Beth banged on the back door, then pushed with her shoulder as she opened it. Over the last couple of months she'd learned it tended to stick in cold weather. After a brief struggle she emerged into the kitchen, where the frat house's Friday night poker game was held. She smiled a little at the familiar sound of a local rock station on the living room stereo. It was early evening, so almost no one was around. The usual crowd would show up a bit later. She liked to come in before the house was crammed full of people; she could hang out and be part of the scenery that way, less noticeable and not as likely to be teased.

"Hey, wild child!" Dylan was already settled into his usual place at the big table. He grinned and patted the chair next to him. "Have a seat while I get ready to take your money."

Beth pulled off her hat as she moved around the table. "You won't win much." She pushed her braid over her shoulder and began to unbutton her coat. "Did you order the pizza yet?"

"Don't worry, I got you half a veggie pie." Dylan sipped his beer. "Coke's in the fridge."

She draped her coat over the back of her chair and stuffed the hat in a pocket. "Thanks."

"How'd the recital go?"

Beth opened the refrigerator and extracted a can. "Not bad." She took her seat next to Dylan. "It's over with, that's the good part."

"Yeah, true." Dylan put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hang in there. One more year."

Beth hid a wince and took a long swallow of Coke before she spoke. "Yeah. Who's coming tonight?"

"The usual gang of suspects. Greg's gonna be a little late. He's got a meeting with someone from another school."

Her heart lurched. "Oh . . . okay. Hope—hope it goes well."

Dylan said nothing, but he gave her a little squeeze. "Me too."

The regular attendees showed up over the next hour or so. The music got louder, and a pungent reek of pot competed with the ever-present fug of tobacco smoke. Beth ignored it; she'd gotten used to both and barely noticed them anymore.

Soon enough all the chairs at the table held occupants, and the game was in full swing. Dylan kept up a desultory conversation, but no one else said much; their focus was on the cards. Beth had grown to enjoy the strategy involved. It was a bit like interpreting a piece of music. The basic directions were there, but the true expression lay in the hands and heart of the musician. She'd gotten good at this, and despite her disclaimer to Dylan she had a nice pile of winnings tucked away in an old cookie-tin bank she kept in a desk drawer. Still, while she looked over her hand and glanced at her fellow players, a part of her thought of Greg and wondered what he would decide.

"Full house," Dylan announced, and slapped his cards on the table. "Read 'em and weep, suckers."

A chorus of groans went up. Beth glanced at her hand and realized she could beat him, but her heart wasn't in it. She gave her cards to the dealer and stood. "Be right back," she said quietly to Dylan, and made her escape.

By some miracle there wasn't a line for the bathroom. Beth ducked inside and locked the door, then surveyed the facilities. The housekeeper was hard-pressed to keep up with the guys, but it was clear she'd been in sometime earlier in the day, as floor, toilet and sink were clean and several rolls of toilet paper sat atop the tank. She eased the pressure on her full bladder and tried not to think of the meeting going on somewhere in the main quad.

When she returned to the table, she found several regulars had shown up. Greg was in her seat with cards, a plateful of pizza and a beer. He glanced up at her, then away. In that moment she knew what he'd decided. Her heart plummeted into her shoes. Because it was expected of her, she put on a stern expression. "Out."

"Uh uh. Possession is nine-tenths." He tipped the chair back and made a show of studying his hand. Beth moved behind him and shoved the chair forward. "Fuck!"

"Out," she said again, and wondered how she would get through an entire evening of play-acting. As she sat down Greg put a chair between her place and the guy on her right, and settled in close enough to knock his elbow against hers. If she said anything or protested, he'd interrogate her in front of everyone until she broke down.

So she took her spot and looked at the dealer, who glanced at Greg. "Hey!" She snapped out the word and felt Dylan jump. "I don't need his permission! Deal!"

Soon enough the game was underway. Beth knew she had no chance of hiding her hand from Greg, so she didn't bother. At this point she wasn't worried about winning anything, she just wanted to make her escape when she could. Gradually the noise level crept up again, for which she was grateful. She avoided Greg's eye and considered her hand.

"Heard you had a recital tonight." Greg didn't bother to keep his voice down. Beth nodded. "Aaannnd . . . ?"

