Chapter Five

When school first started, I used to hang out in the lounge a lot, hoping to meet people on our floor. But no one seems to use the lounge alone unless they're studying, and the girls who'd come out here in groups were always too tight-knit for me to join naturally. It's not easy, making friends. I'm not practiced at meeting new people after years with the same group, all of us having met when friendships were forged over cartoons and parent-planned playdates. I must have missed the lesson on forging new friendships, and putting yourself out there for friends is as hard as dating—maybe harder.

Now I sometimes hang out in the lounge when I need a change of scenery to help me concentrate. Which is what I'm doing—working on an anthropology assignment—when Dara and Madison come in from the stairwell.

"… use mine and they'll never even know," Dara is saying as the door swings open. She waves her phone under Madison's nose.

Madison giggles as she pushes Dara's hand away. "That would be deceitful."

"The way I see it, the Lord put me in your path to help you get some fine ass in college." Dara twirls away from her with a flourish, grinning when she spots me. "The two of you—so resistant to getting your world rocked."

"Um, that's not what I'm resistant to," I say as Dara flops onto the couch across from me.

"I can't lie to my parents," Madison says, taking an open chair. "And I don't think I'll find a nice Christian boy who wants to have a serious relationship on Buckonnect."

I try not to let it show on my face how pleased I am that they're joining me in the lounge, and how quick I am to abandon my schoolwork to hang out. I'm so desperate for friends, I'd risk my GPA at this point.

"Maybe not," Dara cedes with a shrug. She looks at me. "But you're not looking for a nice Christian boy."

"I'm not really looking for anything."

"But that's the best part," Dara says. "You don't have to be looking for something. It's, like, harmless flirting at its very baseline. If you want to get railed four times a week, that's on the table too. Or on the bed, or in the shower…" She laughs at her own joke.

"Oh my god," I say, laughing, while Madison turns a shade of red last seen on a vine of ripe tomatoes.

"Please tell me you aren't getting railed in our shower," Ellie says from our doorway. She must have heard Dara's voice, because a few seconds ago, that door was firmly shut. Now she holds it wide, her foot shoved against it. "Or at least that you're cleaning it afterward."

Dara laughs, waving her off. "I haven't even met anyone for real. Seriously, I'm a"—she cups a hand around her mouth, whispering the last word—"virgin."

"That's not a bad thing," Madison says, scandalized.

I feel a rush of defensiveness. If Dara is admitting this, then I may as well back her up. If nothing else, at least from Madison's judgment. "No one said it is," I reply. "I am too."

"I am, obviously." Madison holds up her hand to show off her purity ring. It was one of the first things she told me about when we met on move-in day. She's had it since middle school, when she took her purity pledge.

Ellie props our door open and comes out into the lounge. "Is this our big teen-movie confession moment? I'm not a virgin, you fuckin' nerds." But she's grinning as she sits, softening the blow.

"Hey, I'm trying my best here!" says Dara. "I spent all of high school studying and doing extracurriculars and killing myself to get into college, and now that I'm here, I'm like… Tons of other people made it here and have already done everything I didn't do. I want experiences! I want to go on a date. I want to get laid just once in my life, at least!"

I'm startled to hear that Dara, who is so open about her online dating life, might be as inexperienced as I am. It's a little comforting, but I also know that if she keeps going for it as hard as she is, it likely won't last. Dara is thin and pretty. She knows how to talk to people. She'll bag a boyfriend by the end of the semester, I bet.

When you're fat, dating is like shopping for jeans—most stores don't carry your size, and the ones that do are limited and often not the style you want, and even if you do manage to find the right style, they'll gape in the waist or sag in the bottom or hang low in the crotch. Finding the perfect fit sometimes feels impossible.

"Hopefully more than once," Ellie says to Dara. Then she looks at me. "You could probably use getting laid too. Stressed-out as you are all the time. Or weed does wonders for that if you aren't interested in sex."

"I didn't say I'm not interested in sex."

Dara brightens, but Madison speaks first, wide-eyed. "Have you all smoked weed?"

