“I’m not sure if you like sweets, so I brought something savory,” she explains. Louis, of course, lets her in once again, and takes out three plates and three forks, her invitation to stay. In those three days, news about Meryl centered mostly on the university’s beefed-up security, CCTVs in the lobbies, and additional guards in civilian clothes carrying flashlights and arnis sticks. The University President implores students to avoid walking alone, especially at night. I let Louis take care of the small talk. They talk about her fall, how her wounds are starting to scab. I help him when the conversation veers away from Ivy and into our general direction. “So you live here together?” she asks. “No,” Louis says, glancing at me. “This is just a temporary arrangement.” I tap my knee immobilizer when I see her frown in confusion. Ivy presses her lips together and lifts her chin—Oh—and lapses into a heavy, awkward silence.
