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I sense this is a dig. Rude. He doesn’t get to dig at me. “Oh, my body can be plenty bad,” I say back.

The silence lasts for eighty-five years.

He tucks his lips between his teeth, holding back the wicked smile I’m certain is fighting to be released.

I want to stomp my foot. Shake my fist in the air. Anything to release the embarrassment.

“That’s not what I meant,” I croak out instead.

“I don’t know, Irene. I’m wondering if that’s exactly what you meant,” he teases.

I consider turning around and ditching book club altogether. Going back to my dorm room and hiding under the covers, erasing any memory of this conversation.

But I’ve got instalove on the brain, and I have to play it outand see where it goes. I need to see the guy from the cafeteria again. I think I’ve managed to get over the wink. I’m up for some more flirting.

So I pick up the pace and don’t say another word to the gnat next to me.

His long strides easily keep up, and he seems totally at peace with the silent treatment. Does this guy ever lose his cool?

I open the front door to the flat, wide, gray, nondescript building. For all the beautiful brick and ivy around campus, the Commons seems to have gotten the short end of the stick.

I enter the main room, where there are a bunch of wooden desk chairs haphazardly gathered in a corner. No one else is here.

I walk back out the door and take another look at the lettering on the front:The Commons.

I’m in the right place.

I look down at my watch.

6:59 p.m.

I’m still one minute early.

Standing in the middle of this large, empty space, a tiny prickling builds at the back of my neck.

Do I think that maybe college book clubbers just might not be that punctual?

Do I wonder if maybe I’ve gotten the wrong day?

Do I consider that there may be another room here in theCommons where the book club is actually meeting?

No.

Instead, my mind goes to all the places it usually does when I fear I’ve been people-ing incorrectly: This was all an elaborate scheme to make the odd freshman girl look like a fool. I was targeted in the cafeteria as the one to be punked. Everyone saw me coming and thought,No, not her, and quickly left out the back door.

My breath quickens and my chest is tight. I struggle to take in air. Because even though I know rationally that all of that is likely untrue, my social anxiety whispers all these outrageous what-ifs.

And though book people are supposed to be my safe space, I rarely get to meet any of them in person. Maybe I’m not so safe after all.

A hand settles gently at the small of my back. “Guess we’re early,” Aiden says softly. In the midst of my internal meltdown, I forgot he was even here.

It’s oddly comforting, his barely there touch and his steady voice.

The front door opens, and I swing my head around as a group of people enters. I quickly take a step away from Aiden.

They’re chitchatting, friendly, smiling. Not one of them looks like they’re about to say “gotcha” and laugh in my face.

The guy from the cafeteria approaches me with two others. “Irene, I’m glad you came. I was just telling the others herethat you’re a famous book reviewer online.”