"No," I say at the same time Dara says, "I haven't." She doesn't even seem to hear me as she continues, lamenting, "God, I haven't done anything. This blows. Someone better offer me drugs or sex soon, or I'm gonna lose it."

Ellie snorts. "Keep saying that loud enough, and one of those douchebags down the hall will definitely offer you something."

"Ew, no." She slumps into the couch, lifting her phone. "I like Buckonnect better. More potential for something… notthat." She flicks her hand in the direction of the boys' hall.

I shake my head at her. "Your Buckonnect obsession is a problem."

"You'd get it if you'd play."

I shoot her a flat look. "Do you know what guys who don't know what I look like will say when they find out? Majority of them would not like to be surprised by a fat girl—trust me."

Madison's eyes widen. "Don't say that!"

"Why not? It's true," I reply.

She flounders for a second. "You aren't fat."

"It's not a bad word. I'm fat. I'm not embarrassed by it. But I have to be realistic about how other people view fatness."

Madison flushes deep red. I feel Ellie's gaze on me, assessing.

Only Dara seems unaffected by my words.

"Well, I'm Black," she says, "and Buckonnect hasn't been all that bad for me. This school is super white, right? So I just tell them right off the bat that I'm Black."

Madison makes a choking sound.

I feel a rush of guilt for assuming dating will end up being easy for Dara. I hadn't considered what the experience is like for someone who, outside being thin and pretty, is also Black on a mostly white campus.

It makes me wonder about that early Buckonnect article I wanted to write, and if Three and I both missed the real story—the human aspect of Buckonnect, rather than the tech itself.

"And how does that work out?" Ellie asks Dara, looking genuinely curious.

Dara shrugs. "I get unmatched with a lot."

Madison gasps. "That's horrible!"

"I mean, yeah, but they were gonna be horrible either way. Better to learn the truth early before I get invested."

"And you don't find that at all upsetting?" I ask. "I don't think I could handle telling everyone I match with that I'm fat and having a bunch of them unmatch with me right away. I'd probably cry, no joke."

"But then you end up matched with someone who already knows, and it doesn't matter to them," Dara says. "That's the upside. And the other thing is, you only have to tell them if you're worried they'll ghost you once they see what you really look like. If you never plan to show them, then it's a—you know, a—"

"Moot point," Ellie supplies.

"Exactly," Dara says, pointing at her. "Moot point. If you're only looking to blow off steam with some harmless flirting, you don't have to say anything. Then it's just fun."

"Except flirting"—I swirl my hand at her—"is not fun for me."

She flattens her mouth. "Practice makes perfect."

"My humor translates better in person."

"I'm not sure your humor is translating anywhere," Ellie says.

"Okay," I say loudly. "Wow. Thank you."

Ellie shrugs. "Sorry."

"You'll see." Dara pushes to her feet. "When I get Madison talking to boys on my Buckonnect so her parents don't find out—"

"I'm not doing that," Madison says primly.

"—that's when you'll want in." Dara points at me. "You'll see how fun it is."

She retreats to their room. Madison trails her, shoulders stiff.

Ellie stands, watching them go. "Do you ever think we might be scarring Madison for life, living with the three of us?"

A laugh bursts out of me. "I think she's a month away from begging for a new room assignment."

Ellie shoots me a smile. And for the first time all semester, I feel a little bit like we might be becoming, if not friends, at least friendly.

The next edition of the Torch goes out right before fall break, as everyone is preparing to head home for the long weekend. Dara and Madison took off last night after classes, and Ellie is packing up to leave now.

For the next few days, I'll be the only one here. My parents will be working the Renaissance Faire for the entirety of our break, and I don't want to waste what little money I have on the bus to get there only to sit around, alone, exactly as I would at school.

My Buckeye Crossing story also went out in this week's edition of the Torch, which has been bittersweet. After the porn ban story swept campus, I hoped this would do the same. I imagined people petitioning and writing emails to the administration about the treatment of the students living there.

That didn't happen, though someone did start a GoFundMe for Kate to buy a car, which has gained a little traction. I'm happy people want to help her, but it isn't nearly the impact I was hoping for. Kate is only one person affected by the Buckeye Crossing demolition.

