Page 2 of Follows with Intent

“Because I was so devastated I couldn’t eat.”

“Hardy-har. You bought new clothes because the old ones don’t fit anymore.”

“It’s a, special seminar,” Nico said. “Some of the top scholars in the field are here. It’s a mentorship opportunity. And a networking opportunity. And they publish an edited collection. And honestly, if I want to get into a PhD program and eventually get a job, this is a make-it-or-break-it opportunity.”

What he didn’t add was what he’d been thinking to himself more or less since he’d gotten the acceptance email: to get someone to take me seriously as a scholar.

“Why in the seven fucking hells would you do a PhD program in the humanities? Look at Theo. Look how well that turned out for him.” Emery seemed to consider it for a moment. “Why don’t you get a PhD in biology?”

“Oh, sure, get a PhD in biology.”

“I didn’t say it was easy. But at least it would be worthwhile.”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of busy right now. Maybe I’ll get one next year.”

Emery gave him a flat look.

Ahead, the campus of Chouteau College was taking shape. The old limestone buildings stood apart from more recent construction—in contrast to the towers of glass and steel, the campus, with its neogothic turrets and spires and leaded-glass windows, looked like a place outside of time. Part of that, Nico had to admit to himself, was the tangle of excitement and nerves in his gut. But part of it was the chilly sunlight, and part of it was the confetti of brightly colored leaves papering the old brick walkways, and part of it was how, when the wind moved the branches of the old trees, the shadows rippled, and it made him feel, only for a moment, like they were underwater.

“Do you have your wallet?”

“I don’t carry a wallet. And you know that.”

“I was hoping you’d come to your senses. Do you have your license?”

Nico waved his phone to display the cardholder attached to the back.

“Credit cards?”

“Ready to go and loaded with debt.”

“They’d better not be after I spent three Saturdays in a row helping you consolidate—”

“It was a joke!”

Emery glowered at him. “Cash?”

“Nobody carries cash anymore.”

“You should always have a couple hundred dollars in case of emergency.”

“I’ve got Apple Pay, Em. I’ll be fine.”

“Textbook?”

“Believe it or not, nobody writes textbooks for seminars on Christian existentialism.”

Emery thought about that. “They should. That seems like an untapped market.”

The next stoplight flicked to red. The campus was cattycorner to them now, and on the sidewalk, a young woman in what Nico thought of as a pioneer-type dress (to the ankles, to the wrists, gingham, even a bonnet) had set up a makeshift plywood stall with a sign that said GOATMILK FOR SALE – NO FREE SAMPLES. Next to her, chomping on what appeared to be the college’s expensive landscaping, was a goat.

“She’d better have a permit,” Emery muttered. “And a pasteurizer.” His gaze flicked to Nico, cool amber chips raking him up and down. “Did you pack warm clothes?”

Nico touched the corduroy shirt jacket, worn over a favorite Kumbia Queers t-shirt. “This is super warm.”

“Real clothes, Nico.”

“These are real clothes.”

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