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Manhattan.
         Randall had turned to face her, still holding one of her hands in his.
         “What’s next?” he asked gently. “Campuswide outreaches for one-night stands gone wrong? Are you going to go around campus handing out pamphlets listing the names of guys who don’t call back?” He lifted his hands and fluttered his fingers at the mock horror of it all. 
         “You’ve played me his voice mail, Randall.”
         “For fun, Kathryn. I didn’t know you were going to run to the Women’s Center with it.”
         “Every time it’s a different one. Half of them end up begging. And maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much if I didn’t think that Jesse probably gets off on those messages more than sleeping with them.” 
         “Let me guess. Someone didn’t call you back once. And you were scared for life.” He had lowered his voice to a dramatic bass, leaning toward her until their foreheads almost touched. When he saw her glare, he shrank back, abashed. “Kathryn ...”
         She went to step off the curb. “Forget I brought it up.”
         “Come on, Kathryn. I was kidding.” He reached for her shoulder and missed. Her feet hit the street and suddenly a pair of headlights sliced toward her and she was forced back up onto the curb.
         “I’m sick of you and April making me out to be this Puritan.”
         “I didn’t say that.”
         “You have.”
         “When?” Randall asked, sounding slightly indignant. He was right, she knew; he had never called her that. But it was too late to relent; silence fell and she stuffed her hands inside her pockets.
         “It’s not about me, all right?” she managed. When she turned to face him, she saw his rapt stare, which was as confused as it was eager for her to continue. “I know better. But there was a time when I didn’t. And that’s why I don’t like it when I see a guy who does nothing but use people.”
         Randall narrowed his eyes and nodded. “I know better too,” he said gently.
         It was this knack for cutting straight to a truth they shared, and doing it with care, that had allowed Randall and Kathryn to form such a deep and all-inclusive friendship so quickly. Kathryn only had to do half the work because Randall could intuit the rest. Did this make her lazy? No. There existed between them a suggestion that something that had shaped them before they met had primed them to become something close to soul mates. It was one of those assurances that hinted there was a little more order to the world than you thought, and made it a less lonely place to live in.
         She returned his embrace before giving him a surprise slap on the „ass. He jerked. They were both startled by a high-pitched whistle. 
         “Break it up, you two!”
         Kathryn steeled herself at the sound of Jesse’s too-familiar voice. His date clung to his shoulder like a barnacle and let out a short, barking laugh as they approached down the sidewalk. Kathryn’s eyes immediately shot to the girl’s crotch to see if her jeans were buttoned.

    Candles on wall sconces lit the interior of Madeline’s. The bar was clogged with Armani- and Gucci-clad students downing shots between boisterous fits of laughter. Anemic, black-uniformed waitresses maneuvered between the cramped tables, carrying trays of drinks their skinny arms could hardly support. A strange mix of acid jazz and trance pumped from unseen speakers, a stark contrast to the flickering images of the local eleven o’clock news Kathryn was watching on the television above the bar.
         She sipped her club soda and shot a glance over one shoulder. Through the plate-glass windows, cardiganed students could be seen making the walk back to their dorms. Weighted by overloaded book bags, they shot withering glances at the official hangout for Atherton’s Euro-trash and designer-drug addicts. Kathryn prayed none of them noticed her, fearful of