Something about the air was so dry. The scent of hand sanitizer was the first thing she noticed, and it was so strong that she was sure it only made her headache worse.

“...not usually associated with head injuries like this.” Unfamiliar, soft. Feminine and gentle. This voice was comforting, but authoritative. An expert. Cat immediately figured must have been in the Health Center. She lay on something starchy, more like glorified paper towel texture than any bed sheet she expected to be on. Government funding guaranteed shitty quality--nothing like the hospital rooms TV advertised.

“Is it because of blood loss?” Then there was Peter. Masculine and rough, far from comforting: his tone made her stomach lurch. He nearly sounded worried. Was it that bad?

“No, I know it looks like a lot, but she is fine. We’ll definitely want to do some scans to see if perhaps some internal bleeding is causing pressure in another part of her head, causing the dizziness.” Cat grimaced. The voice of who she assumed was a nurse or doctor was nice, but nothing else felt very good. Her head, for one, seemed to try to pulsate itself out of the room. She wanted to speak, to rise, but every blood cell slowed her down, pushing, throbbing. “How long was she out before this last time?” The woman turned away to dig into a drawer. Footsteps followed.

Peter responded, “Seconds, really. Less than a minute. Then, the second time, for maybe a minute, tops.” A beat. “Do you have nitrile gloves? She’s allergic to latex.” Oh, come on. Really, Cameron? He even told Peter what kind of condoms they used? The immense disgust finally gave her enough energy to move.

“Gross,” Cat mumbled. She didn’t open her eyes, but she knew that the gloves-lady and Peter looked at her. “Did Cam spare any details?” Weren’t guys supposed to be more general with their gossiping? Didn’t they care more about whether or not they got laid, not how?

“What are you talking about?” Peter answered before the doctor could walk over to her.

“My allergy.” As Cat opened her eyes, the doctor immediately took her wrist and stared at the clock on the wall, taking her pulse. “Why would he tell you about that?”

“He didn’t.” Now that she saw his face, his brows were knitted together just as tightly as hers. “You did.” When and why in the world would she do that?

“Allergic to anything else?” the doctor interrupted. “Hi, I’m Dr. Gupta, filling in for our usual triage specialist.” The woman smiled warmly and bent down to get onto Cat’s visual level.

“Hi. No, that’s it.” Dr. Gupta had an immense amount of hair, hardly contained in a low ponytail. How did Indian women always have the most beautiful hair?

“Can you tell me what day it is?” she asked quietly.

Cat blinked slowly. “Thursday, I think.”

The doctor started to flash a tiny flashlight into her eyes, which Cat flinched away from. “Any vomiting since you hit your head?” Her hand flew to the source of her pain, immediately touching something small and metal. Staples. They literally stapled her skull shut.

“No,” she answered, recovering from her surprise.

Peter was quick to correct her: “Um, yes.”

“Oh.” She didn’t remember that. But now that he mentioned it, her tongue did have a rusty and acidic aftertaste.

“That answers the memory loss question.” The doctor glanced back to Peter, who shook his head.

“That was unrelated.” What was? “She vomited right when we got here. On the curb, outside.”

“Do you know how you hurt your head?” the doctor continued, returning to her. Theoretically. She could put two and two together--Peter being there, their clothes cold and wet, bloody and muddy. She last remembered the pond, talking on the phone with Hannah.

“Um,” she started slowly, struggling to find the vague cause. “I...assume my body shut down from being unable to process the pure evil of Peter’s presence?” Dr. Gupta and Peter offered her courteous laughter as she looked around the room. It was tiny, hardly enough space for three people with a small computer desk just feet away from the bed she lay on. Peter blocked the closed door, but it was hard to look at him. Her blood completely stained his previously stark-white gym clothes; though his hands were mostly clean, there was still a streak of her blood on his forehead, the tiniest bit of red staining the blonde hair he brushed back. The sight of her own blood began to trigger gentle reminders of what happened after she fell. Mostly of Peter pulling her out of the pond, holding her. Head injuries commonly caused some sort of amnesia around the incident, right? Why did she remember so easily? The idea of Peter literally holding her blood in her skull wasn’t exactly a memory she wanted to cherish forever.