Some people say news today is only considered newsworthy if it's sensational. And even though I know the story is good, and that it matters, and, most importantly, that it'll look great in my portfolio, I don't enjoy feeling like those people are right.

With nothing else to do and a long, lonely weekend ahead of me, I leave the dorm. It's nice, at least, to be the one going, rather than watching Ellie leave me behind in our quiet suite.

My feet take me to the Torch office, but as I near the room, I'm surprised to see a light shining from beneath the closed door.

I have it half open when it occurs to me that it could be Three inside. After statistics this morning, I should be avoiding him. From the narrow look he shot my way in our lecture, he's at least suspicious about the Buckeye Crossing story. And as much as I've been practicing the confident bravado of someone who definitely got the idea on her own, a rush of nerves chased me out of the classroom the second our professor stopped talking. I hid in the building across the street until I was sure he wouldn't be hanging around outside, waiting to confront me.

Now I've walked straight into his trap—or, I guess, the trap he didn't even know he'd set. Because when he looks up from the grunt desk, there's a brief flash of surprise across his face.

His expression instantly sours, not unlike my stomach suddenly.

"Don't look so guilty," he says, sounding smug despite the lid he's clearly holding on his rage. "I might think you did something wrong. Something… dirty."

I give him a prim smile, hoping I don't seem as rattled as I feel. "I have no idea what you're talking about." The door swings shut behind me. I can't help but notice we're entirely alone.

"Really?" His brows arch up, the picture of shock. But I can tell he's biting down on the insides of his cheeks to keep his temper from showing. After a second, he gives me a knifelike smile and pats the chair beside his. "Then why are you hanging out by the door like you're about to run?"

I bark out a laugh, willing it not to shake. "Run? From what?" I approach the grunt desk and drop into my seat. "I was just deciding if I wanted to get a little space from you for once. But it seems like you've missed me."

"Like an infectious disease," he replies.

I shoot him a sideways look, smirking.

"I know you stole my idea." He swivels toward me, his gaze like lightning. The arm of his chair bashes into mine. "I'm even kind of impressed. I didn't expect you to stoop this low. So tell me, how'd you choose ‘dick'? Over all the other possibilities?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds…" I wiggle a hand, indicating the iffy direction this conversation is taking. And to someone without a clue what's going on, it would be very iffy.

"This is the part that's really getting me." He turns his computer toward me, showing an activity log. In the center is a highlighted group of lines detailing a couple of failed log-in attempts. "I had a weird feeling last week. It was the day with the salt-and-vinegar chips, wasn't it? I knew something was off."

I draw up every ounce of confidence I can muster, readying the words I've practiced for days, mouthing them to myself between classes and lying in bed at night. I had to be prepared for this moment, knowing Three wouldn't let it slide without the accusation.

"Three," I say sweetly. "Honey." I can tell I've earned the desired effect when his eyebrows slant down sharply. The pet name definitely rankles. "You think you were the only one who knew about Buckeye Crossing? Do you think you're that much smarter than everyone else here? You are not that special. When you wrote that Buckonnect story, I didn't accuse you of stealing from me, even though I had the same idea. It's called news, babe."

His gaze flattens, hardening. I feel a head rush so intense, I don't think I'll ever need to do drugs in my life. This high is enough for me.

"This is how the news works," I continue. "We all know how to find it. That's why we're here. Maybe when you were editor-in-chief at your little school, everyone felt the need to run every story by you, but we work for the Torch now. I don't need to run my stories by you, and I'm not desperate enough to steal from you." I reach over and tap the edge of his computer. "I see you leave this thing lying around all the time. And if I knew someone broke into my computer, I'd be a little less worried about my ‘newsworthy ideas'?"—I punctuate the finger quotes with a sweet smile—"and a little more worried about, I don't know, my saved passwords, my banking information, the pictures I don't want anyone to see…"

His cheeks go splotchy red, signaling I've hit my mark.

"Ah," I say, nodding. "Didn't think about your nudes, did you? Tough break." I reach over and pat him on the back, shocked to feel how hot his skin burns beneath his shirt.

