The Hoodie That Wasn't His to Give Back

The whole campus expected me to fall apart the day Andrew Zelinski confessed to the pretty transfer girl.

They pictured me sprinting across the quad in tears, begging him not to do it.

They lined up outside the lecture hall just to watch me break.

I never showed.

While Andrew was busy pouring his heart out to Coraline, I was three floors up in his own dorm.

I was wearing his roommate's gray hoodie, sitting cross-legged on his roommate's bed, swinging my wet hair.

Spencer Lithgow looked at me, then looked very hard at the wall.

His throat moved when he swallowed.

"I got your sheets wet," I said, sweet as anything, "so where am I supposed to sleep tonight?"

He threw a towel at my face without a word.

"Dry your hair," he said, "and stop sitting on my bed like that."

What none of them knew was that I'd already let Andrew go months ago, on his birthday, when I found the messages.

What Spencer didn't know was that I'd kept his hoodie on purpose.

And the transfer application I filed last week was about to change which dorm I'd be walking past every morning.

***

The roar from the courtyard below rattled the windowpanes.

A collective shriek echoed through the damp night air, followed by a rhythmic chanting of names. Down there, Andrew was standing in the center of a heart made of cheap electric candles, handing a microphone to Coraline, the new transfer student. The whole campus had rushed to the quad, fully expecting me to burst through the crowd, crying, begging him to stop.

I dragged my wet hair back from my forehead and didn't move an inch.

Instead of making a fool of myself in the mud, I sat cross-legged on the fourth floor of Andrew's own dorm building. Specifically, in his roommate's bed.

The oversized gray hoodie swallowed me whole. Spencer had shoved it at me during a storm three months ago. I never gave it back.

Spencer leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes flicked from the window to me.

"They're getting loud," he noted, his voice flat.

"Let them." I shifted my weight, pressing a damp spot into his mattress. "I got your bed wet."

He stared at the growing dark patch on his sheets. His jaw tightened.

"Where do I sleep tonight?" I asked, tilting my head, letting my voice go soft and innocent.

Spencer’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He jerked his gaze away, fixing it on the blank wall to his left. He snatched a towel off the desk chair and chucked it straight at my face.

"Dry your hair," he ordered, his tone rough. "And stop sitting on my bed like that."

I caught the towel before it hit my nose. Pulling the fabric over my head, I rubbed the moisture from my scalp. Under the terrycloth, I smiled. I tugged the cuffs of his sweater over my knuckles.

Half a year ago, I had sent Andrew one hundred and forty-two messages in a single night. He ignored every single one. That was the exact moment he evaporated from my chest. There was nothing left for him there.

"You're ruining my mattress," Spencer said, stepping further into the room. He didn't look at me. He busied himself with a stack of textbooks on his desk.

"It's just water."

"It's my bed."

"You can share."

He stopped shuffling the books. His knuckles went white against the spine of a heavy hardcover. "Don't push it, Juniper."

"I'm just asking a logical question. My dorm is locked, my roommate is downstairs cheering for my supposed boyfriend, and I'm stranded."

"He's not your boyfriend anymore. Clearly."

"Are you defending him?" I asked, dropping the towel to my lap.

Spencer spun around. "Do I look like I'm defending him?"

"You're his roommate."

"Unfortunately."

"And you're hiding his crazy ex-girlfriend in your room while he declares his undying love to a girl he met Tuesday."

"You're not crazy."

"Everyone downstairs thinks I am."

"Everyone downstairs is an idiot."

I laughed. The sound was sharp in the quiet room. Outside, the microphone crackled. Andrew's voice echoed up the brick walls, declaring something about destiny and fate.

Spencer walked over to the window and slammed it shut. The noise muffled instantly.

"You didn't have to do that," I said.

"I hate his voice."

"Me too."

He leaned against the sill, studying me. The harsh overhead light caught the sharp angles of his face. "Why are you up here, Juniper?"

"I told you. I was caught in the rain."

"You could have gone to the library. The student center. Literally anywhere else."

"I wanted to be here."

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "In my hoodie."

"It's comfortable."

"It's mine."

"Not anymore." I pulled the hood up over my damp hair, letting the strings dangle. "Finders keepers."

Spencer uncrossed his arms and took a step toward the bed. "You realize everyone out there is waiting for the grand finale. They want the betrayed girlfriend scene."

"They can wait."

"Andrew even bought a new microphone for this."

"Did he? How romantic. I hope he kept the receipt."

"He didn't. He told me it was a symbol of his permanent devotion."

I snorted. "Permanent devotion. That's rich coming from a guy who changes his major every semester."

Spencer didn't laugh. He just watched me. His gaze felt heavy, pinning me to the mattress.

"You're dripping on the floor now," he pointed out.

"Gravity is working against me."

"Get up, Juniper."

"I'm tired."

"You're stubborn."

"That too."

He walked closer. The room was small, so it only took three strides to reach me. He stopped right at the edge of the mattress. Close enough that I could smell the clean soap on his skin, cutting through the damp chill of the rain.

"Why my bed?" he asked. "His is right there." He pointed across the room to the neatly made bed on the opposite wall. Andrew's bed.

"His pillows smell like cheap cologne," I said.

"And mine?"

"Soap. And laundry detergent. It's tolerable."

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. "You're infuriating."

"You're too tense. You need to relax, roommate of my ex."

"He's not your ex yet. He hasn't officially broken up with you."

"He's confessing his love to a girl named Coraline in front of three hundred people. I consider that a fairly solid breakup text."

"You still have that," Spencer said, changing the subject, nodding at the gray fabric I was wearing.

"Have what?"

"My hoodie."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I bought this at the campus store."

"It has a bleach stain on the left sleeve."

I lifted my left arm. A faded white spot sat right near the elbow. "A design choice. Very avant-garde."

"I gave that to you three months ago. During the campus blackout."

"You threw it at my head."

"You were shivering."

"I was fine."

"Your teeth were chattering so loud I couldn't hear the thunder."

"Exaggeration."

"You owe me a hoodie."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"I want that one."

"Too bad. It's mine now."

He reached out, his hand hovering near my shoulder. For a second, I thought he was going to physically pull me up. Instead, he grabbed the edge of the blanket I was sitting on and gave it a sharp tug.

I tumbled backward, landing flat on my back against his pillows.

"Hey!" I shouted, staring up at the ceiling.

"I told you to get up."

"You pulled the rug out from under me. Literally."

"It's a blanket."

I stayed lying down, spreading my arms out wide. "Fine. Now I'm taking up even more space. Happy?"

He glared down at me. "You are a menace."

"Andrew is going to come back up here eventually," I said, ignoring his insult.

"Doubt it. He has a new girlfriend to entertain. They'll probably go to that diner on 4th Street. He loves taking girls there to look at the jukebox he never plays."

"You know his routine."

"I know his script. He's predictable."

"And you?"

"I am trying to study."

"You haven't opened a single book since I got here."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes dropped to my mouth, then snapped back up to my eyes. "You talk too much."

"And you complain too much."

Another roar erupted from outside, loud enough to vibrate through the floorboards. Someone set off a firework. A crackle of red light flashed against the glass. The crowd went absolutely wild.

Spencer turned his head toward the window, then looked back at me. The tension in his shoulders coiled tighter.

"You're not going down to watch?" he asked, his voice low. "He's confessing to someone else."

I let the oversized sleeves swallow my hands, tilted my chin up, and smiled without answering.