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poisoning on Sunday which meant it would run in the last edition of the
paper. That worked to his advantage. He would be off-campus for the initial
backlash.
    Nobody from the fraternity had
offered a comment, but Justin had followed my advice to interview other people
and pulled a few telling quotes. The piece was excellent. For some members of
the fraternity, it would probably be explosive.
    Justin had talked to one of the
students who'd been hospitalized, and she said that the hospital had told her
that her drink had been laced with ruphonyl, the date-rape drug. He had even
managed to get a student health administrator on the record, admitting that the
university was only aware of the students who had been hospitalized, not where
they had come from.
    I ran through the article one last
time, checking for split infinitives and stray commas. When I was confident it
was flawless, I closed out of the editing window. I scrolled through the pages
once more, saved all changes, uploaded the edition to our website, and sent the
final design files over to our printer. I pushed back from the computer and
sighed.
    Done. Last issue of the semester.
     I should have printed out my
Arabic paper and read it one final time, but instead I opened a new tab in my
browser and logged onto Facebook.
    I'd done this a few times this
week: logged on and started clicking through random profiles, looking for him.
It was pathetic. And stalkerish. And I kept doing it.
    I told myself that if I had his
name the mystery would be solved and I'd stop thinking about it. I told myself
that I'd always been an information addict and knowing nothing about the
stranger I’d kissed forced me to do some research. But, I knew I was deceiving
myself. I liked kissing him and I wanted to know who he was.
    Twenty fruitless minutes later, our
printers emailed me and confirmed receipt of the production files. It snapped
me out of my social media trance. I thanked them, shut down my computer, and
printed my Arabic paper.
    I felt sorry for myself as I walked
to my car in the cold. I told myself to get a grip—I'd be going back to San
Francisco tomorrow with David for winter break.
    Last I'd heard from my mother,
she'd been dating someone new named Sol. That had been in August, but I hadn't
been home since last December. I missed San Francisco. And it would be nice to
have nothing to do for a few weeks.
    And maybe there I could forget
about the stranger in the parking lot and The New York Times .

Chapter Five
    Campus was quiet the morning Justin's article ran. I snapped
a photo of the issue and texted it to Justin: Looks good!!
    Haha, on a plane home. Save me a
copy!
    I cut through the library and
dropped my Arabic paper in the box outside of Professor Haskell's office.
    David was packing when I got back
to our apartment.
    "Do I need sunglasses?"
    “Do you know anything about San
Francisco?”
    He looked at me blankly. “It’s like
in Northern California and you went to high school there.”
    “It’s a permanent cloud. The sun is
not a thing in San Francisco.”
    “It doesn’t say that on the
Wikipedia page,” he replied blandly. “I’m packing sunglasses.”
    “Waste of space.”
    “They're very small. And they will
help me sleep at night.” He yawned. “So, have you tracked down the Nicholas
Sparks boy?”
    “That never happened. He doesn’t
exist."
    “Normally, people introduce
themselves before making out. I don’t think I fully explained the art of the
drunken make out to you.”
    I rolled my eyes. "Don't bring
sunglasses.”
    “Well, what should I pack?”
    “Normal clothing,” I said. “My
mom’s pretty casual about Christmas.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Your
mother is too fabulous to be casual about anything."
    "Except holidays," I
smiled at him. I tried not to complain about my parents to David. They were
annoying, but they had never tried to hurt me. David's had. They threw him out
of their home when he was a junior in high school.  He