"It went okay." She looked up from her cards in time to find Lisa Cuddy in the doorway watching them. She offered Beth a tentative smile; it seemed genuine, something of a surprise. Beth felt a surge of some strong emotion deep within. To her astonishment, it was jealousy. Somehow she managed a nod in response. Lisa turned away. In her peripheral vision Beth saw Greg give her retreating figure an appraising stare.

Sooner or later he'll sleep with her, if he hasn't already. The certainty sat inside her like a stone. She hated it, even as she acknowledged she had no right whatsoever to feel jealous. They'd been acting parts all these months, after all. Greg was no more her boyfriend than any of the frat guys, and they considered her some kind of mascot. No doubt Lisa did too by now—not a threat, more like a bad joke.

Maybe that's what I'll always be. She pushed the thought away as inexcusable self-pity and tried to concentrate on the game.

"Raise." Dylan threw in a handful of chips. Beth glanced at her cards.

"Fold." She dumped them on the table and finished off her Coke. Another half hour and she could make her excuses . . . She paused as Greg turned over her cards. He shot her a keen look. She ignored him and picked up a half-eaten slice of pizza. She didn't really want it, but it was something to do.

"Feeling magnanimous after your big display of superior technique? The musical kind, I mean." Greg's tone was mocking. Beth flinched. She put down the slice.

"It was just a recital. All students have to do one every semester."

"So modest."

She made herself look at Greg. He stared back at her, his gaze hard and bright. He wanted her to react, to fight with him. So he can go to Lisa with a clear conscience. He's decided he's done with me. On a stab of pain she lifted her chin.

"I'm not bad, but there are plenty of better musicians on this campus. Including you."

That surprised him; she saw his eyelids flicker before he spoke. "Gee honey, I didn't know you cared so much."

To storm out would only give Greg the satisfaction of knowing he'd needled her into leaving. When the dealer announced the new round and raised a brow at her she nodded and took the cards he dealt, checked them over, and ignored Greg.

"You know it's interesting. I had a bad lock on my gym locker. It took two clubs to break it open." Greg gave a loud stage cough. "It was really a shame because I had an Ace brand spade in it."

Several of the guys at the table laughed. Beth paid him no mind. She looked over the community cards and realized it was a hopeless case, she had nothing decent and anyway, they all knew her hand. She tossed the cards at the dealer. "Deal me two please."

"Play what you've got." Greg took the cards before she could get to them. So now he planned to push her into leaving. All her resolve to stay evaporated as humiliation and anger filled her. She had no desire to give everyone at the table any more fodder for gossip, or allow Greg further ammunition; he'd get what he wanted whatever she did or said. Enough was enough—if he wanted out of his plan, so be it. She rose, grabbed her coat and left the kitchen. Dylan said something as she passed him but she didn't hear his words, too set on leaving to pay attention to anything else.

She was halfway to the bus stop when Greg said behind her "What's your problem?"

Beth didn't turn around. "I don't have one."

"Meaning I do." He caught up with her. "Stop pouting and tell me."

"I'm not pouting!" She hated how pissy she sounded. "Go back to the game. And Lisa." The last two words slipped out before she could stop them. For a moment a memory filled her mind: Greg in her room, lounging on the bed with a smoke while she worked on bowings and fingerings for an orchestral piece, the two of them just talking, late afternoon sun slanting through the window . . . She pushed it away and faced reality.

"Oh, come on-don't tell me you're jealous!" He sounded exasperated now.

"What do you care? Have a great time. See you around."

Greg moved in front of her. "Bramble." He sounded strange now. Beth refused to look at him. "The past few months—it was just part of the plan."

She stared at the sidewalk. "You don't have to bother explaining something I already know. You—you're leaving in a few days anyway, so it all works out."

"I haven't said—"

"I've told you before, stop acting like you're the only smart person in the room!" she snapped, and was offended when he began to chuckle. She moved forward and found him in front of her, almost touching. Fear shot through her as she remembered another time when a man had done much the same thing. She took a step back.

"It's just me." Now Greg sounded annoyed. Beth felt anger flare again, but just as quickly fade.

"I know. You don't have to stay. Good luck where—wherever it is you're going."

"Boston." He paused. "We probably won't see each other again." That strange tone was back. She nodded, unwilling to speak because she didn't trust her voice to be steady. "Let's do one last exchange." He hesitated again. "I'll go first."

That surprised her, as it was probably meant to do. "Okay." She shivered, but not just from the cold.

"Look at me." Now he sounded almost hostile. When she lifted her gaze, he wore an odd expression—not quite anger, not quite guilt. He fidgeted for a few moments. "My dad's not my dad."

