Free Before We Were Strangers by Renee Carlino Page B

and they all fuck each other in the film-processing rooms. It’s like a giant celluloid orgy.”
    My mouth dropped open. Matt had been going to the dark rooms every Friday night, and he always came back a little drunk and stoned.
    “Not like an orgy,” Carey said, seeing my expression. “Everyone just goofs off. You know how tight thosephotography students are. There’re rumors that people do it in the private dark rooms.”
    I had no idea what she was talking about. Matt hadn’t mentioned anything like that to me. I also didn’t know why I cared. It was his life, and I wasn’t in a position to tell him what to do.
    “Carey,” Jason said, looking pointedly at her. “I’m sure Matt’s not just developing prints in there.”
    I felt gut-punched. “Fuck you, Jason.”
    “What’s your problem, Grace? You a goody-fucking-two-shoes or something?”
    “Nothing.” I looked at the clock. It was almost seven. “I have to go.”

9.  Why Didn’t We Tell Each Other?
    GRACE
    The air outside of Senior House hit me like an arctic blast. Winter was settling in. I rushed to the stoplight, hit the crosswalk button, looked across the street, and then completely froze in my boots. Matt was standing on the other side, looking right at me. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a gray long-sleeved thermal shirt underneath, jeans, and his boots. It was coat weather, and as I watched him from across the street, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack, I thought I could see him shivering.
    My heart skipped a beat; I swallowed. He smiled and I couldn’t help but return it, even though I wanted to ask him a million questions I knew I couldn’t. It was his life and we were friends. When it was time to cross, we walked toward each other and stopped in the middle of crosswalk.
    “Where you headed?” he asked.
    “Dinner.”
    His eyes flitted down my body and back up to my eyes.In the three months I had known him, I had rarely worn anything nicer than sweats and ChapStick. There was a longing in his expression. “Let me walk you.” His teeth chattered, drawing my eyes to his full lips and unshaven jawline. I wanted to rub my face against them.
    The light was about to turn, and we had to get out of the middle of the street. “You’re freezing, Matt. Just go home, I’ll be fine.”
    We hurried across the street, shoulder to shoulder.
    “Where are you going to dinner?”
    “The Thai place around the corner.”
    His hands were deep in his pockets and his arms were pressed tight against his body. “I can walk you.”
    “I don’t need you to walk me two blocks, Matt. I’m fine.”
    A subtle grimace flashed on his face and then he took a step toward me, reached his hand out, and caressed my cheek, our bodies inches apart. He released a weak, frustrated breath. “Who’s taking you to dinner? . . . Grace?”
    I peeked over Matt’s shoulder and saw Dan standing there, an inscrutable look on his face. Matt turned around and then turned back to me, his eyebrows arched. “Pornsake?” I didn’t like the humor in his tone.
    I pushed him away. “Fuck you, Matt. I’m sure you can find something else to do. Isn’t there some big darkroom orgy you need to attend?”
    “What?”
    “I can smell rum on your breath.”
    “So what? I had a shot with my photo buddies. I was coming home to see if you wanted to hang out.”
    “I can’t. I have plans. Bye, Matt.” I turned around and didn’t look back.
    Dan gave a halfhearted wave and shot Matt a friendly smile. I didn’t want to see the look on Matt’s face, so I tugged him by the arm and headed toward the restaurant.
    Once inside, Dan pulled my chair out for me. He was kind and gentlemanly, offering to choose a wine for us. We made it through the first hour of dinner by making small talk about the orchestra he planned to form before the summer started. He was thinking about leaving NYU and following his dream of creating a fulltime traveling orchestra.
    His teacher’s