The expected stream of gossip and stares had vanished, and life had returned to normal. The basements of Eastern U hadn’t held a fight in weeks. Adam made a point of keeping a low profile after the arrests had lead to questions about what exactly had gone on that night, and Travis grew irritable waiting for a phone call to summon him to his last fight of the year; the fight that paid most of his bills for the summer, and well into the fall. The snow was still thick on the ground, and on the Friday before break, one last snowball fight broke out on the crystalline lawn. Travis and I weaved through the flying ice to the cafeteria, and I held tight to his arm, trying to avoid both the snowballs and falling to the ground. “They’re not going to hit you, Pidge. They know better,” Travis said, holding his red, cold nose to my cheek. “Their aim isn’t synonymous with their fear of your temper, Trav.” He held me against his side, rubbing my coat sleeve with his hand as he guided me through the chaos.
