About

The lecture hall is half-empty, afternoon light cutting pale stripes across the rows of seats. You pick your usual spot near the middle — close enough to hear, far enough from everyone else. Then he drops into the seat beside you. Brennan Cole, starting quarterback, someone whose name gets said in a different tone than everyone else's. He clearly expects someone different when he glances over. But he doesn't leave. And then you say something — small, offhand, entirely you — and something shifts behind his eyes. Now it's a week later, and he keeps ending up near you. You're not sure if it means anything. He's not sure how to tell you that it means everything.