Kimball Hall proved to be yet another imposing structure. It resembled Art Deco structures from the 1930s with a strange brick obelisk structure rising from its center. 

I expected to wait for Helen at the main entrance, but Eric led me down the steps towards the side one. He held open the door for me, and we walked into the lower food court. Separate stations offered a wide range of food from soups and salads to fast food burgers and wraps. 

My stomach gave another ominous rumble like a distant thunderstorm.

"They have fairly decent coffee here," Eric said, walking towards a row of black plastic coffee dispensers. "But you can order a fancier coffee if you prefer."

"No thanks," I said, scouring the prices. Seventy cents for the cheap brew. Almost two bucks for a specialty coffee. I could afford seventy cents. "I like black coffee."

"Me too." 

Eric and I took our coffee to go and chatted about Die Brücke while we were waiting for Helen in front of Kimball. A bitter gust of wind bit through my coat, reminding me that winter was still whispering its last goodbyes. 

I shivered and gulped the coffee, more enticed by its warmth than its flavor. "I've never had a chance to watch that movie in the original. It was intense! Poor Albert."

"It's a poignant example of the senselessness of war," Eric said. "And the foolishness of idealism, particularly of the nationalistic variety."

"Idealism in its pure form isn't to blame." I shook my head. "It can help us envision future possibilities and conceive the impossible. The problem is when it's contorted for evil."

"Perhaps," he said. "Even if we assume your premise is correct, idealism has the power to exact sudden negative change. Realism can give us a clearer picture because it's based on tangible fact."

"Right, because Machiavelli proposed such great values," I said. "It is better to be feared than loved if you cannot be both? There is no avoiding war? Politics have no relation to morals?"

"Rationality entails looking at facts and judging them objectively." Eric chuckled and shook his head. "Why do you have to go to such extremes? Choose a modern, sensible political realist."

"Like Kissinger?"

"The task of the leader is to get his people from where they are to where they have not been," Eric said with a grin. "Not too dissimilar to your idea."

"He also said, A country that demands moral perfection in its foreign policy will achieve neither perfection nor security," I retorted. "So, my question is to what extent should we accept amorality?"

"The danger comes when rationalism or idealism espouses unethical principles."

"Right, so rationalism or realism isn't better than idealism." I held his gaze and took a sip of coffee. "Any idea is dangerous when it's warped to exert the will of those in authority."

"A universal issue we must all confront." He gave me a warm smile. "Do we follow what authority expects when they are amoral or simply wrong?"

A universal question indeed. 

Helen came sauntering towards us and gave Eric a friendly hug. "Hey, dude! Did you guys have fun at the MRC?" 

"Yes, we were just discussing the movie we were watching."

"Oh, cool. What was it?"

"A postwar German film set during World War Two."

"Eric!" Helen exclaimed, furrowing her brow in disapproval.

"What? It was her choice." 

"Oh, Jess," Helen said with a heavy sigh. "You have a lot to learn."

"We had a great discussion about the film afterward," Eric said with a slight hint of forcefulness in his tone. "And I'll watch another one with her if she wants."

A warm fuzziness spread throughout my body. He enjoyed hanging out.

"Okay, hey! If you guys had fun, far be it from me." Helen took out her Holy Cross ID card. "By the way, lunch is on me, Jess."

"Thank you, but I couldn't possibly--"

"Oh, please! Room and board includes two obligatory meals a day. At least once a week I eat at the pub or get takeout with my friends," she said with a dismissive wave. "The leftover meals go to waste otherwise."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Please allow me. No reason why we should both lose money."

"Oh, well. In that case, thank you, Helen."

She grinned. "They shouldn't make you pay six bucks for a stupid cafeteria meal, even if it is a buffet. It's bullshit."

Six bucks? Holy crap in a handbasket.

We entered the dining hall and stood in line to have our IDs swiped. Judging by the lack of trouble Helen had with the attendant, I expected it was standard for the host to pay for guest meals, which put me more at ease. We grabbed our navy-blue plastic trays. 

I stared wide-eyed at the open expanse of the dining hall. Not a single supportive pillar in sight. Just hundreds of students packed in row after row of oak tables and chairs. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. 

Eric made his way to the burger bar while Helen and I stuck with the classics. "Hey, avoid the meatloaf. It sucks," Helen said. "The chicken is often rubbery, but the pasta rocks. Too bad you won't be here for Taco Tuesday."

"Mmmm, Tacos," I said in a Homer Simpson voice.

She chuckled. "They have mac and cheese today. That's my recommendation."

Comfort food. Yum. 

It had that decadent cheesy, gooey texture without being a mushy, lumpy mess like many such cafeteria dishes. We both went to the salad bar and helped ourselves to fresh greens. 

