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Ted’s leg was really close to Penelope’s leg. He was wearing shorts, which was embarrassing.
    “Ah, gee, I don’t know,” said Penelope, racking her brain on how to get this strand of conversation to stop. “Whitney Houston, maybe.”
    “Totally,” said Ted, not listening. Ted was bobbing his head to the music and Penelope wondered if Ted was secretly terrible, yet able to hide it effectively in the waking hours. She didn’treally know him. And a sense of humor can sometimes be a disarmingly superficial thing. Still, she had come into his room. She was contractually obligated to make out with him. College students make out. It is just what they do. Ted was probably expecting her to lunge at him at any moment.
    “This song really reminds me of my senior year,” said Ted.
    “Really? I think it came out when we were nine.”
    “My girlfriend was really into it.”
    “Was she? That’s cool,” Penelope said. This was a curveball.
    “When I left for college, she made me a mix with this on it.”
    “Wow,” said Penelope. “That is awesome. It is hard to make mix tapes. I always have trouble, you know, because what do you really put after Ace of Base?”
    “I just miss her,” said Ted, as if he did not hear. “We broke up right before I came here. She’s out in California, you know? That’s far away.”
    “I know,” said Penelope.
    “And like, I don’t know what she’s doing. What did we do tonight? Go to an ice cream social?”
    “Um … yes,” said Penelope.
    “She is probably at a frat party or something. Do they even have those here?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
    “Yeah, I didn’t think they would.” Ted stared at
The Fountainhead
glumly.
    They sat in silence for a moment. Penelope twiddled her thumbs.
    “You are really great to talk to,” said Ted.
    “Thanks,” said Penelope.
    “You are like the only normal person here,” Ted said, inching closer to Penelope on the bed, brushing his ridiculous shorts on the side of her arm.
    “I have never ever been told that before,” said Penelope.
    “This school is pretty weird, don’t you think?”
    “I am not sure we can make that determination yet.”
    “What does that mean?” said Ted.
    “I mean, we have only been here for like a second. We don’t really know if it is or not,” said Penelope.
    “Yeah, I guess. Wow, I bet Sarah is fucking some guy at a frat party,” said Ted, who then kind of started to cry.
    There was probably no person in the world worse equipped by nature and cumulative experience to handle drunk crying than Penelope. Her discomfort with all forms of maudlin emotion combined with her inability to distinguish drunken crying from real crying made her especially terrible in a situation such as this.
    She ineffectually patted him on the arm.
    “It’s OK. I mean, I’m sure she is not doing that.”
    “But what’s stopping her? Oh God, I want to kill myself,”
    “Don’t do that,” said Penelope. “It is stupid to kill yourself over empty conjecture.”
    “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” said Ted. He lay on his bed, his knees curled up in a C shape. Penelope sat up awkwardly.
    “Here, lie down next to me,” said Ted. He pulled her down next to him. The bottom part of his neck was rife with pimples and infected stubble. He was not very good at shaving, it seemed. The man in the rumpled linen suit would probably be great at shaving. But beggars could not be choosers.
    “Penelope,” said Ted.
    “Yes,” said Penelope.
    “I really feel a connection with you,” said Ted, staring into Penelope’s eyes without blinking.
    “Thanks,” said Penelope.
    Ted touched her face. “You don’t have to be Helen of Troy, you know. You can just be you.”
    Penelope sat up like a shot.
    “It’s late,” she said. “I should go.”
    “OK,” said Ted. He did not seem particularly displeased.
    “See you around though,” said Penelope, putting on her shoes.
    “Yeah, definitely,” said Ted, still