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pretender.
    â€œYou still haven’t told me about the exam,” Jerry said. He was beginning to sound angry. He had patiently set up one conversation after another and she had evaded each with an “I don’t know” or “It isn’t very important, is it?”
    â€œOh, it was very boring,” she said, knowing how annoyed he’d be. Exams, marks, were life and death to him. “In fact”—she felt pleasantly wicked—“I walked out on the American Lit question.”
    â€œYou mean you couldn’t answer it!” He looked so worried.
    â€œI just got tired of sitting there,” she said. “I had enough points.”
    â€œSuppose you didn’t! I mean, why are you always taking risks like that? Don’t you care what happens to you?”
    â€œBut I’ve never gotten into any trouble.”
    â€œThat’s amazing,” Jerry said grimly. “All the classes you’ve cut! Did you go to gym once last term?”
    â€œOnce or twice.” He would really be shocked, she thought, if he knew she hadn’t picked up her mail, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to tell him about that. “If you were the Dean, I bet you’d expel me.”
    â€œHow were the other questions?” he asked stiffly.
    â€œDo you want a complete breakdown on each one?”
    â€œI don’t give a damn,” he said. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
    She began to laugh. “You didn’t bother me. Oh Jerry … don’t be bitter.” She placed her hand delicately on his arm.
    â€œI guess you find me boring too.”
    She picked up a lump of sugar and carefully examined the words on its paper wrapping— La Lune d’Argent, La Lune d’Argent . She did not look at Jerry. At last she said, “Let’s get out of here and do something.”
    â€œWe haven’t had coffee yet,” he said.
    â€œLet’s have it somewhere else.”
    â€œWe might just as well have it here. It’s paid for.”
    â€œYou remind me,” she said wearily, “of a little boy kicking a can down the street.”
    He was staring at her with a peculiar earnestness. “Well … maybe that’s what I am.”
    â€œFor heaven’s sake, don’t agree with me!” she cried. “Tell me to go to hell or something!”
    â€œI don’t understand you at all.”
    â€œTell me to go to hell. Go on—do it.”
    He shook his head sadly. “I can’t.”
    â€œI think we should fight, have a big scene—right here. Let’s see what happens. You throw the salt shaker at me, I’ll throw the sugar bowl at you. Something !”
    â€œLook,” he said, “I don’t want to fight with you. I love you.”
    â€œBut Jerry, that has nothing to do with it.”
    â€œI love you,” he said, “I really love you.” His hand clenched around her fingers. It was unfair, she thought. He was waiting for an answer. She nearly wept from helplessness.
    â€œI don’t know,” she said painfully. “I think you’re trying to make me into some sort of monster.”
    â€œBut what are you talking about!” he shouted. “What do you want me to do? Okay, I wish I hated you. I wanted to hate you this afternoon when you stood me up.”
    â€œI didn’t stand you up,” she said, “because I didn’t mean it that way. I felt strange.”
    â€œAll right. I don’t care what it was. But look, when you didn’t come down—I tried to think, Well, if that’s the way she feels about it … I tried to be angry with you for an hour. But I ended up phoning you like an idiot after all. They kept saying ‘She’s out.’ So I kept phoning. Then at five—I was sitting in the library studying for Wednesday, and I thought, She’ll be coming back to the dorms for dinner. And I ran—right out of the library,