“Catherine,” Dr. Gupta started, stealing her attention. “Do you consent to a blood test and a CT scan?” Cat’s eyes met hers, and her heart rate spiked. The doctor may as well have just used her blood as payment.

“Um--is it necessary?”

“Perhaps not, but your repeated fainting does make me want to check for an underlying cause. It could be the concussion you have, or it could be something else. It’s a good idea to check, just to potentially prevent anything further from happening. If your rescue team wasn’t there--”

“Okay, fine,” she interrupted, shutting her eyes. She didn’t want to think about it. Any sort of gratitude to Peter--that was impossible. He was the reason she fell in the first place...maybe. Sort of. Maybe not. It was easier to think of it like that, though. Easier to assume it was just him, rather than the week of hunger she’d endured because she lost a book, because she was so distracted from wanting to sleep with Cameron that she forgot it. God, she was so stupid. How could she let this happen?

Cat turned her head slightly, wincing as she did, and addressed the doctor. “Is it--um, is it expensive? Do we have to do both?”

Dr. Gupta approached her arm again, this time with some sort of tourniquet set, hesitating.

“Um, I suppose not. But I’d like to check your blood, at least. It’s just a ten dollar lab fee for blood work, and the CT scan is something like sixty.” Cat’s stomach dropped.

“Just the blood, then,” she decided quietly. Why was Peter still there? Wasn’t this some sort of HIPPA violation or something?

Dr. Gupta grasped Cat’s forearm to draw some blood, and she immediately turned her head away to the wall with a skeletal diagram poster.

“You okay?” Aside from the head trauma, the needle in her arm, and now a sudden worry of how she was going to pay for this? Peachy. Cat let out an unconvincing, “Mmhm.”

“Blood work should take about fifteen or so minutes to process, okay?” the doctor continued when she removed the tourniquet. “After they come in, I’ll explain everything to you, we’ll make a treatment plan, and you’ll be free to go.” Free to go. Cat let out a breath and slowly turned her arching head to face the doctor again.

“Do I get to sleep?” she asked as Dr. Gupta took away her tools. With a sharp snap, a band-aid replaced where the needle went in, and her doctor gave a courteous chuckle.

“Yes, that whole coma-thing is an old wife’s tale.” Well, at least there was that. She couldn’t eat, but she could sleep, which was awesome, because she was absolutely exhausted. “We just want to monitor you for a while. I’ll go over discharge instructions with you and your friend when I return with the blood results.” Friend? What? Just because he brought her in, they were assumed to be friends? Cat’s voice died in her throat, her lips parted like a drowning fish, unable to find any words to reply with.

“I’ll be right back, alright? Yell if you need anything.” But without asking if Cat needed anything now, Dr. Gupta peeled off her gloves and turned away. She squished Peter into the foot of the bed when she tried to exit, and repeated, “be right back.”

The door shut, trapping in the thick and dry air. While the scent of rubbing alcohol dissipated slightly, her heartbeat still maintained a near-panicked pace. The click of the door shutting felt like the start of the World’s Most Awkward Timer. Tick. Tick. Tick. That clock was the devil incarnate.

Cat kept her eyes glued to the ceiling tile, focusing hard on the water stain just beside the fluorescent light. What in the world was she supposed to do now? Thank him? Throw herself at him and grovel at his feet? They’d already had far more physical contact than she’d planned for her lifetime. He pulled her out of a pond when she wasn’t able to do it herself, seconds before she could even begin to choke. His reflexes must have been lightning-fast for him to pull her above the water before she could even naturally take a breath. He literally held her head in his hands, felt her blood, let it drip all over his clothes and his hands. And now he stood there, listening to instructions from a doctor that assumed he was her friend when they could hardly stand to be in the same vicinity together without throwing out harsh and cruel words.

This was weird.

Tick. Tick. Tick. The buzzing of the light only made the clock sound like it was going even slower. What was this, Purgatory? She was baptized! Maybe her parents chose the wrong church and she was in Hell.

