He was with Mustapha and Bedrosian, as well as a couple of other ex-schoolmates. Emile had textbooks under his arm and was wearing an AUB sweatshirt over a buttoned shirt, and I hated him for it. Bedrosian and Mustapha were wearing blazers and trousers, like they were going to a business meeting. A September chill had fallen on the city; I could feel it through my denim jacket and T-shirt. I hadn’t slept well; the joys of sharing a small bed were limited without the sex. I fought the urge to run, deciding to sweat instead. I mustn’t lead them to where I was staying, not with a cadre hiding there. I didn’t have time to think as they crossed the road towards me. I could see mischief in Emile’s green eyes. ‘Are you on your way to class?’ he asked, taking in my dishevelled appearance and lack of books. I’d not prepared an answer for this obvious question. By his smile and the giggles of the others around him, I suspected they knew by then that I wasn’t enrolled, but they wanted to hear me say it.
