Page 23 of Follows with Intent

But Nico wrenched free. “I told you I’m fine, so stop it.”

From the crowd of grad students, Maya called, “Nico?”

“I’ll see you guys later,” Nico shouted back. He said in a softer voice to Clark, “You’d better go.”

“I don’t like this,” Clark said. “This is weird, and you’re being weird. If you’re scared of him, I’ll call the police right now.”

That seemed to undo some of the tension in Nico’s body. He gave a small laugh and shook his head. “I’m fine, Clark. I promise. Go catch up with the rest of them; I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Text me when you get back to the dorm,” Clark said. “I want to know you’re safe.”

Nico rolled his eyes, but finally he nodded. Clark slunk off after the rest of the grad students, darting poisonous looks back at Jadon.

“Ex?” Jadon asked.

“He wishes,” Nico muttered. Jadon cracked a smile, but Nico’s expression stayed flat. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“I heard you say it the first time. I understand how you feel about the situation, and I’m sorry you’re frustrated.”

For a moment, Nico stared at him. “Was that a fuck-you apology?”

“No.” Jadon thought about it. “Well, a polite one.”

Nico walked off, and Jadon gave him a few yards before following.

Instead of hurrying after his friends, though, Nico headed north. He passed Waverley, where a few students waited for shuttles as the October dark closed around them. They passed more buildings—dorms, Jadon guessed, based on the orange-and-purple lights strung in the windows, and the cardboard sign that said JESUS LOVES YOU, and, on the fire escape, a jack-o'-lantern with an electric candle illuminating the words FUCK TRUMP. The dark closed like a slipknot. Somewhere nearby, an oboist was practicing scales.

Unlike most of campus, Sterling Library was a grim, hulking building shorn of its neogothic trappings. It looked like a glass-and-concrete cube that could have been plucked from take your pick of post-Soviet states. Nico still had a lead on him, so he was already inside by the time Jadon caught one of the glass doors. His reflection flickered, and he decided Vic had been right—he did look like shit—and then he was stepping into warm air and a mixture of odors: wool that had been warmed by body heat, and aging book bindings, and something that made him think of mothballs.

Nico had a card that let him past the security gates, while Jadon had to stop and explain why he was on campus (the symposium) and what he wanted in the library (a totally made-up journal article he needed for the next day). The guard, a short, stocky twentysomething in need of a powerful exfoliant, finally buzzed open a gate, and as Jadon went in pursuit of Nico, he wondered if Nico would go so far as escaping out a fire door. Probably, he thought.

Like the exterior, on the inside, the library was severe, everything lines and angles and brown: brown linoleum in the lobby, brown carpet in the halls, brown bookcases, brown plastic furniture, all of it showcased by banks of fluorescent lights and, of course, more concrete. He wandered each floor and then climbed to the next until, on the fourth floor, he spotted Nico. He was so deep in a study carrell it looked like he might be trying to crawl inside it. The floor was unoccupied, as far as Jadon could tell, except for an Indian girl who was staring at a laptop and chewing her nails, and a white guy in a shapeless smock and hemp pants—he was (because why wouldn’t he be?) barefoot. Jadon took a seat at a table with a good view of Nico, and then he took out his phone.

He’d been reading for about five minutes when Nico stood and came to the table. He had a hint of a flush under that coppery skin, and his shoulders were locked and loaded. He stared down at Jadon until Jadon put his phone on the table and looked up.

“As you can see, I’m fine. I made it all the way across campus without being attacked. So, now you can go home, and you can take a shower, and you can sleep in a bed, and tomorrow, you can go to your symposium and look like a human being.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

Nico took a deep breath, but it didn’t sound like it helped much. The glasses started to slide, and he resettled them. “I’m going straight back to my dorm after this.”

“Good.”

His volume rose a notch, and the words took on a staggering, insulting choppiness. “I want you to go away. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

Nico made a—admittedly soft—screaming noise.

“Have you eaten today?” Jadon asked. “I could pick up something from the vending machines. I bet they’ve got some healthy options, maybe some nuts—”

“What I eat isn’t any of your fucking business!” The shout echoed through the large, open space. It bounced back from the raw concrete. “And I don’t need you following me around while I’m trying to look like a professional!”

It was exhaustion. And frustration. And the jangle of nerves like far-off alarm bells, the ones that never went quiet. Jadon stood up so fast that he thumped onto the carpet behind him, and he shouted back, “I don’t care! And you know what? It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing those stupid fucking glasses!”

Behind the frames, Nico’s eyes got huge.

“Hey!” the Indian girl shouted. “This is a library!”

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