"We gonna play or will you just sit there?" Greg popped the top on another beer. "Show me your cards."

It was a quiet evening in the dorm common room. Beth had chosen the kitchen as their meeting place; it was almost never used, and the table was set in the corner where they could see both access doors. Tonight was dedicated to poker basics, at least officially. She had a strong suspicion the details of the grand plan would be outlined at some point, when Greg felt like divulging them. He'd make her work for it though, she knew that much by now. So she looked at Greg over her Coke and said what he expected her to say, although she didn't really want to spar with him. "No."

"How will you learn how to play unless I see 'em? Your cards, I mean." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop in time to the music coming from the kitchen radio. "This isn't animal rummy or crazy eights. You could lose a lot of money if you don't know what you're doing."

"Like you care. I'd be losing it to you." She glanced at the cards. "Show me yours, I'll show you mine." The double meaning hit right after she said it, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. Greg chuckled.

"Your face!" He took a long swallow of beer. "Let me see your cards or we'll be here all night while you try to figure out what to play." He paused. "Speaking of equal exchanges, you owe me one."

Beth glanced up at him in surprise. "No I don't!"

"I say you do." Greg offered her a mock-stern expression. "Time for some quid pro quo."

"You already know what I told you."

He nodded. "True. But I don't know who did it."

Her breath caught in her throat. She said nothing, just stared at her cards as she fought sudden panic. No one can know. Ever.

"Take your glasses off." When she looked up at him, he made an impatient gesture. "Reflection. Everyone can see what you've got, including me."

Her blush intensified, but she did as he ordered. He looked her over, a lengthy perusal that made her uncomfortable. "You hide behind those things," he announced. "Get contacts."

She shook her head. "Insurance would never cover it."

He finished off his beer and went to the fridge to get more. "Play the king. So who did it?"

Beth slapped down her cards. "Stop asking. Aren't we supposed to talk about this plan of yours?"

"All in good time. Play. The. King." Greg plunked into his chair, tipped it back as he opened the fresh beer, and studied her. "It's someone important or you wouldn't be so reluctant." When she got to her feet he flapped a hand at her. "Sit down. It's not like I'm gonna tell anyone else."

She resumed her seat, struggling not to flee. "I'm asking you to stop."

"Yeah, but see, if you tell me then I have to tell you something in return." He gave her a slight smile. "Admit it. You want to know more about me. A lot more."

Beth shook her head. Despite her fear she couldn't help but feel amused at his attempt to charm her. "You're a complete egomaniac."

"Aw, now I'm all hurt." He leaned forward to gather up her cards. "Let's try again." He shuffled with the ease of long practice and dealt the hand, tossed her two cards and took two for himself. "Now figure it out and get things started."

"You still haven't told me what you want to do," she prompted after losing two hands.

"Later. You're not taking any chances." Greg shot Beth a steely stare. "Playing it safe won't win you anything. For the plan to work you need to step out a little."

"Easy for you to say. You can count cards and have a bigger money stash to work with." Beth sipped her Coke.

"Who told you I count cards?" He sounded intrigued.

"The evidence of my own eyes," she snapped. "You're not the only one who can observe other people, you know."

He inclined his head. "True. But I won that money by risking what I had. You either commit to some risk or you don't play, there's no in between."

"If you want to tell me what you have planned, I'm listening," she said after a few minutes.

Greg exhaled loudly. "You're persistent, I'll give you that."

"I need to be ready for whatever happens."

He glowered at her. "That's ridiculous. You can't anticpate everything. Life doesn't work that way."

"Yeah, I know." She lowered her gaze to her cards. "But you can be prepared ahead of time to some extent. It's—it's a good idea."

Silence fell. When she dared to look up again, she found Greg watching her with an impassive expression, his blue eyes bright. She couldn't tell what he was thinking, so she took refuge in provocation. "Play your stupid cards already and tell me what you want to do."

One corner of his mouth quirked up, and her heart gave a funny little flop. "Bossyboots." He dumped his hand on the table, grabbed hers and tossed them into the pile. "Be my girlfriend."

Beth blinked. "Wh—what?"

"Be my girlfriend. You know. Going out on dates and all that." She stared at him, bereft of words. He shrugged. "It's no big deal."

"How—how long?" She forced the words past a throat gone dry. Maybe it's not a big deal for you, but it is for me. I can't do this.

"As long as it takes." He picked up the cards and began to shuffle.

"That makes no sense. You'd be better off to just leave me alone. The longer we're together, the more people will think you've—you've got a big bet going you don't want to lose." Sudden indignation replaced apprehension. "And they'll think I'm an idiot."

"They already think that, so it doesn't make any difference." He didn't look at her. "Come on, do it. Take a chance."

She opened her mouth to tell him off, to let him know he was an arrogant jerk who seemed intent on messing up her life and no way would she agree to this. "Okay," she heard herself say. Greg shot her a glance as he shuffled the cards.

"I thought you were gonna say no." He smiled then, and her heart did that funny little flip again.

It was late by the time they stopped. Greg insisted on escorting her to her door. "You never know who might be lurking in the stairwells."

"I'm not gonna tell you who did it." Beth moved ahead of him. "I'm fine. Go back to the frat house."

"You're still on that whole 'I don't want to be seen with him' thing. You'll have to give that up now, you know." There was a strange note in Greg's voice. Beth hesitated and turned to look at him, to find he was trying not to laugh. Her blush returned full force. Without another word she sprinted to the landing, to find him right beside her. Damn those long legs.

