He Told Me to Stay Away, So I Left and He Followed novel · Chapter 3 of 32

Chapter 3: Neighbors Only

At 2 a.m. in the sound lab Hazel sets terms: ten days as neighbors only. He agrees, and says he was about to tell her something at the photo.

The sound lab never locked, so I lived in it that week.

At two in the morning on the third night, I was alone in the mixing room with headphones on, trimming a rainstorm I had recorded off Gran's porch.

The rain was good. The room was warm and smelled like old carpet and dust from the equipment.

I didn't hear the door.

I felt it, a change in the air, and I pulled one headphone off my ear.

Miles stood in the doorway holding two paper cups.

"You're not allowed in here," I said. "Architecture students aren't allowed in here."

"I told the night guard I was bringing you caffeine." He lifted a cup. "Two sugars and the dumb vanilla."

I didn't take it.

"I'm not going to talk about the photo," he said. "I came to put this down and leave."

He set the cup beside my keyboard.

His hand stayed on the table next to mine. His knuckles were stained with graphite from thesis month.

I looked at his hand and not at his face, because his face was the problem.

"Sit down," I said.

He pulled out the other chair.

"I have terms," I said.

He waited. He had always been good at waiting. I hated that, tonight.

"Ten days until graduation. For those ten days, we're neighbors. That's all."

"Neighbors."

"We don't talk about what happened. We don't touch. We don't make plans."

"What do neighbors do?"

"They say good morning. They share a stairwell. They don't stand outside each other's doors until one in the morning."

His mouth moved a little at one corner. It wasn't a smile.

"I'll walk you home at night," he said. "You can't stop me from doing that. The stairs are dark."

"Fine. But we don't talk on the way."

"Fine."

"And after graduation I'm gone."

He turned his cup around once on the table.

"Okay," Miles said.

That was all.

I took a long sip of the coffee so I wouldn't look at him. It was exactly right, and I wanted to throw it at the wall.

Then I asked the only question I'd promised myself I wouldn't.

"Did you say it?"

"No."

"Swear."

"On your grandmother's blueberry pie," Miles said. "I didn't say it. I'd never say it."

"Then who did?"

"I don't know."

"That's not an answer."

"I know." He rubbed his eyes. "It's the only one I have."

I put my headphones back on, because it was easier than fighting.

He sat with me for an hour and said nothing.

He read a chapter of a thick book on cantilevers. Twice I caught him watching the waveform on my screen as it rose and fell.

At three, I shut my laptop.

He stood up when I did.

We walked home along the dark path behind the library, with a foot of cold air between our shoulders.

I could hear everything. His steps, the zipper on his jacket, the small tap of his pencil in his pocket against his hip.

My ears had always been better than everyone's.

That was the whole trouble.

At the bottom of our building, he opened the door for me and followed me up to the third-floor landing.

He had to go back down to the second.

He stopped on the top step instead.

"One thing," he said. "It isn't about the terms. It's about the photo."

"We don't talk about the photo."

"Then I'll talk, and you don't answer." His voice was low and rough. "I wasn't saying anything at that photo, Hazel. I was about to tell you something I had been practicing for a month."

My key stopped halfway into the lock.

"What?" I said.

"After finals."

"That's not fair."

"I know it isn't." He went back down one stair. "Ten days. You set the terms."

I stood there, hearing his steps go down, and his door open, and his door close.

I stayed on the landing a long time, with my key in my hand.

I had spent all week hating the voice at the photo.

I had not once asked myself what Miles was about to say.

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