"Uhm... hi."

"Yo." He leans against the doorframe, his other friends behind him. "Is Newt home?"

"No," I say slowly. "Who are you?"

"Randy, dude. And these are my men Mal, Rico, and Kieran." He points at the boys. They're either wearing super skinny jeans or super baggy jeans, and their hair is either very long or buzzed. And they smell like either a vape or a cigarette. And they're wearing either the cap of their hoodie or the cap of their jacket.

"That does not clear anything up," I respond.

"Well, you asked who we are and we answered, didn't we, dumb fuck?"

"Hey, hey," I tsk. "Being a dick won't make yours any bigger, so lower your tone to me. Plus, I lied, and you believed me—who's a dumb fuck now?"

Anger flares in his eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I do know who you are!" I sigh out, happy. "You're one of Newt's little pets."

"You don't want to repeat that, man," one of them warns.

"Oh. Sorry for the mean, awful, accurate things I said."

"Excuse you? I said you're better off not repeating that."

"I make a mistake five times just to be sure it's really a mistake."

They stare at me. I stare back. "Now, as I said, Newt's not home, so you can leave."

"Where is he?"

"How would I know?"

"You're his roommate."

"And you're his friends. Why don't you know?"

The one in the front rolls his eyes. "Let us through. We'll just wait for Newt."

"I don't think he's coming back anytime soon. And I'm not just letting you inside our dorm."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm not." I slam the door closed.

There's only a minute of silence before they start banging on it like crazy, yelling for me to open it or tell them where Newt is. Groaning, I walk into my bedroom as I take my phone, about to text Newt to ask where he bought these amazing friends, but another message stops me.

Hi Sander,

Just letting you know your roommate will be staying at mine for the night due to some circumstances I guarantee you don't have to worry about right now.

Good night, hermano.
Jorge Moreno

Oh, well, that's also possible, I guess. Who doesn't want to have a sleepover with their teacher?

But does he hate me that much? So much that he can't bare staying in the same dorm at this point? Or is he just that angry about our argument a few hours ago?

"Sander!" When my name gets called out, I jump straight up. It's Sonya. "Who the fuck are these people?"

I immediately rush to open the door before they'll try to pull another on my friend.

"Hey, don't touch me!" She yells at one of them, just as I pull her inside and close the door again. "Thank God," she then murmurs. "Who are they?"

"Newt's friends."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

"He's not like that, too, is he?" Her voice softens, but rather in a sad way. "They were looking at me with such lust, and one of them just grabbed my ass, Sander—Newt doesn't do that to girls, right?"

"I hope not," I mutter, scratching the back of my head. "He's not here, so can't confirm it."

"What?" With wide eyes, Sonya looks around. "Wait—where is he?!"

"He's with Jorge, our teacher. He just sent me an email, telling me not to worry. Newt's spending the night at his 'due to circumstances he guarantees I don't have to worry about right now'," I quote.

"Oh."

My eyebrows scrunch. "What is it?"

"I might've been a bit too harsh at him. I... I was just done with the way he was acting, and someone had to tell him—really tell him. But he was sobbing while I wasn't even done yet. It just hurt too much to watch him, so I left. I left and I didn't think of the consequences," she cries out. "What if he hurt himself?"

"Hey." I grab her shoulders. "Jorge said we shouldn't worry. I'm sure he's alright."

Slowly, she nods, but the guilty expression remains on her face. "What should we do as we wait for these bastards to leave?"

"I dropped all my stamps when I went to open the door for you. Come help me sort them out, please." I walk back to my bedroom. On the ground, there's maybe a thousand stamps, with dozens of colors. I keep them in a box, sorted by country. I've been collecting them ever since I was capable of sending letters.

"Ew," she says again. "I'll just watch you do it. Can I put some music on?"

"Yeah, whatever." I sit down on the ground.

Sonya scrolls through her phone as I start sorting the stamps, dividing them into neat little piles. It's a comforting ritual. As the banging on the door grows louder, I try to tune it out. Sonya picks something upbeat, a pop song I don't recognize, and turns the volume up.

She sprawls on my bed. "So, do you just... hoard stamps for fun, or is there some deep sentimental reason behind this?"

"I don't hoard," I correct. "I collect. And I don't need a reason. Not everything has to be some tragic, poetic story, Sonya."