Shock coursed through her. Without thinking she took a step closer to him, motivated by some ridiculous urge to offer comfort. "Who—who told you?"

"No one. I figured it out on my own." The subtle misery hidden in the harsh tone broke her heart. On impulse she reached out and took his hand in hers. His fingers were cold, and she realized for the first time he'd come after her without a coat. At her touch he tensed, then clasped her hand in a firm grip that trembled. "Your turn."

She only had one thing she could offer. He would reject it, but she gave it anyway. "I love you."

His hold tightened a bit. He said nothing for what felt like forever. At last he said softly "You're a moron. You heard what I just told you."

"I don't care." Beth kept her gaze steady. "That's not your fault. Anyway, it doesn't make any difference. You're still you."

He stared down at her. When he let go she readied herself to see him walk away for the last time. Instead he put his hands on her shoulders and drew her to him, bent down and kissed her. She felt his lips on hers, soft and almost tentative. With a sort of desperation born out of old fear she dared to kiss him back. He tasted of beer and a hint of spicy tomato sauce, and himself; his touch was almost tender, completely unlike her single other experience.

When the kiss ended he kept his face close to hers. She felt him shiver. "You're cold," she touched his cheek.

"Beth . . . I can't." He caressed her gently. "I won't."

It hurt, but she knew he hadn't meant for his words to wound her. Besides, what else could he say? "I know." She put her hand to his chest, above his heart. "It's okay." She summoned up her courage. "You should go back now . . ." Her words faltered for a moment. "Thanks for helping me, and for keeping my secrets. I'll keep yours."

He nodded, his gaze steady; he kissed her again, a tender little buss on the lips. "I'll remember you." And with that he was gone, striding across the quad. Beth watched him go until he disappeared into the shadows. Then she turned and headed for her room, where she could crawl into bed and cry as much as she liked, and no one would hear her.

A few days later she got a visit from Dylan. "Haven't seen you much—" He stopped and looked uncomfortable. Beth took pity on him.

"Thanks for coming by." She gave him a hug, which he returned with a sweet awkwardness that touched her heart.

"Why do women always go for nimrods like House?" He gave her a little squeeze and moved back a bit. "I'm a good guy, you know."

"Yeah, I know." She gave him a slight smile. "You'll find somebody, Dylan."

"Sure." He sighed and dug in a pocket, brought out a cassette tape case. "I found this on the table yesterday. It has your name on it." He reached out, gave her braid a gentle tug. "Don't be a stranger, okay? I need to win my money back, wild child."

When he'd gone, Beth went up to her room and opened the case. Inside was a tape with no notation. She stared down at it. It had to be from Greg, no one else would have left it.

After a few minutes of indecision she went to her stereo and popped the tape into the player, hit 'play' and sat down. She had no idea what to expect. There was a faint hiss of leader tape . . . and then music.

My friends wonder why I call you all the time

What can I say

I don't feel the need to give such secrets away

You think maybe I need help, no, I know I'm right, all right

I'm just better off not listening to friends advice

When they insist on knowing my bliss

I tell them this

When they want to know what the reason is

I only smile when I lie, then I tell them why

because your kiss is on my list . . .

Beth sat listening, eyes closed. It was easier to see Greg's face that way—his blue eyes bright and searching, a little smile on his lips. Of course this choice of song held a double meaning—he was teasing her for her love of decidedly non-classical music. But he meant the words too, she knew it as surely as if he'd said them to her face.

I go crazy wondering what there is to really see

Did the night just take up your time, 'cause it means more to me

Sometimes I forget what I'm doing, I don't forget what I want, what I want

Regret what I've done, regret you, I couldn't go on

But if you insist on knowing my bliss

I'll tell you this

If you want to know what the reason is

I'll only smile when I lie, then I'll tell you why . . .

Because your kiss is on my list

Because your kiss is on my list of the best things in life …

When the song ended she realized her face was wet. The ache in her heart hurt, true. Still, she was glad it was there. She'd never thought she'd feel anything like it after what had happened a few years ago.

"I owe you another exchange," she said aloud. "Maybe . . . maybe someday I'll be able to tell you."

She let the tape play out and listened to Greg's final gift of music for her, a gift both of them shared and loved equally.

'One Summer Dream,' Electric Light Orchestra

'Your Kiss Is On My List', Hall & Oates