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dining hall, Fenn grabbed Lona’s hand. “What does this campus taste like?”
    â€œBesides kosher vegan hot chocolate?”
    â€œI was thinking apples. Green ones, almost too tart.” His nose was red in the cold. This – this college, this green, these American Gothic buildings – they all represented a fresh start to Fenn. Clean blackboards, clean slates, new apples. She loved the way he saw the future stretching out in front of them in wide expanses.
    â€œIf this campus were a fabric, what would it feel like?” she asked.
    â€œThe inside of a sweatshirt,” he said. “Before you’ve washed it, when it’s still really soft.”
    â€œI’d like to see another dorm first.” The mom in the running shoes was asking another question. “The one we saw was all boys – can’t you show us a girls’ dorm?”
    â€œNo problem,” Jessa said. “I’ll take you to my room; it’s on the way to the dining hall. Just ignore my roommate’s messy desk. She’s a total slob.”
    Lona’s skin went colder than the weather should have allowed
. Messy desks. Thumbtacks. Footsteps. Coming.
    A dream,
she told herself.
Just a dream.

7
    â€œIf you just want to come with me.” The assistant appeared in front of the couch where Lona sat. “The dean will be back any minute.”
    She followed the boy past the front desk, through a maze of corridors, and to a door at the end of an alcove. “Do you want anything?” the boy asked. “Some water?” He’d introduced himself but Lona had already forgotten his name. Something with a P. Lona did want a drink, but the water cooler was all the way back by the reception desk. She wished he’d asked sooner; now she’d feel rude making him retrace his steps to the front of the building.
    â€œI’m fine.”
    â€œCool,” the boy said. “You can just wait in his office, then. And don’t worry. He’s not as weird as some people say he is.”
    He winked and Lona nodded like she got the joke. Did people say the dean was weird? She didn’t know anything about the man who was going to conduct her admissions interview. Talia said he’d been made aware of her and Fenn’s unique circumstances, and that he didn’t mind them. That was all she knew.
    It seemed warmer in the dean’s office than in the reception area. She wondered if it was possible that books gave off heat. The office was stacked with them – dense textbooks, chunky readers, slim philosophical treatises, dog-eared paperbacks with cracked spines. On the shelves, but also on the floor and on the windowsill.
    Lona shrugged off her coat and moved to sit on the only visitor’s chair, but it, too, was covered in books. One, sticking out from the middle of the pile, had a bright blue cover of a little bird perched on the head of an exasperated dog. A children’s book. She started to slide it out, wondering if it was something she’d read to Warren.
    â€œThat’s one of the greatest sociological explorations of our time,” a voice said. Lona dropped the book. It splayed open on the floor, one of its pages sticking out like a broken limb.
    â€œI’m so sorry.” She knelt quickly to pick it up.
    â€œDon’t worry. It’s my great-grandson’s. He’s as likely to eat it as read it at this point in his life; I don’t think he’ll mind a couple scars.”
    The man who had entered the room had dark skin and white hair, shaved close to his head. Thick glasses draped from a chain around his neck. He was slightly built – she could see the way his layers of sweaters and tweed hung on his frame.
    â€œDean Greene.” She extended her hand in the greeting she and Fenn had practiced. “I’m Lona. Your one o’clock admissions interview.”
    Dr. Greene waved his hand, unconcerned with her formalities. He