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at least from what I’ve seen in class.”
    If Oliver hadn’t been holding my arm, I might have smacked him, too.
    â€œAnd talented, which we know is a necessity for you,” Ethan said. “I think he might be just your type, Winters.”
    â€œI don’t have a type, Davis,” I replied. There were only two times we used each other’s last names: when we were jovial and when we were being deadly serious. I was hoping Ethan could tell it was the latter. “You know that.”
    â€œUh huh. That’s why you jerked when Oliver mentioned him. Someone has a crush.”
    Just the word “crush” made me sick to my stomach. Love is for getting hurt. “He’s cute,” I admitted, because Ethan was incredibly good at spotting a lie. “But in that distant, untouchable sort of way.”
    â€œShe’s already talking about touching him,” Oliver said with a chuckle.
    â€œCan it,” I warned him.
    â€œLet me guess,” Ethan mused. “This is another topic we add to our no-no list.”
    â€œYour what?” Oliver asked.
    â€œThe list of things we don’t talk about. It’s a very short list, to be fair.”
    Eager to change the subject, I jumped on the topic.
    â€œLike ‘thesis,’ which you still haven’t seemed to grasp.” I made sure to direct that last bit at Oliver, who just shrugged and kicked a bit of snow to the curb.
    â€œAnd tiny insects that burrow under your skin,” Ethan added with a shiver. “I hate parasites.”
    â€œAnd . . . actually, that’s about it. Not much else is off topic.”
    â€œSo Chris is definitely going on the list?”
    â€œDefinitely,” I said. “Call me cat lady all you like. I will never crush on an Islington boy. Or girl,” I added, before either could beat me to the punch.
    â€œIf you say so,” Ethan said. “Though we’ll see if you change your tune after the concert.” He chuckled to himself. “See what I did there? It was a pun. You know, a music pun. Because I said ‘tune’ and we’re going to a concert and—ow!”
    The last part was compliments of Oliver and the snowball he launched at his boyfriend’s face.
    â€œAnd now we know why you aren’t in the writing program,” Oliver said. Ethan just dusted off the snow from his peacoat and glowered.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    I parted ways with the boys outside my dorm and headed inside to gather my things and my wits for the last run of the day. There was another half hour before class began, which was just enough time to check e-mail and all that other social media junk. And apply some makeup, because even though Chris just saw me without, I needed my warpaint to tackle an intensive four hours of playing eye avoidance with him. Yes yes, it was a complete one-eighty from my stance this morning, but I was allowed to be fickle on some things when I had to be rigorous about everything else.
    Out of habit, I checked my cubby for mail. A little blue slip sat inside, which was pretty much like discovering a hidden twenty in your pocket. It meant I got a package, and seeing as I hadn’t ordered anything, it meant a care package from home.
    Which meant cookies.
    Elisa would be pleased. Our weekend was just made.
    I took the slip over to the front desk and handed it to Jessica, another RA.
    â€œScore,” she said when she handed the large package over. “Are these more of your mother’s delicious baked confections?”
    Like Maria, Jessica was fresh out of college and sweeter than honey. Which was kind of funny, seeing as she usually wore black and had a tongue piercing from her “wild days.”
    â€œLooks like it,” I said, giving the box a cursory shake. It was very obvious this was from home and not from a shipping department: There were heart and star stickers all over it, and the return address said MOM