BURIED JUST BELOW Tim’s eagerness to hear their report was envy over the girls’ accomplishments. Emily and Amanda sat on a pair of beanbags in the dorm’s third-floor game room. The scuffs and thumps of Ping-Pong and foosball competed with the Disney movie sound tracks blasting from the karaoke machine. The acoustic tile ceiling had pencils stuck into it like stalactites, evidencing years of DSI occupancy. The rest of the dorms could seem formal, but this was a relaxed, easy space. “We got the files,” Amanda said. “Can I see them?” Tim dragged a leaking beanbag over to join them. His long, lanky frame looked awkward stretched out like that. As he wiggled to get comfortable, small plastic balls belched from a tear and bounced away across the floor. “We weren’t able to get yours.” “Please?” he said nicely, his hand outstretched. Amanda held the files close to her heart, just out of his reach.
