Remember Me Not

THIRTY-SIX - AFTER

Then, it's even less time before I send the message.

MORGAN: Studying hard?

The speed of his reply is an answer in itself.

ELLIOT: I'm so screwed

ELLIOT: Also kind of hungry

I smile.

MORGAN: Maybe I can help with one of those things...

I've already stood up from the table and am packing my laptop away when my phone vibrates with another message.

ELLIOT: Are you an expert on carbohydrate metabolism?

MORGAN: Carbs are definitely part of what I had in mind.

***

No more than twenty minutes after sending that message, I'm standing outside the main door of Elliot's dorm—and that's after making a vital detour along the way. I balance the stack of cardboard boxes one-handed, using the other hand to slide my phone out of my back pocket and send him another text.

It's kind of like déjà vu.

MORGAN: I'm outside.

ELLIOT: ???

Despite his reply, the instruction is clear, because it's only a couple of minutes later that I see Elliot step out of the elevator and notice me through the glass door. He presses the button to release the lock and pulls it open so there's nothing but air between us.

"Hey," I say, with a smile. Then I hold up the three cardboard boxes. "I brought pizza."

He eyes my offering with intrigue. "Is that...?"

"Carlo's?" I finish for him, referring to the much-hyped pizza takeout on the edge of campus. It's famous in the Davidson sphere and beyond for its mozzarella and garlic stuffed crust, not to mention the huge pots of garlic dip that come free with every pizza. "Yeah. I picked it up specially. Heard you were skipping dinner, and I was worried about your blood sugar."

"Clearly not worried about my arteries, though," he says, with a grin. "You're so awesome, Morgan. I can't believe you trekked all the way to Carlo's. And... wait, are those—?"

"Mozzarella sticks." I gesture toward the smallest box at the top of the stack.

He lets out an unrestrained groan: one that makes me feel peculiar inside. "You are a godsend," he says, stepping back to let me through the door. "Seriously, what would I do without you?"

As we ride the elevator, cocooned by the tantalizing scent of cheese and garlic, it occurs to me that this is the first time I'll see Elliot's room. That in itself shouldn't be a big deal—but his presence is making me feel all kinds of weird tonight. Maybe it's the time spent apart. I'm buzzing with an underlying energy that feels like, given the right moment, it could jump between us. I don't know whether I should be encouraging it, but I also can't seem to stop myself.

We step out of the elevator, and I hang back in the corridor as he fumbles with his key.

"Here," he says, when the door clicks open. "Come on in."

True to uninspiring dorm design, his room is identical in layout to mine, both this and last year. Two twin-sized beds sit on opposite walls, with two cheap wooden desks between them. One side is pretty bare, with not much to suggest anyone lives there other than faded blue bedding; from what Elliot has told me, his roommate spends so much time at his girlfriend's apartment it's a mystery why he even pays for room and board.