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would be simpler than a lie. “—I don’t know where the dining hall is.”
    “You’ve been living here more than a month.”
    “I know.”
    “And you haven’t found the dining hall?”
    “I haven’t actually looked.”
    “Why haven’t you asked someone? You could have asked me.”
    Cath rolled her eyes and looked at Reagan. “Do you really want me asking you stupid questions?”
    “If they’re about food, water, air, or shelter—yes. Jesus, Cath, I’m your roommate.”
    “Okay,” Cath said, turning back to her book, “so noted.”
    “So, do you want me to show you where the dining hall is?”
    “No, that’s okay.”
    “You can’t keep living off diet bars. You’re running out.”
    “I’m not running out.…”
    Reagan sighed. “Levi might have eaten a few.”
    “You’re letting your boyfriend steal my protein bars?” Cath leaned over her bed to check on her stash—all the boxes were open.
    “He said he was doing you a favor,” Reagan said. “Forcing the issue. And he’s not my boyfriend. Exactly.”
    “This is a violation,” Cath said angrily, forgetting for a moment that Reagan was probably the most intimidating person she’d ever met.
    “Get your shoes,” Reagan said. “I’m showing you where the dining hall is.”
    “No.” Cath could already feel the anxiety starting to tear her stomach into nervous little pieces. “It’s not just that.… I don’t like new places. New situations. There’ll be all those people, and I won’t know where to sit—I don’t want to go.”
    Reagan sat at the end of her own bed, folding her arms. “Have you been going to class?”
    “Of course.”
    “How?”
    “Class is different,” Cath said. “There’s something to focus on. It’s still bad, but it’s tolerable.”
    “Are you on drugs?”
    “No.”
    “Maybe you should be.…”
    Cath pushed her fists into her bed. “This isn’t any of your business. You don’t even know me.”
    “This,” Reagan said. “This is why I didn’t want a freshman roommate.”
    “Why do you even care? Am I bothering you?”
    “We’re going to dinner right now.”
    “No. We’re not.”
    “Get your student ID.”
    “I’m not going to dinner with you. You don’t even like me.”
    “I like you fine,” Reagan said.
    “This is ridiculous.”
    “Jesus Christ, aren’t you hungry?”
    Cath was squeezing her fists so hard, her knuckles were going white.
    She thought about chicken-fried steak. And scalloped potatoes. And strawberry-rhubarb pie. And wondered whether the Pound dining hall had an ice cream machine like Selleck did.
    And she thought about winning. About how she was letting this win, whatever this was—the crazy inside of her. Cath, zero. Crazy, one million.
    She leaned over, compressing the knot in her stomach.
    Then she stood up with as much dignity as she could scavenge and put on her Vans.
    “I have been eating real food…,” she muttered. “I eat lunch at Selleck with my sister.”
    Reagan opened the door. “Then why don’t you eat here?”
    “Because I waited too long. I built up a block about it. It’s hard to explain.…”
    “Seriously, why aren’t you on drugs?”
    Cath walked past her out of the room. “Are you a licensed psychiatrist? Or do you just play one on TV?”
    “I’m on drugs,” Reagan said. “They’re a beautiful thing.”
    *   *   *
    There was no awkward moment in the dining hall, no standing at the doorway with a tray, trying to decide on the most innocuous place to sit.
    Reagan sat at the first half-empty table she came across. She didn’t even nod to the other people sitting there.
    “Aren’t you going to be late for work?” Cath asked.
    “I’m going out. But I was gonna eat dinner here first anyway. We pay for all these meals; may as well eat them.”
    Cath’s tray had a plate of baked macaroni and two bowls of Brussels sprouts. She was ravenous.
    Reagan took a big bite of pasta salad. Her long hair fell over her shoulders. It