of anxiety in his chest and found himself stumbling over his words. Not that he needed to say much in the presence of Henry, who liked to talk and prided himself on knowing everything about everyone. Corbin tried to convince himself that Henry was a boorish attention seeker, but every time they were together he found himself hoping to please Henry in some way. With a joke, or by telling Henry something he didn’t already know. And when that happened, Corbin felt an embarrassing surge of pride. He wondered if other people felt the same way.
Henry, surprisingly, was alone in the pub, and even though Corbin was half panicked in anticipation of his Game Theory exam, he was happy to see him and invited him to sit down.
“You know, I can help you with that exam,” Henry said, sprawling on a chair across from Corbin, pint glass in his hand.
“You’re not in this class, are you?”
“No, but I got the scoop on it. Same exam every year. Your professor never, ever changes it. Wanna know the questions?”
“Sure.”
Henry told Corbin what he’d heard, apparently from a student who’d come to this program the year before. “I memorized all the questions, then ended up not taking the class because it filled up. So that’ll help you out, right?”
“You positive about this?”
“Ninety percent sure. Ninety-five percent. Don’t worry, dude. Let’s have another pint.”
Corbin went and bought a round. The questions did sound legit; all of them were around subjects that Professor Hinchliffe—one of those old men with a spiderweb of broken veins on each cheek—had expounded on at length. Corbin decided to trust Henry—it would make his life a lot easier.
Corbin put the book away, and he and Henry had several pints. It was the longest amount of time they’d ever spent in each other’s company.
“Where’ve you been all term?” Henry asked.
Corbin, who didn’t think he’d exactly been hiding, said, “I didn’t need housing during that first week so I didn’t really meet anyone right off the bat. I’ve been hanging with some of the English students.”
“Traitor. You know you’re not supposed to meet anyone foreign during your foreign studies program.”
“I didn’t get that memo.”
“No? It’s a requirement. Come to Europe as an asshole, make sure you don’t meet anyone but other American students, and then return as an even bigger asshole. Spend senior year beginning stories with the words, ‘When I was in Europe last summer . . .’ Hey, you traveling this summer after classes end?”
“No, I wish,” Corbin said. “I have an internship in New York. Starts first week of June.”
“Hey, no way. Me too. Where?”
They compared notes on their summer internships. They were at different companies but on the same block in Midtown Manhattan.
“Excellent, dude,” Henry said. “We’ll be best friends. I already know what bar we should hang out at.”
As they discussed the various bars and restaurants they knew in New