She props her chin on her hand, studying me. "You're such a weirdo."

"Thanks."

The pounding on the door dies down eventually, replaced by muffled voices as Randy and his crew argue among themselves.

"You think they're leaving?" she asks, glancing toward the door.

"Maybe," I mutter, distracted by a particularly rare stamp from Argentina. I love it—

A sudden, loud crash makes us both jump.

"What the hell?" Sonya sits up.

I scramble to my feet. "Stay here."

"Sander—"

"Stay." I grab the heaviest object I can find—my metal desk lamp—and head toward the door, which might be a little dramatic, but at least I might finally find out if I'm capable of fighting. Because how do people even know when they're good at it?

Randy and his friends have managed to open the lock. One of them is grinning like an idiot while Randy looks triumphant.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I say.

"Chill, dude," Randy says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "We're not here to fight. Just waiting for Newt."

"Waiting for Newt?" I echo. "You just broke into our dorm! He'd probably throw you out himself if he were here."

"Where is he, anyway?" Mal asks, leaning against the doorframe.

"I told you I don't know."

"Look, we just want to talk to him," Randy says. "He's been dodging us, and we're sick of it."

"Maybe he's dodging you because you're insufferable," I snap. "Now get out before I call campus security."

"Do it," one taunts, crossing his arms.

"I don't need to call anyone," Sonya says from behind me. "You think campus security is your biggest problem? Try me."

The guys exchange uncertain glances, clearly not expecting her to back me up.

Randy glares at me, then at her. "Fine. We're leaving. But tell Newt he owes us a conversation."

"And don't tell him about all this."

I don't reply, just hold the door open as they shuffle out, muttering under their breaths.

Once they're gone, I slam the door shut and turn the lock, exhaling sharply.

Sonya leans against the wall. "You're welcome."

"I had it under control," I insist, setting the lamp back on my desk.

"Sure you did," she says.

"Shut up," I grumble.

We turn back to our original spots. I glance at Sonya, wondering if she's still thinking about her argument with Newt.

"Do you think he's okay?" she asks softly, as if reading my thoughts.

I don't know how to answer, so I just shrug and go back to my stamps.

For a while, it's just the sound of the music playing and my stamps shifting around as I sort them.

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, "Have you seen Minho lately?"

"What?"

"Minho," she says casually. "I haven't really talked to him since after the party."

"Erm, that was barely a week ago. Did something change? I don't know. Maybe he got even cockier. Why?"

She sits straighter up. "No reason."

I narrow my eyes at her. "Sonya."

"What? I can't be curious about a friend?"

"You don't ask about 'friends' out of nowhere unless there's a reason. Spill it."

She glances away, busying herself by scrolling through her phone. "It's not like that. I was just wondering where he is, 'cause I'm at Thomas's half of the time, but Minho is never there, even though he lives there."

"He's usually busy with... whatever it is Minho does. Running, flexing, flirting with anything that breathes."

She lets out a short laugh at that. "I thought he was over that. Still a player, then."

"Obviously. Why, interested?"

Her head snaps up so fast I'm surprised she doesn't get whiplash. "What? No! Don't be ridiculous."

"Uh-huh," I say.

"I'm serious, Sander," she hisses. "I was just curious. He's... he's just really confident, you know? Like, almost annoyingly. It's kind of fascinating."

"'Fascinating,'" I repeat. "That's a new one."

"Ugh, shut up." She throws a pillow at me.

I catch it easily. "So Minho's the one? Didn't see that coming. You could do worse, I guess. He's funny, athletic, can't deny he's good looking, strong..."

"Can you stop listing his good qualities?"

"Does it make you love him even more or what?"

"I don't love him. Nor do I like him. I'm just interested in his life style."

"Fine, fine," I say. "But if you start batting your eyelashes at him, don't come crying to me when he starts calling you Princess or something equally cheesy."

"You're awful."

"And you're predictable."

She falls silent, fiddling with her phone again, but I don't miss the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Maybe she doesn't even realize it's there, but I do.

"Weren't you yelling at Newt for being a player? And now you like a player?"

"As I said, I don't like Minho. And Newt's my brother, it's different. And Newt treats them like shit while Minho doesn't."

"How do you know?"

"Thomas."

"Right."