Loner by Teddy Wayne Page A

nine.
    â€œI should really get going on this essay,” I said.
    â€œPlease?” She pouted. “I’m going out of my mind—I haven’t talked to a single person today.”
    The demerits for denying her this small courtesy would not be worth it in the long run. This is what chivalrous boyfriends did, and that’s what I was becoming: a boyfriend who held doors, who insisted upon paying, who told her she looked nice before she went out—grooming myself for the day I could extend this behavior to you.
    â€œOkay, let’s go.” I clucked my tongue sympathetically. “Poor, sick Sara.”
    Wandering the fluorescent aisles of CVS in search of zinc, Sara recapped the highlights of her most recent conversation with her grandmother. I pulled my phone a few inches out of my pocket: 8:48. Upon locating the medication, Sara studied the ingredient lists on two different packages, the now-familiar dimple forming on her forehead.
    â€œThe question is, should I get the generic brand or the real kind?” she asked herself.
    I pictured you standing outside Lamont, wondering where that loser from your class could be, who did he think he was.
    â€œThey’re the same exact ingredients, but I always feel like the real one is better,” she reasoned.
    â€œGet the real one, then.”
    She struggled to fit the small hole at the top of the generic bag over its metal peg. “I’ll do it,” I said, taking it from her and hanging it up myself.
    â€œWait.” She shook her head. “This is silly. They’re the same, and the generic is cheaper.”
    â€œFine.” I pulled it back off the peg. “I’ll buy it for you,” I offered, to expedite the process, as I headed toward the checkout. An elderly woman monopolized the only cashier, paying with exact change, shakily counting aloud her nickels and pennies.
    â€œDo you want to donate a dollar to pediatric cancer research?” the cashier asked when I paid.
    â€œNo,” I said. “And I don’t need a receipt.”
    â€œWhat’s the hurry?” Sara asked as I raced outside.
    â€œI’m eager to get back to this essay.”
    â€œA few minutes isn’t going to kill your motivation,” she said.
    The peremptory orange hand of the pedestrian signal had just lit up and a few cars were approaching from down Mass Ave.
    â€œYou’re right,” I said, putting my own hand on her lower back, resisting the urge to push her more forcefully. “Let’s cross.”
    I guided her across the street. We had to break into a trot halfway to avoid being struck. It gave me a small rush.
    â€œDavid!” Sara said when we made it to the curb. “We almost got hit!”
    â€œWe were fine,” I said.
    We drew up to Matthews at two minutes to nine. If you were leaving from there at an appropriate time, you might see us and, thinking it was no big deal, tell Sara what we were up to.
    â€œFeel better,” I said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    â€œI’ll walk you over. Lamont, right?”
    Widener closed in an hour, which she knew, so I couldn’treasonably pretend I was going there and then wait until she left. “You don’t need to walk me.”
    â€œI don’t mind.”
    â€œYou really shouldn’t be out in the cold if you’re sick.”
    The entryway door opened and my throat closed. But it was just a student from China I’d seen around the dorm.
    â€œYou know that’s a myth,” said Sara. “It’s because people are inside more during cold weather that germs spread. So, really, I should avoid the indoors.”
    â€œLook, I don’t want to catch your cold,” I said, more brusquely than I’d intended. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. But I’m afraid of getting sick when I have a big night ahead of me.”
    â€œNo, I get it,” she said.
    â€œGet some sleep,” I told