Page 22 of Follows with Intent

“If this is some weird, psycho way of trying to get me to, I don’t know, be with you, it’s not going to work.”

“Believe it or not, Nico, I don’t want to ‘be with you.’” The way Jadon drew the air quotes, the way he cut a tiny, icy smile at him, made Nico flush. “That’s why I stopped texting you, remember?”

That tiny bird warbled again. Then the morning seemed still.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“From what I hear, you’ve got plenty of experience with that.” Jadon folded his arms, planting himself, and chinned toward Eldridge Hall. “I’ll see you at five. Have a great day at school, honey.”

9

Jadon

The day passed in a blur. After what had felt like a surge of wakefulness and clarity that morning—an illusion, he knew, that was common following a sleepless night, and which had been compounded by the argument with Nico—he found himself in a kind of fugue state, moving from workshop to workshop, head nodding as he tried to keep himself upright and at least appear to be paying attention. The rooms, warmed by the radiators and crowded bodies, made it hard to stay awake, though, and more than once Jadon’s own sleepy breathing roused him from the edge.

Vic told him he looked like shit.

Allison asked twice if he needed to go home.

At the end of the day, he mumbled excuses and managed to escape while Vic was bragging about his conquest from the night before and Allison was pretending to vomit. He made his way to Eldridge and sat on the bench where he had waited the day before. The shadows were long, and the stone was ice, freezing his ass to the bench. Over the turrets and spires of the college, beyond the oaks and maples of Forest Park, the sky was the red of spaghetti Westerns. His head dipped again, and instead of uncomfortable, the cold felt like a hand catching him. If I fall asleep out here, he thought in that jumbled way of half-waking, Nico will leave me to die of exposure.

The sound of doors opening and animated voices roused him, though, and he wiped drool from his chin and straightened up on the bench. Nico and his friends emerged from Eldridge Hall. Nico looked good; maybe not how Jadon remembered him, not how Jadon had thought about him when they’d been texting. But there were reasons for that. They’d met during the summer, when Nico had been wearing a T-shirt and shorts that left a lot of smooth, coppery skin exposed. And when they’d been texting, it had always been at night, and the occasional selfie had always been sleep shorts (so tiny, Jadon had to admit, they barely qualified as underwear) and old tanks washed to the point of translucency. The image he had carried in his mind of Nico for months didn’t quite line up with the starched professional in front of him—a microdot button-down, a navy quarter-zip. He was wearing the glasses again, the ones Jadon didn’t remember. The images overlapped: the Nico who had worn a tank top that said, MY OTHER DADDY HAS A MOTORCYCLE; and this Nico, the one who looked like he’d been shopping in the straight bro aisle at J. Crew. (Maybe, Jadon considered, that was all the aisles?)

The grad students came down the steps from Eldridge, several of them talking animatedly—a Harry Potter type with a Bart Simpson haircut, the girl Nico had called Maya, and Clark, the boy Jadon had thought—still thought—might have something going with Nico. Nico didn’t even look at Jadon. He moved along with the others, his head locked forward, even though several of the students glanced at Jadon and turned questioning looks at Nico. When they’d gone a few yards, Jadon got to his feet and went after them.

He was close enough to hear when Maya said, “Nico, your friend is here.”

Nico stopped abruptly. He turned to look at Jadon. For a moment, he said nothing, obviously struggling between the desire to make a scene (something Nico had confessed, in those midnight texts, to doing because it gave him a feeling of control when he felt powerless) and his desire to maintain a professional demeanor. Finally, body stiff, he stalked toward Jadon.

“What?”

“Nothing. You go do your thing; I’m not going to bother you. You won’t even know I’m here.”

It looked like it took Nico an effort to rein himself in, and by the time he opened his mouth to speak, Clark was walking toward them as he said, “Is there a problem?”

“No,” Nico snapped. “I’m fine, Clark.”

That’s right, Clark, Jadon thought. We’re fine.

“What’s going on?” Clark said when he reached them.

“Nothing,” Nico said.

With an appraising look at Jadon, Clark said, “Can I help you?”

“No, thanks. I’m checking in with Nico.”

“And you are?”

“A friend.”

Nico shifted his weight to angle his body slightly away from Clark. “I’m handling this.”

“I don’t think you are,” Clark said. To Jadon, he added, “I think you’re bothering Nico. I think this is starting to constitute harassment.”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to protect your friend,” Jadon said, “but you don’t know what’s going on here.”

“I know exactly what’s going on.” Clark took Nico’s arm. “Come on, Nico.”

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