Bryce sat on the edge of the dorm bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers laced together, staring at the floor between his sneakers. His phone sat on the mattress beside him, screen dark. He hadn't looked at it in forty minutes.

The room smelled like cheap body spray and the half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos he'd been picking at since two in the morning. His roommate, Marcus, was gone for the weekend — some girl's place in the next dorm over — which meant Bryce had the room to himself, and he'd spent every minute of it sitting exactly where he was now, thinking about the same thing he always thought about.

Her.

He pulled at a thread on his basketball shorts, unraveling it slowly, watching it come apart like it meant something. His jaw tightened.