Cat finally let her eyes drop to take a peek at what Peter was doing--just for a second. At least he didn’t seem any more comfortable than she did. He stood with his arms crossed so tightly across his chest, it rivaled the intensity of his frown when he stared at the floor. Where was his phone? Why wasn’t he playing on it, making this easier?

Maybe she should at least thank him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful--of course she was. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if he didn’t pull her out of the water. Drowning was supposed to be the most painful way to die, like breathing fire.

So after a few more torturous clicks of the clock, she finally made a sound to start to say something. Peter’s eyes immediately snapped to her, cautious.

“Um, so….” Unable to handle the weight of his gaze, she returned to staring at the ceiling--at least for as long as he looked at her. “Thanks...for saving my life or whatever.” Great execution. She wanted to groan at herself, but refrained. Her breath rose to her throat, but refused to leave when she exhaled. She may as well still be in the pond, accidentally drinking bacteria-infested water instead of breathing.

Peter took his time to respond, first adjusting himself this way and that. Finally, she could hear him start and stop several times.

“I--I just did what anyone would,” came his quiet reply. No he didn’t. How many people would think to rush up and pull someone out of a pond, or take her to the hospital, let alone that fast? Him, Nate, Martin. What would have happened if they weren’t around? Would anyone notice? Would she still be there, in the water, if…?

But just as quickly as the thoughts came in, she shoved them away. Maybe she wouldn’t have even passed out if Peter didn’t show up. Or maybe she would have. It wasn’t worth freaking out over.

“Well,” she started again, still unable to move her gaze, “thanks anyway.” She hadn’t actively stared a ceiling this much since her last pap smear. She shuddered involuntarily. At least those rooms hung motivational posters on the ceiling so there was something nice to look at.

Tick. Tick. Tick. This was unbearable.

“Um--,” she started again, risking a glance to Peter, “I should probably call Hannah. Then you can…you know.” He hesitated too long, and waited for her to look back to him.

“Your phone….” Peter glanced behind him, to where it turned out her bag sat slumped against the wall. He bent down to reach toward it, but when he pulled out her phone, he didn’t immediately toss it to her like she expected. Peter approached her with it in his hand, as if it weighed as much as a brick. “It, um. It--it went in the water.” Although it looked fine, she knew that wasn’t good news. “If it was one of the newer models, it’d be waterproof, but--”

Cat immediately rose to see it, though she regretted it when she flinched. She took it from his hand, flipped it over and twisted it about in her grasp while one hand held the side of her head, as if to soften the throbbing. Flipping it open, her heart sank when nothing activated. Dark screen. Even when she pressed the “on” switch.

“Don’t--” He interrupted, but deflated when she kept pressing the button. “There--ah…. There’s a slight chance you can get it to work by putting all the pieces in a bowl of rice...but turning it on...kind of ruins that chance.” Ugh. He couldn’t have said that a few seconds sooner? Not that she had rice. She kind of figured that if she did have any, maybe some of this whole disaster could have been avoided.

“I--” She didn’t have anything to say. It wasn’t like this thing was expensive, but it was her only way to contact the outside world. This hunk of metal suddenly felt so heavy in her hand, useless. How would she call her mom, her dad? Tell them about this? What if they texted her? She glanced back up to Peter. He looked genuinely sorry; a wrinkle formed in his brow, his gaze soft at the phone in her hands.

Cat suddenly became very aware of her fingers, how knobby her knuckles were, how mossy pond dirt stuck under her nails from when she fell. They curled in on themselves automatically, hiding in her palms.

“Do you--you have her number, right?” He said she’d invited him to dinner earlier. Peter frowned and took a half step back.

“Yeah, but--all my stuff is in my locker. I could--I think I could have Nate and Martin drive the cart back to get it, but.... I--I didn’t think….” He was interrupted by the door opening. He jumped, as if guilty of doing something wrong, and took another step away from her.

Dr. Gupta smiled when she came in, and shut the door with her foot. She rubbed her hands together, applying even more hand sanitizer from the spout on the wall.