"And I keep telling you, it's more like you shouldn't be seen with me. This is a bad idea. Just—just forget it." She reached for the door, to have her hand taken in a firm clasp. Greg faced her, the humor gone from his expression. He looked down at her for a few moments. Then he let go, gently turned her around and gave her a little push.

"Be at the house by seven tomorrow." And he was gone.

When she reached her room, she found someone had covered her door with white paper streamers and a crude image of a wedding cake drawn on her message board, with a sentence beneath it: '19 and never been _?' . Beth closed her eyes for a moment, glad Greg hadn't come up with her. She fought the wild impulse to run down the hall, bang on peoples doors, make them listen to her as she told them her experience.

If you ever were crazy enough to do something like that, they'd reject you even more. No one wants to hear about the bad stuff. They'd just blame you for whatever happened anyway. Beth pushed away the pain deep within as she erased the board and took down the streamers, then unlocked her door and prayed they hadn't pranked her further. Once she'd come back to a room stuffed with crumpled newspapers and water balloons; it had taken hours to get everything cleaned up.

She didn't bother to go out for dinner. The dining hall was long since closed anyway, and she was broke for the rest of the month. Instead she finished off a flat Coke and some leftover pizza while she studied a couple of chapters in her biology text. It was almost midnight by the time she crawled into bed, but sleep eluded her. She worried about the invitation to the Friday night poker game. Asking her to play would be like throwing bait to sharks. And it was a house full of young guys, who would inevitably pass judgment on her as Greg's experiment with an unattractive girl. Even the thought of it made her so anxious she finally gave up and turned on the light, to read into the small hours.

The next day she skipped her early-morning biology class—the first time she'd ever done such a thing—and slept in. It felt odd to lie in bed when the sun was up and she knew classes were on, but it was enjoyable too, in a guilty sort of way.

Eventually she showered and dressed, packed up her stuff, then took the bus to the main campus and the undergrad library, to make up for her playing hooky by studying. She stayed there most of the day, with a break for a late lunch at the Union. Afterward she went back to north campus and her practice room, hauled out books of etudes and current performance pieces assigned to her, and set to work. Most people would be out partying or gone for the weekend, so she'd probably have the place to herself. She could stay down here all evening if she wanted to. Part of her did, part of her didn't; caution sided with prudence. She settled in and got to work.

By the time the lights flickered to let students know the building was about to close up for the night, she was exhausted and sore but felt better in her mind and heart. She packed up her gear and headed across campus to the dorm, shivering in the cold night air. There was a smell of snow in the chilly breeze; they might have flurries over the next day or so. Halloween was just around the corner, and then the holidays. Three more semesters and I'm free. I can do this. The knowledge felt good.

She stopped in the hall to pick up her mail and found a card from home. Her birthday was still a week ahead, but she knew Mom had sent it early because it held a check to tide her over until the holiday break. She hated accepting money from her parents, but her summer work at the ice cream parlor and then the ag station hadn't paid much. She would take what was offered and be grateful she had good parents who cared about her. Some of the girls here weren't as fortunate; she'd overheard scraps of conversation that had saddened her, even if they did come from the ones who had mocked her in the past.

When she reached her door, she found a one-word message on the board.

coward

She knew that bold upright hand. The accusation hurt, and yet it was the truth. She dug out her keys and let herself in, but didn't clear the board. He probably wouldn't bother with her again now, and that was best for both of them. She'd let his verdict stand.

It was too late to eat, and she didn't feel like going downstairs to the common room to watch tv. Instead she put everything away, set up her desk for study the next day, and got ready for bed. But as tired as she was, sleep once again eluded her. She tossed and turned and eventually ended up with her chair by the window. She stared out into shadows and light, and wondered what Greg was doing. No doubt he was at the game, raking in money and drinking too much beer. She wanted to be there, sitting next to him. "You're pathetic," she muttered, and rubbed tired eyes. To feel this way about someone who considered her little more than some weird puzzle to be solved . . . he wanted to pretend she was his, but she wanted to be the real thing—something he'd never agree to in a thousand years. She sighed softly, got up and moved the chair to her desk. If she couldn't sleep, she was better off studying.

It was close to two a.m. when she gave up, closed her books and turned off the light. She was about to undress for bed when someone knocked at her door.

"Beth?" It was Dylan. She considered not answering, then gave in. When she opened the door he looked her over.

"Are you okay?"

"What are you doing here?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I, uh—I saw your light was on and thought I'd stop by and make sure you're all right."

"At two a.m.?" She folded her arms. "Greg sent you."

"No he didn't. I was just worried!" The genuine indignation in his voice made her smile a little. Dylan paused. "Okay, that's better. You looked . . ." He hesitated. "Come by tomorrow. There's leftover pizza."

"How about you bring everything over here, and we'll go down to the common room and watch tv."

His face brightened. "Yeah. Doctor Strangelove will be on tomorrow night, we can watch that if you want to." He gestured at her message board. "That's—that's not true, you know."

"I kinda think it is." Beth was surprised to hear herself say it out loud.

"No way." Dylan's expression softened. "I know it's not." He moved back from the door. "Okay. See you tomorrow. Come over around six."

"Okay." On impulse she stepped forward and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Dylan." She hated the blush she could feel rising as she spoke. He looked down at her in surprise, and then smiled.

"You're welcome," he said quietly, and left her there. She watched him stride down the hallway and wished she'd fallen for him instead of Greg. Dylan was a good friend, and a decent person too.

But that's not how it works. She stood there for a moment, then went inside and shut the door.

'Love Stinks,' J Geils Band