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Roy will stay out of our way from now on, because I know Bennett won’t be afraid to punch him again if he needs it.” And neither will I!
    Another round of gasps came from the gathered girls. Libby ignored their reaction and headed for the kitchen to dispose of her tray. She heard one of them say, “Alice-Marie, how can you possibly room with such an undignified girl?”
    Alice-Marie’s answer carried to Libby’s ears. “Oh, you have to excuse Elisabet. She’s an orphan, you see—she doesn’t know any better. She might even be an Indian.”
    Libby whirled around. “I’m not an Indian!” She wanted to yell, also, that she wasn’t an orphan, but she couldn’t. So she slammed her tray onto the nearest table and escaped.

C HAPTER F IVE
    L ibby dashed out of the dining hall and ran smack into a solid chest. The impact shocked the air out of her lungs and knocked the satchel from her hand. Little lights danced in front of her eyes. Strong hands grabbed her upper arms, holding her upright when she might have collapsed. And then a familiar, husky laugh rang.
    “Good ol’ Lib, always in a rush and never looking where she’s going.”
    Libby recognized Bennett’s voice, but she had to blink several times before her vision cleared enough to bring his square-jawed face into focus. Restored, she tugged loose from his grasp and scooped up her satchel. She clutched it with two hands like a shield. “Sometimes a person needs to hurry.”
    Bennett laughed, a few of his freckles disappearing into eye crinkles. “Hoo boy, you’re all fired up. What’s got you in such a lather?”
    A huff exploded from Libby’s lips. “Last night we discovered some of the men on this campus are complete barbarians. Today I’m finding some of the women to be unbearable!” She sent a withering look over her shoulder. “Calling me an Indian . . .” She whirled to face Bennett and snapped, “If someone offered me a train ticket right now, I’d go home!”
    Bennett stuck his finger in his ear and rotated his hand, as if reaming out his ear. “Did I hear you right? Someone called you an Indian?” Libby huffed again. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just—” She slapped her leg with the satchel. “Girls! Why must they be so . . . girlish?”
    Bennett threw back his head and guffawed. Irritation puckered Libby’s lips. She wished she could clop him over the head with her leather case. But his hard head would probably damage the satchel. “Stop that! It isn’t funny.”
    He sobered, although his gray-blue eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter. “Sorry, Lib. But sometimes I think you forget you are a girl.”
    “How can I forget?” Being a girl had been a problem for years. Her uncle had turned her over to an orphanage after her parents’ deaths, unwilling to raise a girl on his own; prospective adoptive parents passed her by because they wanted sturdy boys to help with chores. Even Maelle, the one Libby loved most of all, had initially been uncertain about spending too much time with her because she feared her unconventional behavior would hinder Libby from becoming the kind of lady of which Mrs. Rowley approved.
    She squeezed the satchel, the soft leather warm and pliable beneath her fingers. Being a girl might have robbed her of some opportunities in the past, but she wouldn’t allow a misfortune of birth to stand in the way of her working for a reputable newspaper.
    She gave a little jolt. She needed to get to town! “I have to go, Bennett. Are you meeting Petey for lunch?” She inched backward as she spoke.
    Bennett shrugged, the suit jacket’s buttons straining with the movement. “Not sure of Pete’s schedule today—he had a meeting or something this morning. Seems to be a lot of those before classes start tomorrow. But I’ll be in the dining hall at eleven-thirty. Wanna join me?”
    Libby wrinkled her nose. That wouldn’t give her much time in town. “I’ll try, but no promises.” She lifted her hand in a wave.