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undetected by any of the barbarian students milling around the Art History building.
    Brandon was waiting for me in the Calvin College common room. I pasted an awkward smile on my face in preparation for the inevitable awkward hug.
    But when it came, it wasn’t awkward in the least. Brandon enfolded me in his arms and dropped his chin onto my shoulder and I almost gasped from the sudden, overwhelming sensation of fitting . With it came the memories: how Brandon wasn’t all that much taller than me and I hadn’t had to tilt my head up to kiss him; how every curve of his body seemed to fit perfectly against mine. I stiffened, steeling myself against the impulse to press against him, and pulled away. “Lunch?”
    We engaged in idle chitchat all the way through the cafeteria line and the salad bar, and then Brandon directed me to an out-of-the-way table with only two chairs. Well, that answered my first question. We wouldn’t be sitting with his buddies.
    As soon as we got settled, Brandon launched into a description of the various programs he planned on applying to and I responded in kind, all the while wondering how he expected me to know anything about what universities were looking for in a candidate for their Applied Math programs. I hadn’t taken a math class since high school. I’d earned all my Group Four—Eli-speak for science and math—credits in the natural sciences. What use would I be to him reviewing his applications? What was I even doing here?
    “…though I really like the work they’re doing at the Courant Institute,” he was saying.
    I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Courant is where, now?”
    “NYU, Amy.”
    “Right. Well, the one where you go to study in Antarctica sounded—”
    Whoosh! A deluge of icy liquid spilled over me, soaking my hair, my clothes, everything! I jumped, but not quickly enough to dodge the shower of soda, pink lemonade, water, and juice.
    “Oops,” said a smug voice behind me as I yelped. Antarctica, indeed. I whirled around, to see an unfamiliar kid standing above me, holding a tray covered in about ten tipped-over, extra-large dining hall glasses and the remains of their liquid contents.
    The dining hall went silent as everyone directed their attention to our table. So much for flying under the radar.
    Brandon had yanked a wad of napkins from the dispenser and was trying to mitigate the worst of the mess. “Say you’re sorry, jerk, and give us a hand.”
    The guy shrugged. “You probably shouldn’t have left your bag in the aisle.”
    I held my sticky, frigid shirt away from my chest and tried to mop up the puddle in my lap. “My bag?” I looked down and discovered that the damage to my person was nothing compared to what had happened to all my newly bought books and school supplies. “Oh my God,” I wailed, reaching for the sopping straps. Everything was ruined. I touched one sodden, pulpy pile. “This textbook was eighty bucks!”
    “You disparage my aim?” the guy drawled.
    “You’re saying it’s my fault you tried to turn me into a human soda machine?” I snapped.
    “What the hell were you doing with all those drinks anyway?” Brandon demanded, using up the last of our table’s supply of napkins and starting anew with those swiped from the table next to us. Some nearby diners had pitched in to help stem the flood, and I felt carbonated beverage seeping into my underwear.
    “I get dehydrated,” said the guy. He craned his neck over my shoulder to look into my bag. “Look on the bright side: Your computer wasn’t in there. I’d say you got off lucky, Amy Haskel. This time, at least.”
    My mouth dropped open and my eyes shot to the collar of my assailant’s jacket, where a tiny, gold reptilian face leered. He turned and walked off before I could push away the hands that were wringing out my scarf and go running after him. Dragon’s Head! It was starting already?
    I rose and tried to follow him, but the move dislodged several wayward ice cubes