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was supposed to be your roommate, wasn’t he?” she asked. “And your friend.”
    “He was supposed to be my roommate. That’s true,” I said, crossing my arms. “But he’s no friend of mine.”
    “What are you talking about, Danny?”
    I couldn’t stand the way she looked at me, like I wasn’t special or anything to her, like she hadn’t been dying to see me the way I’d been dying to see her. She just wanted information from me, information about somebody else. It hurt so much.
    “Come on, Bren,” I said, trying to prove my importance. “You of all people should know why that guy is no friend of mine.”
    “How long has this been going on?” she asked.
    “What?”
    “Your animosity toward Todd?”
    “Animosity?” I said. “SATs are over, alright? Give it a rest.”
    “I’m serious,” she persisted. “Have you been mad this whole time?”
    “I’m not mad,” I said, with a face and an attitude that must have proved me a liar. “I’m just not interested in being friends with some guy that steals my girl, that’s all.”
    “Your girl?” she repeated. “Your girl? I’m not a possession, you know.”
    “Really? You should have told that to Todd.”
    She shot to her feet. “Why?” she asked. “What did he tell you? What did he say?”
    I could see her coming apart, her eyes and ears and lips kind of moving in different directions. But I spoke anyway, thinking more about my pain than hers.
    “He didn’t tell me anything,” I said defensively. “I’m just saying you should have told Todd you weren’t a possession before he wore you around like a hat last year.”
    “I can’t believe you just said that,” she said.
    I couldn’t believe it either. What a prince. Brenda began to tremble, then she ran from the room with tears falling down her beautiful face.
    That went well.

     
    I gave Brenda time to clear before climbing the stairs that left me outside The Can. Through the window, I saw Meeks and Grohl at our regular booth in the far corner with a few girls I didn’t know. A short line waited to order at the counter. Smoke rose from the grill. Upstairs, the Foosball table was open. I jingled the pocketful of quarters I had brought with me and turned for home.
    I was damaged — OK, stupid — enough to hurt someone I cared about and still feel like the victim. I went back to the paranoid — OK, stupid — idea I’d held onto since things went bad for me back home: the world had it out for me, simple as that. What a dope.
    I was making a sad march home to the dorm, rubbing my scar and feeling sorry for myself, head down and eyes on the path, when a wrecking ball knocked me to the ground. Spun halfway around, I sat up without breath, clutching my throbbing shoulder. Up the path, little Chester patted big McCoy’s back as they continued on their way, laughing hysterically.
    Super.
    I didn’t feel like getting up. Nothing inside me wanted to fight gravity or anything else. Right there on the ground, flat on my ass, holding my shoulder, seemed like a good place to be. But then I figured that, at some point, somebody would come along and I’d have to tell them what I was doing there on the ground, flat on my ass, holding my shoulder. I didn’t want to bother with that, so I stood up, dusted off, and went on home. I walked into the dorm and straight up the stairs, thinking that at least no one had seen me out there on the ground. I was ready for the quiet of my room.
    “You alright, man?” Terence asked as soon as I entered. He was standing behind his desk with his eyes all bugged out.
    “What?”
    “I saw that shit, man,” he said, pointing out the window. “That was messed up.”
    Some day I was having.
    “Yeah,” I mumbled, yanking off my dirty pants. “What are you gonna do, right?”
    “I don’t know,” he said, with raised brows. “You could punch one of them hillbillies in the eye.”
    “Yeah, I guess,” I said, “but guys like me don’t get off easy,” I