Andrew stood paralyzed in the doorway. The cheap microphone slipped from his grip, clattering against the linoleum.
I didn't flinch. Instead, I tugged the cuffs of the oversized gray hoodie over my knuckles. Three months ago, I had sprinted into this exact room to escape a torrential downpour, and Spencer had chucked this very hoodie at my shivering frame; I just never found the right time to give it back.
"What are you doing?" Andrew demanded, his voice cracking.
"Sitting," I answered.
"I can see that." He gestured frantically at the hallway behind him. "Do you have any idea what's going on out there?"
"A public nuisance," I said. "And some very off-key chanting."
"They're waiting for you."
"They'll be waiting a long time."
"Why are you on his bed?" Andrew asked, his eyes darting from me, to the dark blue sheets, to Spencer leaning against the window sill.
"Your pillows smell bad," I said.
Andrew stepped into the room, his wet sneakers squeaking loudly. He ignored the microphone on the floor, kicking it aside. "Are you doing this to get back at me?"
"Get back at you for what?" I asked, keeping my tone level.
"For Coraline!" He pointed wildly toward the open door. "The whole campus is out there, Juniper. They all saw. I just poured my heart out. And you're up here, wearing my roommate's clothes, trying to make me look like an idiot!"
"You managed that on your own," Spencer interjected. He didn't move from the window, but his voice cut through the room like shattered glass.
Andrew spun on him. "Stay out of this, Spencer."
"It's my bed," Spencer noted. "And my hoodie."
"I don't care whose hoodie it is!" Andrew yelled. He turned back to me, the veins in his neck bulging. "You are insane. You couldn't handle the fact that I moved on, so you set this up. A pathetic revenge stunt. You wanted me to walk in here and find you looking like this."
"Looking like what?" I asked.
"Like you don't care!"
I let out a short, quiet laugh. "Moved on? That implies we were still together."
"We were together until ten minutes ago! I just ended it. Me. Not you."
"No, Andrew." I uncrossed my legs and planted my bare feet on the floor. "We were over six months ago. On your birthday."
His anger faltered. The flush drained from his cheeks, leaving him pale under the harsh fluorescent light. "What are you talking about?"
"The ice cream cake," I said. "The kitchen counter. Your unlocked phone."
He swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed.
"One hundred and forty-two messages," I stated. "Between you and Coraline. Before she was your grand destiny, she was just the girl you texted at two in the morning while I was asleep next to you."
"You went through my phone?"
"It was glowing on the counter."
"You're making this up."
"Message fifty-three," I said, tilting my head. "You told her she was the only one who truly understood your creative vision. Message eighty-nine, you complained about my laugh. You said it was too sharp."
Andrew took a step backward. His shoulder bumped into his own desk. "You read them."
"I read all of them."
"And you didn't say anything. For six months."
"There was nothing to say. You made your choice, and I made mine."
"You let me look like a fool!"
"You bought a megaphone to dump a girl who already dumped you in her head half a year ago. I didn't make you do that."
Andrew dragged a hand through his wet hair, leaving it sticking up in jagged spikes. "You're a liar. You're just saying this now to save face."
"I don't need to save face."
"You do! Everyone downstairs thinks you're crying your eyes out! They think you're crushed."
"Let them think it."
"I'm going to tell them the truth. I'm going to tell them you're a manipulative psycho who spies on her boyfriend."
Spencer pushed off the wall. "Watch your mouth, Andrew."
"Shut up!" Andrew yelled, turning his back on me. "This is between me and her."
"Not when you're screaming in my room."
"It's my room too!"
"Then act like it," Spencer shot back. "Pick up your trash and get out."
Andrew glared at him. "You knew about this. Didn't you?"
"I don't care about your love life," Spencer said flatly.
"You let her sit on your bed. You gave her your clothes."
"She was cold."
"She's my girlfriend!"
"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected softly.
Andrew whirled around to face me again. His chest heaved. "You think you're so smart. You think you won."
"There is no winning, Andrew. We just broke up."
"I broke up with you!"
"If that helps you sleep at night."
Footsteps hurried down the hall, slapping against the tile. Priya appeared in the doorway, breathless, her damp hair plastered to her cheeks. She took one look at the dropped microphone, Andrew's pale face, and me sitting on Spencer's bed.
"There you are," Priya said, panting. She stepped over the cheap microphone. "The RA is threatening to call campus security about the noise downstairs."
"Tell them to call," Andrew muttered, staring at the floor.
Priya ignored him. She walked straight over to Spencer's bed and grabbed my arm. "Come on. We need to go."
"I'm comfortable," I said.
Priya leaned down, her voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Your transfer application. The dean's office emailed. The results come out this Friday."
I stiffened. My fingers tightened their grip on the gray hoodie.
"Let's go," Priya urged, pulling me upward.
I stood up. The oversized hoodie hung halfway down my thighs.
Andrew suddenly shoved his hand into his pocket. "It doesn't matter," he stammered, his eyes wide and frantic. "None of that matters. I'm deleting it. It never happened."
He yanked his phone out, his thumb swiping aggressively across the glass.
"Andrew, don't," Priya warned, stepping back.
"I'm erasing the whole thread!" he shouted.
He fumbled the device. The phone slipped from his sweaty palm, flipping backward as he tried to catch it. He grabbed it by the edges, but his grip was awkward.
The bright screen faced outward, visible to the room.
He had opened the chat history.
The one hundred and forty-two messages glowed harshly against the dark background.
Spencer stopped walking.