Three shrugs me off, swiveling toward me with bright, angry eyes. "You know what? That's fine. Because if whoever broke into my computer was hoping to use any of my other ideas, they'll be pretty disappointed when they find out I've already written every story."

I try to keep the surprise off my face. "You—" I backpedal before I can say something stupid. "What, your big stories about how beneficial Greek life is to campus, and how legacy students deserve more respect?"

Three smirks, but there's an edge to it I've never seen before. "Sure, we'll go with that hard-hitting news." He pushes his chair back, gathering up his stuff. "By the way, that stats assignment was pretty tough, huh?"

My stomach dips with sudden dread. "Whatever."

"You looked sick when we got our scores. Not doing well?"

I suck in a breath, glaring up at him. "Don't even look at me in class."

His face breaks into a delighted grin. "Sure. You first."

He's halfway out the door when he stops and leans back in. His expression has lost all its fury, replaced with something wicked. "And if whoever broke into my computer stole my nudes, well, I guess I just hope they enjoy them. I'll sleep easy knowing they made it into the hands of someone so desperate to see me naked." His grin stretches impossibly wide as I gape at him.

Then the door swings shut, leaving me with nothing but my erratic, pounding heartbeat.

I feel like the last person left on campus.

I know it's not true. I see other people walking around, though few and very far between. My floor is empty, my RA gone, and at night, when everything is quiet, it feels like I'm the only one in the building.

By the second night, loneliness creeps in. I'm in my room, a movie playing on my laptop and every light turned on, while I mindlessly scroll social media. I pass people from high school at a football game, someone in a pumpkin patch, so many pictures of falling leaves, Dara with a younger girl who looks just like her, Madison with some churchy quote, and, of course, nothing from Ellie.

Then I go to my recent searches and click the name at the top. The one I've looked at far too many times.

Three's profile is private, and I have enough pride not to request to follow. All I can see are his tiny profile picture and the description: third. Nothing else. Is his entire personality being the third?

"So annoying," I huff, rolling onto my side.

I'm starting to wish I'd gone home, even though the house would be empty too. But at least Mom and Dad would get back from working the Renaissance Faire before I went to bed. They'd arrive smelling like fried food and dusty dirt, using accents and lingo they no longer need away from the faire. One of them would have spent too much money buying something useless but pretty from a new vendor. The other would be toting a turkey leg for me, wrapped in greasy paper.

I miss my parents in a way I didn't quite expect. They've always been very hands-off, and I grew up doing a lot on my own. I learned how to pack my own lunch and do my laundry and use the stove long before anyone else I knew. But despite that, my parents still felt present in my life, especially in their influence over my interests. When I got older, I was dying to get away from the Ren Faire and their Lord of the Rings obsession. But right now I'm torn between my constant, niggling annoyance with them and my yearning for our old, broken-in couch and one of a thousand Lord of the Rings marathons, obsession or not.

I wonder what Three would do with the Lord of the Rings thing in his arsenal. He has to suspect something. But if he knew for sure, I bet I'd hear about it constantly, like I did back home—"my precious" and "POH-TAY-TOES" echoing down the halls of my school for years. Most of them didn't even know who éowyn was, and probably still don't.

Bitterness floods my mouth, and I flop onto my back. I need to focus on something else—not my loneliness, or my surprising bout of homesickness, or my preoccupation with Three.

I stare at my screen for a long time before downloading the app I've been resisting for so long, Dara's words echoing in my head.

A harmless, fun distraction.

WELCOME TO BUCKONNECT

Buckeye nuts rain down my screen, bouncing as the app loads. I enter my gender identity and the gender or genders I'm seeking. Then it takes me to a basic campus map, where a few buildings are available to choose.

Pick your favorite campus landmark,the top of the page reads.

I tap a classroom building at random, and it generates a username: pomerene1765.

Then I'm bounced into a chat.

hitchcock444:hey wanna see my hitchcock

I wrinkle my nose, swiping away. I land in another chat.

morrill2012:hey

pomerene1765:hi

morrill2012:you on campus?

pomerene1765:yeah. you?

morrill2012:yeah. looking to link up. you hot?