“Alright, how we feeling?”

“Fine,” she lied. Cat immediately set her phone (or rather, paperweight) down on the bed beside her.

“How’s the pain?”

“Fine,” she repeated. The doctor smiled again before sinking into a chair by the desk. After a few clicks and some typing, the doctor pulled up some sort of set of numbers and acronyms.

“So your blood results,” she started through a sigh. She regarded them for a moment, then twisted around quickly. Cat’s stomach froze. “Does your family have a history of hypoglycemia? Low blood sugar?” Cat shook her head slowly. Dr. Gupta nodded, her lips pursed. “Alright. I see your blood sugar is rather low for this late in the day, measured at 70. We normally see that level associated with fasting blood tests, right in the morning before breakfast. Otherwise, we expect it to be around 100.” Oh no. Cat couldn’t help it. Her gaze dropped to her lap, to her fidgeting fingers. The doctor stared at her, already knowing, just from her reaction, what the answer would be to her question. “When’s the last time you ate?” The clock was louder than ever, now.

“Um, three,” Cat answered quietly, adding, “yesterday.”

“Yesterday,” Dr. Gupta repeated, nodding.

“I--I forgot breakfast this morning, a-and I was running around so much, I ran out of time for lunch--” but the doctor didn’t seem to hear her excuses.

“Well, no worries,” she said. Her voice was warm, matching her smile. “The great news is that your fasting blood work is beautiful. You’re perfectly healthy.”

“Oh, okay.” Cat finally looked up, a little surprised.

“Based on these results, and the nearly guaranteed concussion you’ve got, I’m comfortable saying that your balance, your consciousnesses problems, are most likely related to a low blood sugar and head trauma.” So she was okay? “If you have any additional fainting spells after a meal and some rest, I want you to come right back, alright?” She nodded. “Now I’m going to print out some discharge instructions.” She swirled around back to her computer and started to click around again. “Essentially, you are encouraged, above all, to rest. No sports, especially.” Psh. No problem.

The printer roared to life and began to spit out sheets of paper as the doctor returned to Cat in her swivel chair.

“So you may experience some excess drowsiness, some dizziness, some memory problems related to today. Okay? If you are nauseous for too much longer, I’d give us a call, and we can work to reduce your symptoms, or see if something else is at play.” Dr. Gupta was talking fast, now. The words almost flew over her. “For a while, you’re likely to have headaches, concentration problems, the like. All of this is in this little packet.” She grabbed the stack of papers and presented them to her. “This can last a while. If you have any concerns, or feel like something isn’t right, please don’t hesitate to come back. I would like you to check in next week when we remove the staples.” The paper was warm in Cat’s hands, but her skin ran cold. Dr. Gupta didn’t slow down, and wheeled back to the computer to click and print a few more things.

“I’ve got some doctor’s notes for you. I would recommend at least two full days of rest--no strenuous activity, lots of low-key relaxation. Alright?” The printer spat out a few more pieces of paper that Dr. Gupta handed to her.

“Uh--” Cat started as she added the papers to her stack. “I--I don’t have to, do I?”

“Hm?” The doctor didn’t seem to understand for a moment. “Rest? Um…. I really suggest you do. Strain will only make healing take longer….”

“But I’ve got class and work--”

“Teachers and bosses will understand. This isn’t a head cold, so it’s something you should take seriously.” But tomorrow she had Communications, and then work the next day so she could even afford to live.

“Not--not sports or anything,” Cat clarified as she glanced to the notes in her hands. “Just--just sitting there, or standing there….”

Peter spoke up from the side of the room: “I can give you notes for tomorrow’s class,” but Cat ignored him.

“It’s ultimately up to you. But the most important thing is that for the weekend, at least, you should always be with someone just in case, even if it’s just in shouting distance. You have a roommate?” Cat nodded. “If you could have them or a friend wake you up every few hours, just to be positive you can be roused, and accompany you when you go to the restroom. Just for this weekend.” Dr. Gupta waited for her to nod again. “Alright. I’ll have an admin come in to check you out and set up your followup, and then you’re all set. I put in a prescription at the pharmacy for some basic pain meds, but Tylenol and whatnot would also be fine. Just keep on top of it to prevent excessive pain.” And, after a few closing remarks, Dr. Gupta shook both her and Peter’s hands and left the room with an additional layer of hand sanitizer sprayed in her palm.

