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through all that heartache just to eat tofu and rabbit food and have somebody stick me with a needle nine times a week.” Then he cocks his head. “Did I say heartache? I meant hassle.”
    This time Marcie splices in footage from some monster movie, the scene in the inevitable laboratory where a heart lies throbbing under a bell jar while mine, when Colleen leans into me and closes her eyes, races like mad.
    When the movie is over, everybody applauds, this time like they mean it. While the teacher is switching cassettes, Marcie signals for us to meet her outside.
    “What happened to those old guys?” I ask. “The ones you told me about at brunch, the ones in the hospital who were afraid their hearts were going to make them gay or Chinese?”
    Marcie shrugs. “They were just garden-variety racists. On camera, they were way too polite to be interesting.”
    “The totally cool thing,” I say, “is that you made that all by yourself.”
    “Pretty much. I picked up the iMovie program for my Mac, but that was about it. I’m probably not going to use it again.”
    “Why not?”
    Marcie shrugs. “I start things and then don’t finish them.”
    “You finished your movie.”
    “I guess. But I don’t feel like doing another one. If you’re interested, I could show you, though. Why don’t you both come over sometime?”
    I glance at Colleen, who says, “I don’t think that’d be a real good idea.”
    Just like that I’m not as happy as I was. And maybe that’s what weed does: lifts you up, then drops you like a careless parent.
    “Well, it’s a standing offer.” She squints at the bright lights in the dingy corridor. “You are made for black-and-white, Colleen. She looks like Helena Bonham Carter. Doesn’t she, Ben?”
    “In
Fight Club.
”
    “Exactly.”
    When Marcie says goodbye and goes back to watch the rest of her classmates’ movies, I take a deep breath. “Man, I loved that.”
    “Who’s Helena Bon Bon Carter or whatever her name is?”
    “A British actress. In a lot of Merchant/ Ivory movies.”
    “Is she pretty?”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    “Was she pretty in
Fight Club
?”
    I push open the double doors and we step out into the evening. “For sure, in a kind of edgy, ruined way.”
    “Cool.” All of a sudden Colleen stops. I can feel her sharp, black nails through my shirt.
    “What?”
    “Those cops.”
    I glance at two campus policemen in khaki uniforms strolling our way. “What about ’em?”
    “They’re going to hassle us.”
    “Are you kidding? They’re just a couple of guys making eight fifty an hour.”
    Colleen shoots me a glance of pitiless scorn.
    “Evening, folks,” says the taller cop.
    I read their name tags: Ketchum and Chu. It sounds like some horrible restaurant.
    Colleen advises me not to say anything. “You don’t have to. This is public property. They’ve got no probable cause.”
    Officer Chu smiles. “Maybe a little less of the
Law & Order
marathon and a little more sleep?”
    Colleen crosses her arms.
    Officer Ketchum’s lapel radio crackles. A static-riddled voice says something about Dormitory C.
    As they turn away, Officer Chu touches the brim of his cap in a lazy salute. “Have a pleasant evening.”
    “We were, till you showed up.”
    Ketchum says something to his partner, and they both laugh.
    Colleen watches them disappear around the corner of a tall, ivy-covered building.
    “What was that all about?”
    Colleen sighs. “Come over here.” She leads me to a bench, half-hidden by a drooping eucalyptus tree. She sits down, rummages through her purse, then lights another joint. Which she holds out to me.
    “Just this once,” I say, trying to keep things light. But I also want to feel like I did an hour ago.
    “I’ve got this thing about cops, okay?”
    “Because of Ed?”
    “That and Mom had a boyfriend who was a cop, and he was a total creep.”
    I hand her the cigarette. I like the way the lamppost all of a sudden looks like a