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Upperclassmen turned their stereo speakers out the windows on the second floor and blared music. Except it wasn’t pop music like from back home. As we walked, we heard Bob Marley and Led Zeppelin. Some kid in Pilgrim Dorm played thirties-style jazz.
    We walked clear across campus, past the theater and the science building. Up twenty steps and across the main lawn toward one of the boys’ dorms, called Hadley House. That place was noisy, roiling with guys back from sports. Their voices echoed out the open windows. The smell ofsteam and sweat and shampoo floated by on the breeze. Jimi Hendrix asked if we were experienced.
    I followed Brynn to the Hadley House entrance — an open-air alcove with a stairway up to the second floor. When she slowly made her way up the steps, I hesitated. Only boys were allowed up there. I craned my neck and saw guys running around, oblivious to Brynn coming up. After a moment, I took a deep breath and went up, too.
    We passed a little balcony halfway up the steps. I poked my head out of it and took a deep whiff of clean air. Boys were stinky. When I looked back in, Brynn was limping.
    “You OK?” I asked.
    “Oh, yeah.” She smiled at me, but she also wore a pained expression.
    Next to the entrance of the boys’ dorms was a small wooden door similar to Miss Andersen’s. This one said HENRY GRAHAM on a brass plate. Brynn knocked, turned the knob, and went in.
    Inside smelled like pasta cooking, and I could hear a drift of classical music. Brynn got one foot into the entrance before Mr. Graham came to the door. He looked bewildered at our intrusion. I could not believe Brynn had just walked into our teacher’s private home, attached to a dorm or not.
    “Sorry, Mr. Graham! I didn’t think you’d hear us knock. The noise outside,” Brynn said. I glanced over. She was crying a little. I don’t know who was more shocked, me or Mr. Graham.
    “What is it?” Mr. Graham threw a dish towel over his shoulder and reached out to help her. Brynn hobbled a tiny bit farther into the apartment. I stood at the threshold, watching. “I fell on my knee in practice. I thought it was OK, but then I twisted it funny walking up here. Do you have ice or something?”
    Already Mr. Graham was doing these pantomime hand gymnastics to get us to come in and sit on his couch while he went to the kitchen and filled his dish towel with ice. Brynn leaned on me. She didn’t weigh anything. I helped the big faker to the couch.
    “I hear you’re a big tennis star. Can’t have you getting injured.” Mr. Graham reemerged and handed the ice to Brynn, fretting over her like a mother hen. I tried to hide my smile.
    “Thank you so much,” she said. “Did we mess up your dinner?”
    “No, no. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Do you think you can walk?”
    A timer beeped. Mr. Graham went into the kitchen and poured a pot of water into a colander in the sink. Noodles. “Or do you want me to call down and have the nurse come pick you up?” he called over his shoulder.
    A couple of Hadley House guys peered into Mr. Graham’s apartment. “Hey, Brynn, is that you?” one of them called. They wandered into the apartment, breezing past me like I wasn’t even there. “What’s up, girl? You dining with the Graham-meister tonight? Is he a righteous cook, or what?”
    “How’s your knee?” I asked Brynn.
    “You know, I think the ice is really helping.” She smiled and stretched her pretty, muscular leg out in front of her. One of the boys pulled the coffee table closer so she could rest her foot on it.
    Another boy handed her a throw pillow. “Here you go. Leg OK? I hear you’re a pretty good tennis player. I’m Jake, by the way.” Brynn was a one-woman show, with three guys and a teacher fawning over her. Suddenly, it made me uneasy to watch Brynn bask in the attention. When I’d stumbled into Lia’s spotlight, I’d paid a price. I hesitated for a moment. Then, without a word, I slipped out the