Peter waited for the door to click shut again before he addressed her. “I can take your doctor’s note to Professor Harlem tomorrow, it’s no big--”

“I’m going to class.”

“Did you hear what she said, though? You have to--”

“I’m going to class.” When she repeated herself, she looked up to Peter, silencing him with a glare. He couldn’t make her stay in. She already hated herself for missing Human Sexuality that one time. But Professor Harlem already had a horrible impression of her, already thought she was some irresponsible child. She had to do everything she could to change that.

Peter’s frown reminded her of the one her father gave when she told him she got accepted to Bay Area University. Resigned, displeased, with a hint of “you can’t do that!” As if either of them had a say in what she did!

A short girl in slacks opened the door, smiling shyly.

“Hi, I’m Maria, here to just finish up the admin stuff.” She immediately sat down at the computer and typed her login. “I’ll set up your next appointment and then it’s just a few questions before I accept your payment and send you on your way, okay?” Payment. Cat’s eyes drifted to her bag on the floor behind Peter, where her wallet was. Her empty wallet. With literally no way to pay for this.

“How’s Friday morning for you? We have a ten and eleven-thirty open,” the girl said. Cat shrugged.

“Ten’s fine, I guess.”

“Perfect. You’re set to come in for a followup with Dr. Gupta, next Friday at ten. So now I have some questions for you. Normally, we ask these questions when you first come in, but--now is fine. Would you like your friend to exit while we process these questions?” There was that word. “Friend.” Who would save your life other than a friend? Before Cat could say anything, Maria started to fire away. “Do you smoke?”

“I would--I mean no.”

“Any medications?”

“No.” Alright, well, these weren’t that invasive.

“Last day of your last menstrual cycle?” Jesus, come on!

“Current,” she replied cryptically. Did she have to tell her what size tampon she shoved up her--

“Any unprotected sexual intercourse?”

“No.” For goodness sake, why didn’t she wait longer before these replies? Why didn’t she give Cat more time to say, “Peter, get the fuck out”?

“Aaand do you feel unsafe or threatened in any current rela--”

“No.”

“Okay, so your total is twenty dollars, even. How would you like to pay?” After pressing a final button, Maria spun around, all smiles. Cat stared at her, unable to find any words.

“Um, right now?” she asked stupidly. Maria’s smile faded.

“Maybe--” Peter started, taking a step forward, “I think--maybe I should pay, since it’s kind of my fault….” Cat shot a glare at him.

“You don’t actually believe that,” she said, a little harsh. He didn’t challenge her. “Can I have my bag?” He chewed on his lip, nearly exposing his perfect, straight teeth as he passed her purse to her.

After stuffing her discharge papers haphazardly in the middle of her bag, she dug through to her wallet with shaky and uncertain hands to remove her debit card. Maybe the charge wouldn’t go through until tomorrow. As Maria started to punch in the numbers, Cat stared at the computer, willing for a green check mark or smilie face or something to tell her things were okay. But the “submit” button prompted an error.

“Oh. Whoops, sorry. I must have typed something wrong.” Cat knew better. Maria closed the window and held the card up to the screen, comparing. From the corner of her eye, she could see Peter watching like a hawk. Nosy. “Hm…. I don’t think this card is taking. Do you have another?” asked Maria, twisting around. Cat accepted her card back, shaking her head and pursing her lips tightly so no humiliation would slip out.

Peter gestured toward Maria. “You can just add it to my account, right? I’ve got automatic payment set up--”

“Shut up,” Cat hissed at him. Automatic payment--who did that? Rich people and people pretending to be rich.

Maria recoiled as if she’d been bitten. “Um--or perhaps, um, cash or check, maybe?” But Peter now stared at Cat, as if challenging her.

