Page 72 of Backlash

“It’s open?”

“I think there are a few more finals going. They won’t close it until every student’s brain is fried from studying,” he says with a grin. “Don’t worry. I checked the hours.”

So he’s been planning tonight, too. The library to grab a DVD? It’s not the first time I’ve been reminded of how different our lives are. I’m about to tell him we can use my account when I realize it might hurt his pride. I smile brightly, even though I’m ready to get back to his room and be alone with him. No movie required. “Lead the way.”

Eaton Library is a couple blocks down from Sterling’s dorm. The librarian at the desk glares at us when we enter. Apparently, she’s as ready for finals to be over as the students.

“This way.” Sterling seems at ease at the library, weaving in and out of the stacks before leading me up a staircase. It’s clear he spends a lot of time here.

On an upper floor, we find ourselves looking at Valmont’s meager collection of DVDs. Nearly all of them are marked Criterion Collection or AFI Top 100.

“So this is what film students do?” I guess.

“I doubt they study classics like Waterworld.” He picks one up. “What do you want to watch?”

“Whatever.” Honestly, I don’t plan on watching much of the movie.

“Francie likes old movies,” he continues. “Philadelphia Story. Arsenic and Old Lace. Cary Grant is great.”

Is he really not thinking about… ? I expected us to pick up where we’d left off in the suite at the Eaton.

“Cary Grant it is then.” I grab every title I can, making a small stack. If we got them all, we’ll have no reason to leave his dorm again for a while.

“I’ve heard of this one,” says Sterling, flipping one of the cases over to read the back. “Charade. Cary Grant. Audrey Hepburn.”

“Perfect.” It could star a banana and a bit of shrubbery for all I care.

We take the DVDs to the front desk and check them out, and Sterling slides them into the large waist pocket of his coat. I’m a couple steps ahead of him when we exit, and I’m surprised when I feel his heavy coat land on my shoulders.

“Oh, no. Don’t,” I say. “It’s freezing out.”

“Hush. I’ll be fine, Lucky.” He pauses as we reach the food court. “It’s only going to get colder. Why don’t we get something from the food court on the way back? That way we don’t have to go out again.”

Now he’s thinking. I can get behind stopping for food if it means we get to stay put later. But when we reach the food court, we find it closed.

“Fuck,” he says, reading the sign.

“Let’s just order a pizza or something. My treat,” I say.

“It’s not that. I probably should have stocked up before it closed. I didn’t think about it, and I’m here until for another week before I head to New York.”

“Don’t worry about it. We can go by the grocery store,” I say without thinking.

He flinches at the suggestion. Sometimes I forget how sensitive he is about being on scholarship. That’s not going to stop me from making sure he eats, even if I have to decorate my naked body with food to trick him into accepting it.

“Or… ” With a furtive glance, Sterling walks over to the market section of the food court, where students buy the kind of stuff they can take back to their dorms. The lights are off, but there’s nothing stopping someone from taking things. There’s just no way to pay. He picks up an apple and a couple of bananas, then he grabs a tiny box of cereal.

“Here.” I grab them and shove them in the oversized coat he put on me.

“No way. I can’t let you steal for me,” he says, his face a mixture of stubbornness and concern.

“If you get caught, you will end up in big trouble,” I say firmly. “If I get caught, they’ll end up apologizing to me. So just let me do this.”

His face remains a stony mask, and I regret bringing it up.

“It’s all going to go bad. We’re doing them a favor,” I say.

“Fine,” he says, softening a bit, “but if campus cops stop us, I’m telling them it’s all mine.”