Helen and I found an empty table and waited for Eric, who returned a few moments later with two burgers, fries, a giant salad, and two sodas. 

"Where the heck do you put it all?" Helen teased. 

Eric shrugged and gave us a cheeky smile. "Must be all the weight lifting I do."

She chuckled, and I gave a shy, polite smile. Chit-chat wasn't really my thing, and I didn't want to do anything wrong. For all I knew, Eric did lift a lot of weights and spend hours in the gym. 

"So, Miss Linguist, are you psyched about graduation?" Helen asked in a friendly, upbeat tone. 

"Oh, yeah. But also nervous about acceptance letters. Mine will be coming any day now."

"I bet. Where do you want to go?" she asked.

"Well, I applied to Boston College, but that's a reach school."

She furrowed her brow. "Really? What's your GPA?"

"It's not my grades as much as it's--" I swallowed the lump in my throat, and it had nothing to do with the mac and cheese. "I need scholarships. Without funding, I can't go."

"Hey, almost everyone does," Helen said with a reassuring tone. "It costs 50K to go here with room and board. I mean, who the hell has 200K lying around? Jesus, that's two years' salary."

More like ten.

"My grandparents were my official guardians until I turned eighteen." I stared at my plate and poked at my food in embarrassment. "If I don't get a full ride, I can't study. They can't afford it."

I braved a look at Helen, but I couldn't face Eric. She gave me a pitiful look at me up and down. "Awww, that explains it."

Eric set his cutlery down heavily on his plate, and I turned to him. He was casting daggers at Helen, who began to blush furiously. 

"I--I mean... That explains why a smart girl like you thinks it's a reach school. I mean..." 

Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat and began to eat her salad to avoid speaking. Eric cast me an apologetic look as if to say, Don't listen to her. She's being a dumb-ass.

"Anyway, I'm hoping to get accepted into Fitchburg State College for a year with a scholarship and reassess my options," I said, trying to break the tension. 

"Holy Cross has a needs-based financial aid program," Eric said. "They don't turn anyone away because they don't have money."

"That's true," Helen said, recovered from her social blunder. "They can give you a combination of work-study, scholarships, and federal funding."

"Dang it," I said in between bites. "I wish I'd known that before."

"You can transfer here," Eric blurted out before adding, "if you like it."

Helen tried to hide a smile behind her napkin, and my cheeks burned up like two red giants. Eric stared down at his plate and stabbed a fry.

"It's good to consider all viable options," he said. 

"It is awesome here so far."

Eric met my gaze and returned my shy smile. Helen broke the tension by asking, "Hey, so when's prom, Jess? I can give you all sorts of fashion tips for hairstyles and dresses and accessories."

Inwardly, I cringed. She was trying to make up for her previous blunder, but I couldn't face the idea of prom. The money required. The date I didn't have. The dance skills I didn't possess.

"I'm probably not going to go," I muttered.

"What? O-M-G, you have to go, Jess!" Helen exclaimed. "It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

"I can't even dance."

"Well, we can fix that, can't we, Eric?" Helen asked. "Did you know this kid rocks the dance floor? He's like the best clubbing partner. Skilled, but no awkward funny business."

Eric groaned. "Helen!"

"He's just being humble," she whispered, rolling her eyes. "If he teaches you dance moves and I give you some style, you'll have all the guys in the class asking to dance with you."

Eric sighed with impatience. I cast him an inquisitive, curious look, which he returned with a nonchalant shrug. "Maybe I can dance...a little."

"We should go to the Loyola Ballroom, and you can teach Jess some of your moves," Helen suggested. "Seriously he's a better dancer than me. And that's saying something."

He finished the last bite of his burger and gave Helen a look of death. "You should make your own decision about prom, Jess."

For a moment, I considered their words. The rational part of me couldn't be bothered worrying about prom. But a small part of me thought a dance lesson with Eric and Helen might be fun.

"Maybe if you guys taught me some moves, I'd look like less of an idiot if I did decide to go."

Helen gave an excitable little squee. "Awesome! Let's do it tonight after the library tour."

"Tonight is movie night," Eric said, giving me a furtive glance. "The Star Wars Trilogy. Remastered. You're both welcome to join us. We're having pizza."

Helen shouted, "Pizza!" at the same time I shouted, "Star Wars!"

"We're starting at seven so that we can binge-watch all three movies."

"Don't know if I can stand that much nerd," Helen said with a wink. "Just kidding. I'll do anything for free pizza. Jess?"

"I'd love to go."

"Great, I'll see you then," Eric replied, looking only at me. Then he cast a quick glance at Helen, who grinned.

A faint blush spread across his cheeks as he rose to return his tray to the cleaning area. As soon as he was out of hearing range, Helen whispered to me.

"Man, never saw anything like it."

"What?" I asked, puzzled.

"He's got it bad."