“Cal?” He was still dreaming, maybe. Something hard bit into his shoulder, rocking him from side to side. “Cal! Jesus. Wake up, Cal. Are you hungover again?”

“No. Shut up.” Cal groaned, rolling onto his back and pawing Micah away. “Just . . . Didn’t sleep well. Stressed. Roger is on my back again.”

“Remind me to get him a ladder,” Micah said, chuckling and drifting over to his side of the room. He dropped into his desk chair and watched Cal struggle to sit up.

Cal rubbed at his puffy eyes and reached for the water glass he usually kept on the bedside table. It was empty. He swore and slammed it back down.

“You can ask for that ladder the next time you two are chumming around,” Cal muttered.

“What are you talking about?” Micah asked, leaning forward in his chair. He took off his glasses, cleaning them on the bottom of his polo shirt. Was he trying to grow a goatee? That had to be Lara’s doing.

“I saw you and Roger in the quad the other day,” Cal said. He carefully eased out of bed, taking his cup to the sink across the room to fill it with tap water. “Chat about anything in particular? Like his deadbeat son?”

Micah laughed, loudly, putting his glasses back on. The goatee certainly made him less nondescript, more of the dark and tousled bad boy Lara no doubt wanted him to be. “Contrary to popular belief, Cal, the world does not revolve around you. No, we were talking about some program he wants me to run. There are a few kids he thinks might be getting into trouble with townies off campus. He wants me to talk to them about my time in juvie.”

“Funny, he didn’t ask me if I wanted to attend.”

“Probably because he wants to help you out himself,” Micah replied. Cal could hear the growing exasperation in the other boy’s voice. “You know I’m no fan of Roger, but where I come from, if your pop’s in a position to help, you take it and you stop complaining about it.”

“Where you come from, people eat alligators, so you’ll understand if I don’t jump to take your advice.”

Micah put up his hands as if to surrender. “Suit yourself, man. I just think you’re going about this all wrong. Let Roger help you out. Get on his good side and then he’ll leave you alone.”

Cal’s phone jittered, vibrating across his desk. Wincing, he went to collect it, knowing before he even picked it up who would be messaging.

“Speak of the devil,” he mumbled.

“Roger?”

“Who else?” He rubbed at his temples and the bridge of his nose; then he remembered that was Roger’s tic and stopped.

“You know we’re worried about you, right?” Micah said, but Cal wasn’t listening. “Lara and I both are. You can talk to us if you need to.”

“Yeah,” Cal said. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

My office. Now. I know you don’t have class until noon, so no excuses.

“I’ll probably take you up on that,” he added absently.

He wouldn’t, of course, but it was nice to think someone cared.

Cal loaded up his bag for the day and lugged it across campus. It would be Roger’s office for a check-in; then Elementary Econometrics, which he actually looked forward to; lunch; that damned lit class; Intermediate Microeconomics; and then tutoring with Fallon. At least if he was busy, he thought, it might keep him from thinking too hard about the night before.

Roger’s offices were in the prettiest building on campus, Middle College, the tall, tapered, nineteenth-century mansion not far from Wilfurd Commons. Bright, scholarly pennants hung down around the doors, which were always left open during days with good weather. The chapel bells finished chiming as Cal half jogged across the stone courtyard. A pair of senior girls passed, bringing a strong whiff of coffee as they went.

The light inside the building was cave-like compared to the pure, bright sun in the quad. Dark, wood-paneled walls lined the upper floor, with portraits of previous deans and presidents leading up to the row of office doors. Roger’s was third, with a neat little nameplate and everything. Some of the other doors were decorated with college stickers or news clippings, but Roger’s was fittingly austere.

Cal knocked, feeling his gut twist up into preemptive knots.

“Come in.”

Deep breath. You can do this. You went to tutoring, you went to help Professor Reyes. You’re playing along. You’re playing along.