Susie's POV

. . . . .

It was Saturday. I had been lying in my bed staring at the ceiling since last night. I hadn't moved, or fallen asleep. Junie actually tried to talk to me once, at one point, but I had demonstrated the same efforts of friendliness she'd shown me when we first met.

Again and again the phone call echoed through my mind.

"Hey babe,"he'd said, just like he used to, "Listen, I miss you, and I was thinking that—"

I'd interrupted him there and hung up. I tried to sound furious, but really I was terrified. Terrified because when I heard his voice, I didn't feel disgusted or bitter or even scared, I felt pathetically glad to hear him. I was hopeful. He'd called me, perhaps things were different . . .

Things weren't different, and I remembered in time. But I'd still had them, however brief they'd been.

I gave an involuntary shiver beneath my blankets. Why?

The healthy thing to do would be to throw darts at his picture, egg his stupid red Volvo. But I felt no hate. Only sadness, and . . . longing.

Bastard.

I turned over, burying my face into my pillow. Maybe I could suffocate myself. As I breathed in the smell of fabric and dried tears, a new face appeared behind my eyelids.

Calvin.

I sat up, blinking a little. I'd forgotten about Calvin. We were only at the sushi bar for maybe five minutes, and then I ditched him. I winced. Poor guy. I did feel a little bad. I couldn't very well explain myself, but maybe… I should apologize.

I rolled out of bed, albeit reluctantly. I made it to the bathroom, if not for Calvin, then at least for the sake of my poor bladder. After I'd relieved myself, I turned on the shower and let the steam permeate my brain and the water roll down my skin until it was no longer hot.

Towel wrapped around my head, I shrugged into my robe and padded back to my room. Junie looked tempted to complain about me using all the hot water, but one look at my still-lamenting-my-miserable-life face and she wisely thought better of it.

It took me two full hours of sulking and shuffling around to get fully dressed and ready. Then I looked up Calvin's address in the student directory and skulked and shuffled outside. The weather was nice. It wouldn't be for long. Winter came quick and brutal in New York.

I found Calvin's apartment complex and walked up two flights of iron-wrought stairs to his floor. 316 was his number. I had it memorized, though I hadn't meant to. As I approached the door, I could hear some kind of banging, or possibly wrestling, coming from inside. Hesitantly, I knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked louder.

This time, the mini-warfare sounds faded. I waited for another minute, a soft breeze tugging my hair off my jacket collar. Finally, the door opened. Calvin's expression was a mixture of irritation and reluctance, but upon seeing me, it quickly shifted into one of horror. My own face wasn't much different. Because Calvin was shirtless. Well, okay, maybe I wasn't exactly horrified,but I was surprised. The black and red war paint decorating his face didn't help much. His eyes widened. It took a few painfully long seconds for both of us to absorb each other's presence, and then he slammed the door in my face.

I blinked once at the engraved 316on his door, letting my brain fully process. And then I promptly started banging on the door again.

"Calvin! Hey, come on—I need to talk to you! Open the door!"

I was ignored. I muttered angrily under my breath. Calvin wasn't a scrawny thirteen year old anymore. For some reason, I couldn't get this new little tidbit out of my head. I knocked furiously, as if to pound the image away. "Calvin, if you don't open this do…"

The door opened, my fist left rapping uselessly at the air. Calvin had a dark knit sweater on now. His face was clear, his cheeks and nose pink from hasty scrubbing.

"Hi," I stammered.

"Hi," he said. Neither of us mentioned his lack of shirt only moments before. And if he wasn't going to, then I certainly wasn't going to.

"Um, can I come in?"

He hesitated, looking pained. "Actually…" he drug out the word."I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

"Look, I know you must be mad about last night, but I came to apologize."

"Apology accepted. See you later?"

"Calvin." I gave him a flat look. "Just let me come in. Please?"

"Define 'in'. Is the doorway good enough?"

I eyed him. "Are you . . . hiding something?"

"No." The response wasn't guilty, rushed or otherwise uncomfortable. In fact, it was very nearly perfect in its execution of calmness and nonchalance. Too perfect.

"Nice try, psychology major, but I don't buy it."

His mouth opened and I pushed by him. He made a flustered, half-hearted attempt to stop me, but I was already inside.

"Whoa." My eyebrows arched as I took in the condition of his front room. "What happened in here?"

Chairs were over turned, there were a few splatters of paint on the wall. Throw pillows were hanging limp in random places and paper money was strewn everywhere. In the center of the room was a table, an askew fold out of Monopoly spread across the top.

I glanced at Calvin, bemused. "Quite the intense game of Monopoly," I said.

"I play to win," he told me with a somewhat forced grin.

I looked around. There were two chairs adjacent to the board game, but I didn't see any roommates anywhere. Monopoly was pretty difficult to play against yourself. My eyes traveled to the worn out loveseat. Nestled against the cushions was Calvin's old, stuffed tiger.

