2
By morning, the post had two hundred comments.
Emma read them over coffee while her roommate Maya slept through three alarms.
Most people told the poster to leave the woman alone. A smaller but much louder group had decided to treat the situation like a competitive sport.
Ask what she likes and become better at it.
Wear black. Morally questionable men always wear black.
Cook for her.
Do not cook for her unless you can cook.
Find out what’s wrong with the boyfriend.
The poster had replied to that one.
Everything is wrong with him. He cries during arguments, monitors her contacts, and once called me at three in the morning because she reacted to another man’s photograph.
Emma stopped smiling.
That sounded exactly like Ryan.
Then she shook her head. Plenty of men were ridiculous. Plenty of women were dating them. Westbridge had twenty thousand students and an alarming shortage of emotional restraint.
Still, she bookmarked the thread.
That afternoon, Ryan texted her.
Dinner. Eight. You, me, Adrian. Nora says I need to act normal around friends.
Emma replied: Is Nora coming?
She has a shift.
Then why am I coming?
Because if you’re there, Adrian can’t spend the whole meal telling me I’m pathetic.
Emma considered that.
I want dessert.
Done.
At eight, Ryan took them to the row of food trucks behind the student union. Rain had cleared, leaving the campus bright and cold under white streetlights. They bought tacos from one truck and spicy fried chicken from another, then found a metal table beneath a heat lamp.
Emma ordered the hottest sauce available. Ryan called her reckless and went to find napkins.
Adrian looked at the red sauce covering her chicken. “You actually eat that?”
“I actually enjoy it.”
“So do I.”
He said it with such confidence that Emma almost believed him.
Then he took one bite.
His face did not change. His ears turned red.
Emma waited.
Adrian chewed, swallowed, and reached for his soda with the dignity of a man trying not to crawl into the nearest fountain.
“Good?” she asked.
“Excellent.”
“Your eyes are watering.”
“The wind.”
There was no wind.
Emma slid a cup of ranch toward him. “You don’t have to impress me.”
“I’m not.”
He took another bite.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “Ryan said you never do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Ryan is wrong about many things.”
“He also said you’d make a good boyfriend if you ever liked anyone.”
Adrian went still.
Emma, unaware that she had just detonated something, continued, “You’re responsible, you don’t play games, and apparently you remember everyone’s coffee order. Your future girlfriend will be lucky.”
“You think so?”
“Sure. You’re already behaving better than Ryan.”
Ryan returned with napkins. “I heard my name.”
“Emma thinks I’m better boyfriend material than you,” Adrian said.
Emma blinked. “That is not exactly what I said.”
“It was the clear implication.”
Ryan dropped into his seat. “She meant you’d be a better brother. You’ve lectured me more this week than she has.”
“Did she?” Adrian asked Emma, ignoring him.
His eyes were pale gray, steady and unexpectedly hopeful.
Emma’s teasing answer softened before it left her mouth. “I said your future girlfriend would be lucky.”
“That is close enough.”
“To what?”
“Nothing.”
Under the table, Emma shifted her foot and accidentally brushed his ankle.
Adrian jerked so hard his knee struck the underside of the table.
Ryan grabbed his drink. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
Emma stared at Adrian. Adrian stared at his plate. A flush climbed from his collar to his ears.
Interesting.
That night, the anonymous thread updated.
Progress report: She deliberately touched me under the table.
Commenter: Deliberately?
Poster: There was sustained contact.
Commenter: How long?
Poster: Approximately one second.
Commenter: Sir.
Poster: She also said I would make her happy as a boyfriend.
Commenter: Is that the exact quote?
Poster: Her exact words were that my future girlfriend would be lucky. The intended meaning is obvious.
Emma sat upright in bed.
Maya cracked one eye open. “Why do you look like you’ve discovered a crime?”
“I may have discovered an idiot.”
She scrolled back to the beginning. Jealous boyfriend. Emotionally unstable. Best friend. A woman met the previous night. Spicy dinner. One-second foot contact.
It could not be Adrian.
Adrian looked like he had been born wearing a pressed black coat and judging the rest of humanity. He spoke in complete sentences when angry. He had mocked Ryan for an hour without raising his voice.
The anonymous poster used six exclamation points in one reply.
Emma refreshed the page.
New update:
She said I was better than him. I believe the transition has begun.
Emma buried her face in her pillow so Maya would not hear her laugh.
The next day, she needed proof.