I make a grossed-out noise and swipe away. How does Dara possibly enjoy this?

I'm about to close out the entire app when a line pops up in my new chat that makes me pause.

hayes6834:would you rather always have BO or always smell BO on everyone else?

pomerene1765:lol what??

hayes6834:idk I thought it'd be a good opener lmao

pomerene1765:I guess I'd rather smell BO on everyone else?

hayes6834:sounds miserable. I'd rather have it.

pomerene1765:yeah but then you're repelling everyone. if everyone else smells bad at least it's EVERYONE. plus then there's less expectation for you to shower regularly and wear deodorant every day. imagine the time you'd save.

hayes6834:that's a well thought out answer

pomerene1765:yeah I've been told I'm a really deep thinker

When he doesn't respond right away, my heart sinks. Maybe this is it.

I go back to the main page and block the other two users, then delete our chat history.

My phone buzzes a second later. Hayes has responded.

hayes6834:would you rather spend a year in prison or a year at war

pomerene1765:prison. I'm a pacifist.

hayes6834:I might be too soft for both

pomerene1765:that's very brave of you to admit. so you're not one of those "I'm so badass, I'm so macho" beating your chest, arm wrestling kind of guys?

hayes6834:nah I'd get snapped like a twig

I actually laugh out loud.

hayes6834:would you rather have a rumor go around that's terrible but a lie or embarrassing but true?

pomerene1765: are we just playing would you rather all night?

hayes6834:oh sorry did you have something else in mind?

I freeze, expecting the worst.

hayes6834:I don't know any other games except twenty questions and that seems risky on this app. come on, humor me. do you have anything better to do?

Of course, no, I don't. And this is almost exactly what I was looking for, dropped into my lap just before a third strike. Like maybe I didn't hit a home run, but I at least got on base. Though I don't think this qualifies as even the most harmless flirting.

pomerene1765:probably the lie. I'd rather people think I'm terrible than know some of my embarrassments

pomerene1765:that's a long pause

hayes6834:yeah I'm a deep thinker too lol

hayes6834:this one's hard

pomerene1765:you can't hear me right now but I'm whistling the jeopardy music

hayes6834:probably the truth.

pomerene1765:spoken like someone who's never really been embarrassed before

hayes6834:spoken like someone who's never had anyone think the worst of them

pomerene1765: is this when you reveal you're secretly the softhearted yet misunderstood bad boy?

hayes6834:LOL

hayes6834:no, I'm not nearly that cool

pomerene1765:okay my turn. would you rather have all your texts leaked or your search history leaked?

pomerene1765:wow you really are a deep thinker with these long pauses

hayes6834:lol sorry, my mom needed something apparently right this second that couldn't wait

hayes6834:(she couldn't get her ipad to turn on. spoiler alert: the battery was dead.)

pomerene1765:you're home for break?

hayes6834:yeah it's a fucking joy. you?

pomerene1765:no, my parents had to work. I'm on campus.

pomerene1765:so texts or search history?

hayes6834:ughhhhh idk. probably my texts. I don't need everyone to know how many times I've googled how to spell accommodate.

hayes6834:one more on the books just to send that btw. so embarrassing.

We end up talking much longer than I expected, trading "would you rather" questions back and forth until my phone gives a low-battery warning and, blinking the screen-haze from my eyes, I realize it's after midnight.

pomerene1765: hey I should go to sleep

hayes6834:did I scare you off with the ketchup/mayo thing?

His last question: Would you rather drink a full glass of ketchup through a straw or eat half a jar of mayo with a spoon? Both instantly activated my gag reflex.

pomerene1765:yeah when I have nightmares I'll know who to blame

hayes6834:I've been blamed for much worse

pomerene1765:there's that misunderstood bad boy persona coming out again

hayes6834:I'm starting to think it might actually be my alter ego.

And somehow, despite my having every intention to go to sleep, we end up talking for another hour, until he finally admits he's exhausted.

But it's his parting message that really gets me.

hayes6834:I'll think of some good questions for tomorrow

And when I wake up late in the morning and grab my phone, I have a notification from Buckonnect waiting: 3 messages from hayes6834.