“No, seriously. It’s just twenty bucks, and I feel responsible. Just add it to my account.” He now turned to Maria and spouted out some numbers that made up his student ID, which Cat yelled over.

“No! You’re not paying for this!” Moving her jaw that much really hurt her head.

Peter scowled. “It’s just twenty bucks, it’s no big deal--” Oh if he said that one more time--

“Just send the bill to my permanent address!” Cat finally blurted. That would be one way for her parents to find out if she couldn’t get in contact with them any other way. Maria shrunk into the rolling chair and returned to the computer to click around.

“Um, I need your student ID--” Maria started, but Peter started reciting his own again.

Cat yelled at him to shut up some more as she pulled her student ID out of her wallet, replacing the space with her debit card. Maria looked like she couldn’t get herself to disappear small enough as she accepted the card with two fingers, as if it was dangerous, and returned to the computer.

Peter groaned. “God, you’re so difficult for no reason! I’m trying to help!”

“I didn’t ask for your help, you stuck-up egomaniac!” The pressure built behind her eyes, throbbing, pulsating, begging for something to release--but she wouldn’t cry. Not from pain, not from embarrassment, not from frustration--not in front of Peter.

“How does trying to help make me a stuck-up egomaniac, huh?” He stared at her, now, his attempts at shouting his ID to Maria all but forgotten. “Tell me!” She didn’t entirely have an idea, she more just shouted the words at him to try and get him to go away, but now there was something to defend. Cat struggled to make herself look taller than she was.

“You already got your White Knight moment, okay? Leave the rest alone!”

“It’s twenty bucks--” Maria stood from the computer with Cat’s card. She said something about being “all set,” but Cat could hardly hear her over the rage, and snatched her ID out of the poor girl’s hands.

She slid off the bed too fast, and though she immediately regretted it, she continued to shout. “I get it! It’s twenty bucks and you feel pity because I don’t have it, whatever!”

“That’s not what--”

Her limbs were tingling, as if on fire. When she shut her eyes, they burned just the same. No. No tears.

“--free to go!” Maria managed to repeat in a high voice. She inched to the door, squishing herself against the desk as if Cat and Peter had some sort of radiation that could poison her if she got too close. As she opened the door to bolt out, Cat grabbed her bag and steeled herself.

“I’m not some charity case, Peter! I don’t need you trying to shove your way into my business--”

“I’m not shoving my way--”

“Then why did you stay here the whole time, huh? Just to offer your financial services as a budding loan shark--?”

“They never said I could leave, and you weren’t even conscious for the first half--” Exasperated by his ridiculous excuse, Cat shook her head at him and made her way to the hallway, her bag handles balled up in her fist more like a weapon than a purse.

“You’re such a--a--” But she didn’t have anything to say to him, so she just whirled around for an exit sign to follow, a way out, and started toward the nearest glowing, green light.

“Be careful, for crying out loud, you just hit your head!”

“Shut up! Stop acting like you care, because we both know that’s not true!”

“I don’t--I just--you just got staples put in, and you’re--slow down!” She did, but far before he told her to. She’d found the waiting room, found the doorway that led to it, but thankfully grasped the wooden detailing to keep herself up. Just as the world turned to white, it faded back to normal, and her breathing brought the room into focus.

It wasn’t full, but there were at least half a dozen patients, waiting to be called--including Nate and Martin, who sat in wooden chairs, looking anxious at the sight of her and Peter.

At the slightest feeling of Peter touching her shoulder, she smacked his hand away and walked through the waiting room, to the large, glass doors that slid open when she stepped up to them. Where was she? She’d never been on this side of campus before, up in the hills with the oak trees and the shade.

“Ride to your dorm?” Martin called as he rushed up to her. When Cat spun around, Nate was right behind him, and Peter eventually caught up with one of the sourest expressions she’d ever seen.

“I don’t--I don’t know where I am,” she confessed, blinking wildly. And if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t up for walking too much further. But she wasn’t going to admit that to Peter, who fumed just a few feet away.

“Which dorm?” he asked, seemingly unaware of any of the hot tension that he stood directly in the middle of.

