"No way."
Derek was the first to push back. "School just started like two days ago. Even that's too fast for a normal human being."
Kevin shook his head too. "Exactly — that's insane. But..." He scratched the back of his neck, already hooked on the idea. "I mean, if it were true... who do you think it'd be?"
Neither of them actually believed it. But the thought had already gotten in, clawing around like something with no intention of leaving.
Because if a guy in your own dorm locked down a girlfriend within the first week of college — that wasn't just impressive. That was genuinely painful to witness.
They were still arguing about it when they reached the residence hall and spotted it immediately — the sleek black Audi, sitting in the lot downstairs.
Kevin stopped and pointed. "Wait. That's weird. It wasn't there when we left for dinner. When did it get back?"
The three of them had been quietly curious about that car since it first appeared — whoever owned it had to be either an upperclassman or someone in their program with extremely different circumstances than the rest of them.
Lucky for Ethan, he'd already made it upstairs. They'd missed him again.
Meanwhile, Nora made it back to the room.
She pushed open the door and paused.
Last night, Summer had been the only one with a bed curtain hung. Now the other two beds had them too — soft, cozy panels pulled around each bunk, carving out little private spaces.
Nora's bed was the only one still completely open. Bare mattress, bare frame, fully exposed.
She pressed her lips together, swallowed whatever she was feeling, and quietly moved to her desk. She needed to find something to wipe down Ethan's car with.
The problem was she barely had anything.
The dorm was standard NYU setup — bunks with desks underneath. Her roommates' desks were covered in brand-new laptops, skincare products lined up in neat little rows, compact mirrors, jewelry, chargers, storage bins stacked under the frame.
Her desk had a few textbooks arranged carefully, a single plastic basin on the floor underneath, and a plain black plastic bag beside it.
She went through everything she had. Twice.
She didn't own a single cloth that would work for wiping down a car. She didn't even own a regular cleaning rag.
In the end, there was only one option. She grabbed her face towel.
She was heading out, towel in hand, when the door swung open and a few of her roommates spilled back in, laughing about something.
Hannah — the one with the neat high ponytail who slept across from her, sharp and friendly in equal measure — spotted Nora right away and tilted her head.
"Nora, you still haven't gotten a bed curtain?"
Her tone was genuinely warm, not pointed at all. "We just picked ours up at the convenience store across the street — forty bucks a set, actually decent quality. They might still be open if you want to run over. I could walk with you if you want, I could use the fresh air after eating."
Something warm moved through Nora's chest for just a second before the embarrassment swallowed it whole.
She dropped her gaze, voice coming out barely above a murmur. "No — no, it's okay. Thank you though, Hannah."
And then she slipped out the door before anyone could ask a follow-up question, before she had to see whatever expression came next.
The hallway felt long.
The gap she'd been feeling all day settled back over her like something with actual weight. It had been there in high school too, but college made it clearer somehow — louder, less possible to ignore.
Her roommates were all perfectly nice. Nobody had been unkind to her. But the distance between her world and theirs didn't need anyone to point it out.
Four years of this. No laptop. No skincare routine. No opinions about which foundation had the best finish or which lip color was worth the price. She wouldn't be able to join those conversations. She'd just stand a little outside them, the way she always had, and keep herself small enough not to be noticed.
And her bed was the only one without a curtain.
Forty dollars.
For most people in this building, forty dollars was nothing. For her, it was several days' worth of meals in the dining hall — the cheap ones, rice and whatever vegetable they were serving that day.
She bit down on her lower lip hard, until she tasted something faint and metallic, using the sting to push the ache back down where it belonged.
You've made it this far. Keep going. Once you graduate, once you're earning — you won't have to think twice about a bowl of food anymore. You won't have to do the math every single time.
But no matter how many times she said it, the hurt didn't fully leave. She was eighteen. The comfort of a future she couldn't see yet only went so far.
She took a slow breath, pulled her shoulders back, tucked the towel under her arm, and walked toward the men's residence hall area.
Under the dim glow of the streetlights, she spotted the black Audi right away — and Ethan beside it, leaning against the door, head tilted down toward his phone.
The screen lit up the sharp lines of his face.
She jogged the last stretch.
Ethan glanced up at the sound of her footsteps, then checked his phone. "Didn't we say seven?" He looked mildly puzzled. "It's 6:50."
Nora caught her breath, cheeks faintly flushed from the jog. "I just... I didn't want to make you wait, in case I was late, and..." She shook her head slightly. "I just came early."
"Fair enough." Ethan didn't push it. He pocketed his phone and stepped aside.
Nora immediately shifted into motion, holding up the towel. "Okay — I'll get started now."
There was a flicker of something in her eyes. Focus, and just underneath it, a quiet nervousness.
"Go ahead." Ethan nodded and moved so she could get the door open.
She got straight to work.
She started with the passenger seat — her side — and went over it with particular care, like she was trying to erase every trace that she'd been there at all. Then the steering wheel. Center console. Dashboard. Gear shifter. Door panels. Her movements were quick and precise, her expression completely concentrated.
For Nora, this was the right kind of exchange. Physical effort for something real. That was solid ground — far more solid than accepting kindness that seemed to come from nowhere and ask nothing in return.
She needed to do this well enough to be worth those meals.
The towel was old, thin from use. But it was clean — just like the pair of jeans she had on, faded from washing but spotless. The last small dignities she could hold onto.
Ethan watched her.
He'd been watching the whole time, quietly, and now his eyes settled on the towel in her hands. His brow drew in just slightly.
"Nora." His voice came out low and even, but she stopped immediately, shoulders going tight.
"Your towel." A brief pause. "Where'd you get it?"
Her stomach dropped.
She spun around, face flooding with panic, the towel instinctively tucked behind her back. The words came out in a rush:
"This is — it's just my regular face towel, I washed it before I came, it's clean, I promise it's not dirty — if it's not okay I'll figure something else out, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
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