I gasped in delight. "Is that Hobbes?" I rushed over, picking the stuffed animal up. Calvin watched me in a cautious and tense manner. Hobbes was exactly as I remembered, though the synthetic fur was more faded, the black marble eyes were scratched and his stitchings were loose in several places. There was red and black paint on his face.

"How cute," I cooed, playing with the tiger's tail. "I can't believe you still have this."

"Him."

"Huh?"

"Him. 'This' is precedent to an object. I can't believe you still have him."His voice had a dull note to it.

"Right," I corrected with a smile. "How silly of me. Sorry, Hobbes." I turned him over in my hands. "You're looking good. Your fur is a little faded though. Not quite the vibrant orange I remember."

Calvin stepped forward and snatched the stuffed animal from my hands. I glanced at him in surprise.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked quickly. "Or eat? Do you like tuna?"

"What? Oh, um… sure, okay."

"Great." He held Hobbes as if he were made of crystal diamond, not cheap cotton. "Just a sec." He strode down the hall and opened the door on the far right. He tossed the stuffed tiger inside and then turned back to me. "Follow me." He gestured like a ringmaster and led me to the kitchen.

He pulled out a chair and I sat down, watching as he rummaged through cupboards, pulling out a can of tuna and a jar of mayonnaise from the fridge. I glanced absently down the hall. If I tilted just a little on my chair, I could see into Calvin's room. It was messy, no surprise. I could see a Marvel comic book hero poster on one of his walls.

"What to drink?" Calvin asked me.

I turned back, smiling tentatively. "Whatever is fine."

"Orange juice it is."

He pulled out two plastic cups and began pouring the Tropicana. A flash of movement appeared in the corner of my eye. I turned. There was a tiger inside Calvin's room, a grown, tear-you-to-pieces jungle tiger, seated in front of the full-size mirror, twisting its head and looking for all the world as if it were examining it's fur.

"Omigod!" I leapt back, hitting my knee against the table top. When I looked again, the tiger was gone.

"What's the matter?" Calvin was looking at me with concern, balancing two drinks and a plate of tuna sandwiches in his hands.

I tried to regulate my breathing, my hand clutching my heart. "I just saw….there was…a tiger... in your room…"

"A tiger?" he repeated. "Like… my stuffed animal…?" He was confused.

"No, like an actualtiger…" I trailed off in embarrassment. I laughed, strained. "What am I saying? A real tiger in your room. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I must be more tired than I thought…"

I stopped talking when I caught a look at Calvin's face. It was sharp with intensity. I could almost see the gyros and wheels whizzing and churning behind his eyes.

"What?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably. He probably thought I'd gone off the deep end.

"Nothing." The force of his stare abated and he smiled. He swung into the seat next to me, setting down the sandwiches. I chewed mine carefully. Tuna and orange juice had never tasted so good.

"So, are you going to stop tutoring that kid?"

"What?" I asked for the second time in minutes, my mouth partially full of chewed sandwich. I swallowed.

His eyes narrowed. "The one that called you last night."

"Oh. Right. Uh, yeah… I'll have him switched." His eyes were like high powered x-rays and I was painfully conscious of every movement I made, certain I was betraying my secret with even the slightest blink.

"Right." He didn't believe me, that much was obvious, but was I supposed to say? He chugged his orange juice for a moment, and then of all things, pulled out that leather notebook of his and started writing in it.

I felt my cheeks flame. "Are you writing about me?" I asked, wondering why I cared.

He glanced up. Don't flatter yourself,was written all over his face. But, "Maybe," was what he said.

I scowled. "So, DoctorCalvin, what's the sorry state of my mental condition?"

"That would be the conclusion, wouldn't it? I haven't gotten that far yet."

"So you arewriting about me."

He shrugged with indifference. I thought very seriously about throwing the rest of my tuna sandwich at him. More annoying was that fact that I kept remembering what he looked like without that snug sweater.

"You know," I said, desperate to turn the table on him. "You're no fun anymore."

He raised a dubious eyebrow.

He was really starting to irritate me, acting all high and mighty. Upon replaying my words, I admitted they sounded a little childish, but I didn't care. The new Calvin was too smart for his own good. I hated the idea of him—of anyone—seeing inside me to all the insecurities and fears.

"You're so serious. I mean, you were always kind of deep growing up, but at least you knew how to joke around."

He frowned, a crease appearing between his brow. His eyes were the color of spring and they darkened. "In case you've forgotten, Susan, you've seen me a matter of hours since you've been at NYU, and you don't know anything about me."

"That was my point," I replied, returning the glare. "So stop analyzing me." His eyes widened a fraction with surprise and I stood to my feet, sensing the tension that had split the air between us.

"Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for running out on you last night."

"I wish you would tell me why."

I glanced down at him, surprised to see concern in his eyes.

I gave a forced smile. "But I barely know you." I grabbed my jacket off the chair and walked from the room, slamming his front door behind me and briskly descending the stairs.