“Mine,” Peter mumbled. “Casa del Sol.”

“Back where we came from, basically,” Martin confirmed with a nod. Cat didn’t say anything, but stepped out of the way for Martin to show her to the golf cart. Nate was quick at her side, and offered an arm for her to take. She took it out of surprise, but let him cautiously and slowly inch her down the steps that led to the Health Center. Martin sat in the front seat of an illegally-parked golf cart, ushering them in. Peter sat in front, but Nate sat in the back with her again, this time keeping hold of her arm. She wasn’t sure if she minded or not.

The longer they drove, the more Cat recognized her surroundings. The Health Center was somewhere in the hills with the “restorative housing” that bragged about its sustainability, which although awesome, was pricey and didn’t involve having AC in the middle of a desert. No thanks.

They drove down the main road, primarily in silence. They passed a smaller cafeteria Cat never noticed, a few more dorms, some engineering and architect buildings, before driving right past the English building. They were only a minute away, now.

“Thank you for...this,” Cat said when Casa del Sol began to come into view.

Nate scoffed. “We didn’t do anything. Peter--”

“Yes,” she interrupted, “but I’m thanking you, now. You and Martin. I appreciate it.”

“Just glad you didn’t die!” Martin called from the front seat. He turned around to shoot a quick smile, but when Peter grabbed the wheel of the cart to stop them from swerving, he smartly returned his attention back.

“Yeah, same,” Cat muttered to herself. Martin screeched to a stop by the main doors of the dorm, then turned around to look at her. She gave him a small smile, offered one to Nate, and started to slide out of the cart. Peter was already climbing out by the time she’d steadied herself.

Nate asked, “Maybe we’ll see you around?” Martin waved, and Cat shrugged.

“Maybe better circumstances.” She added a laugh to keep the mood light; Nate rewarded her with a large smile, and stared for a little too long.

“Hope so.” He winked, then started to pull himself toward the front seat to steal Peter’s spot. Cat’s cheeks burned at the attention, and she shrugged.

“Me too,” she decided to say, uncertain if she really meant it. He was nice, and he was cute. Why not? Nate finished climbing into the front seat, but turned to her before Martin could finish turning the cart back on.

“Careful--any redder and you’ll make the sunset jealous.” O-kay.

“Ugh,” was Peter’s reaction.

As Martin pressed the pedal to drive away, Cat could hear him say, “That was lame, man.”

Cat shook her head, but smiled, despite herself. It was funny, if a bit over-the-top.

“Him, really?” Why was Peter still here? Was he seriously judging her right now?

“What?”

“He’s a creep.” Before she could get an accurate read on Peter’s face, he had already turned around and opened the door to the dorm. She was close behind, but more out of curiosity than anything else.

“What, you allergic to kindness?” He didn’t respond to her, and instead stepped out of the way to let her pass. “He’s your friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” he quickly corrected. Cat hesitated when she noticed Peter stopped walking.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What?”

“You’re just standing there.”

He blinked at her. “So are you.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” He didn’t seem to understand her. “Steal candy from babies, tell old ladies their knitting sucks?” She didn’t wait for his answer, just headed toward the biggest, least-stained green armchair she could see in the room.

“Not until Hannah gets here, at least,” he answered with annoyance, hovering in her vicinity.

“What do you mean?” Why was he also waiting for her roommate? Why didn’t he just go get his phone from his locker? The concussion and the headache must have made her slow. He looked at her like she was stupid, but she couldn’t figure out what prompted any of this to start.

“I mean you have to be monitored for the weekend, and I’m not about to be responsible if you go into a coma because I didn’t properly hand you off to Hannah before I go and take a shower to wash your blood off me.” Oh, for crying out--

“Haven’t you been around me enough today?” she groaned, placing her head in her hand. “You can go, it’s fine.”

“Not ’til Hannah or Cam or Kelsey gets here.” Kelsey didn’t even live in this dorm.

“I hate you,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Feeling’s mutual.” Yeah, sure. If that was the case, he would have left the minute they got to the Health Center.