I was sitting criss-cross apple sauce on my bed, flipping idly through a magazine I had liberated earlier from the common room. Pretty Boy was across the way, sprawled on Jenna's unused bed; he hadn't bothered to take off his shoes. It had been a few days since the disastrous trip to Starbucks. Except for bathroom breaks and our increasingly whacked sleeping schedules we hadn't really spent any time apart.

"Which floor are you on?" I asked.

"Three. It's nice to know I sleep under you every night."

"Urgh. Who's your roommate?"

"Don't have one — some guy dropped out."

"Already? Man, that's pathetic. At least stick out Freshman year before you start your new life pumping gas, y'know?"

"We can't all be as naturally blessed with intellect as the great Bella Swan."

"Bullshit. What's your GPA?"

"So nosy."

"I one hundred times don't believe your GPA is less than 3.9."

He just shrugged nonchalantly.

"You're too smug. How many extra classes are you taking?" I demanded.

"I'm not telling you my GPA."

"Bad friend."

"Sociopath."

I stuck my tongue out at him. Not the most original of comebacks and predictably Pretty Boy only rolled his eyes in response.

"So how long have you been here?"

He replied dryly: "Listen, my autobiography is coming out next week. I'll include an FAQ."

"Fine. Be an ass. Get the fuck out of my room."

"What's the difference if you're pissed at me here or through three floors?"

"I can see your face here."

"So shut your eyes."

"It's my room. Get out."

"You suck."

"Go make some other friends or something. I can't deal with you being such an ass all the time."

"How am I being an ass? Cause I won't spend the next six hours giving you a play-by-play of my whole life?"

"Whatever, Klepto."

His face drew together in anger. A little crease appeared between his thick eyebrows and his lips thinned into a harsh line. He slammed the door on his way out.

I sat—cross-legged and in a snit—on my bed. I couldn't believe he had the audacity to be pissed at me. Also, I wasn't really entirely certain how we'd managed to get in a fight.

I imagined Edward all frowny and lonely three flights of stairs away. I wasn't sure if he had any friends other than me. He was probably talking smack about me to some stuffed Care Bear one of his sisters got for him. I immediately felt bad for that thought. I buried the guilt like an accidental corpse—quick and shallowly—because he was being so cold and mean. Other than that one first meeting he had never come across as cold.

I was pouting and before I knew it I was crying. Big, blubbery, reality-show-star, crocodile tears running down my face because of how unfair it all was. I liked him and I had done something—I wasn't sure exactly what but I was pretty certain I could blame my big, defensive mouth—to make him look at me like I had just pissed on his family.

As much as I gasped and sobbed about how much I wanted him to not be mad at me, I was not apologizing. He made me cry. I wasn't sure I had ever cried about a boy before.

I was worried I might not get to see his shiny eyes and the warm smile ever again. That made me more upset. Which was stupid, of course I would see him again, we lived three floors apart in the same building.

My head hurt, my eyelids were swollen and my cheeks were blotchy. I tried to drink a glass of water from the small sink in my room 'cause I was out of bottled but the water from the faucet tasted dull and metallic. Like I was sucking a filthy penny that had spent a week in someone's sweaty pocket.

Edward still hadn't come back. Not that I was expecting him since I was the one to throw him out.

I peeled off my jeans, tank and everything underneath. I pulled on my ratty, waffle robe—not really giving a damn if anyone saw me on the walk to the bathroom. I grabbed my wash bag and padded bare-foot and dejected to the end of the hall for a shower. It was about as good as a shower gets when you live in college dorms.

Back in my room I redressed in yoga pants and a tank top. I stuck my feet in furry bootie slippers and didn't put on underwear. I pulled a mammoth blanket from under my bed and shrugged it over my shoulders.

Then I went to hide out in the laundry room.

It was generally quiet and always really warm with the soothing rumbling coming from the near continuous cycles of the driers. People would come and go but they were usually quiet too. The back wall had a rib-level wooden counter make of decking-like strips of unvarnished pine. I sat on top at one end. I looked like a psychopath.

I was there for about two hours before anyone disturbed me.

"You know people are telling the RA some hobo has broken in and built a nest in here, right?"

Pretty Boy's voice was almost as warm as the air from the driers and the pinched look was gone from his face. On the other hand he didn't look like he had spent the last four hours moping and weeping about me.

I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders and said nothing. He jumped up to sit on the other end of the counter.

"You wouldn't need the blanket if you wore some more clothes."

I didn't reply. He scooted down the counter a few feet closer to me.

"It's nice, is that poly-blend?" he teased.

I didn't reply and he scooted a little closer.

"So you're going to ignore me from now on?"

I flipped the blanket over my head so I couldn't see him. He scooted until he was right beside me. Long fingers rubbed the edge of my blanket between them.

"Soft. Can I come in?"

He pulled the side nearest to him out of my loosely formed fist and threw it over his own head and shoulders, pulling it closed again over his chest. The whole of his right side was pressed snugly against the whole of my left. The warm detergent smell from the washers wrapped around us.

His hair tickled where it brushed against my skin. He was so close I could see the shadows cast by his gargantuan lashes.

"Have you been crying?"

It pissed me off even more that not only had he not been crying but he knew I had. A few leftover tears spilled out the corners of my eyes.

"Are you really crying because I wouldn't tell you how long I've been enrolled in school? Cause that's a little insane, Duckling."

A little snort of laughter escaped me, it sounded wet and bubbly.

"I'm not."

"Okay."

"You're mad at me."

"You're worried about making me mad? You threw a drink at me. You call me names. You haven't been pleasant to me once since we met."

"Different," I argued.

"You're such a girl," he laughed.

"Whatever." I burrowed into his side and he let me.

He poked me in the ribs. "Clingy."

"Shut up."

"Who's the stalker now?"

"Take out a restraining order then."

"I'd rather restrain you myself."

I burst out laughing into the side of his chest. "You're ridiculous," I mumbled once my laughter died down.

"You're hiding under a blanket in the laundry room," he pointed out.

"So are you."

"Let's do something."

I tilted my head up to see his face. His eyes were murky aquarium green in the shade of the blanket.

"What?"

He shrugged. The movement bounced me.

"Don't care. Movie, drive around, maybe there's a party."

"Can't go outside, I'm not wearing a bra."

"I know," he laughed.

With a humph I dropped my head back on his chest. He lifted me up to support myself and jumped down from the counter taking the blanket with him.

"Come on, cage the pups and we can go join civilization."

"This is college, how much civilization do you think there is?" Reluctantly I unfolded myself from my perch and slid down to the floor. "Alright, but if I'm putting on a bra you need to make it worth my while."