Pomegranate

Meredith - 3

Eight months later, Meredith's hair was back to its natural pale orange color, and Benji's teeth were smooth and straight as he chewed gum.

He had his own room this year, and Meredith had a double with Corey. They lived in different dorms, but other than that not much had changed. They would hang out in Benji's room, mostly because he tended to be ten times more awkward and uncomfortable when outside of a few, specific, pre-approved zones: his room, this one spot at the back of the library's quiet zone, and a mocha-green couch at the corner of the Midnight Cafe. Meredith never complained – her room was usually a mess, a combination of her inability to keep track of things and Corey's hoarding nature.

She also liked to think Benji would be more inclined to admit that he, too, was in love with her if Meredith's roommate wasn't in the room.

"Your feet smell," he said.

Or maybe not.

Meredith hated how those thoughts sneaked up, curling around her ears and heart. Benji was the closest friend she had, even more than Corey. They had watched countless hours of TV together and met almost every day. Meredith had cried to Benji when she was homesick and Benji had cooked for her. Benji had anxiety attacks and Meredith read one of her poetry books to him until his breathing became even. She had met his family on Parents Weekend, and Benji sent her parents a thank-you letter when Meredith's mother gave him a hand-knitted scarf. Little did he know Sonya Lancaster would knit scarfs to any of a Meredith's most distant acquaintances, but now even her mom was smitten by him.

Yet none of that emotional closeness changed shapes, not even as Meredith's feelings for him intensified, not even when she knew for a fact, with certainty, that she was in love with him. They remained the same — friends.

"Do they?" Meredith asked, keeping her eyes on the book open on her chest and wiggled her toes, moving her feet around his face. They were laying down on opposite sides of the bed, Meredith's head propped on one of his pillows.

"God, they stink," he swatted at her, sitting up on the bed. Meredith laughed and continued reading until Benji's low voice pulled her away from her Classics reading.

"Can I tell you something?"

Her lungs constricted in anticipation. This was it. After months of Meredith's subtle but growing physical affection with hugs when they said goodbye and leaning on his shoulder during TV marathons, pointed jokes about Valentine's Day, and even a couple of situations she brought back from the dead her push-up bra expecting an I-Can't- Believe- I-Never-Noticed-How-Pretty-You-Are moment, it was happening. In Benji's bed, on a Tuesday night, with her feet on his face, and the smell of microwave ramen in the confined college room.

She lowered the book, looking at Benji, and tried to keep her voice casual.

"Of course."

"It's..." Benji sighed, and shook his head. "It's nothing. Nevermind."

"Don't pull this sad boy bullshit on me, Benji."

"Right. Um. My parents want me to transfer schools."

"What?" Meredith sat up, the book tumbling to the floor "Why? Where?"

"A Music Conservatory in Boston," he bit his nails. "They want me to play violin professionally."

"But you're already a Music major."

"And a Sociology double major. They think I'm not dedicating enough time to the violin."

"You play all the time," Meredith argued. "I don't get it. Do you want to go?"