The first thing he does is wink at me with those intense brown eyes.

“So, here you are in New York City. Finally,” he says.

It’s October and the leaves are starting to change. The entire city is soggy and putting off a strong pungent smell of decomposing plant matter. The sidewalks glisten from the light rain, which has been falling all afternoon. Headlights flood Broadway, blinding me at every step.

Nick Thomas, our childhood friend, walks behind me. I’d known about his plan for a visit for some time, but the day still crept up on me, leaving me unprepared. Nick has been one of Tristan’s best friends since middle school and I’ve known of Nick for many years. But it was only in the last two years of high school that we’d really gotten close. Nick is tall and lanky, close to 6’4’’ and only 170 pounds. He came to campus in a cab and I waited outside my building to let him up.

Nick’s not wearing a coat. The temperature is in the low 50s, but he’s only wearing a light sweater, jeans, and flip-flops. I’m about to ask him why when I remember that he never really wore a coat. He took some unusual pride in the fact that he never got cold, no matter how cold it was outside.

When we enter the living room, Tristan, Dylan, and Juliet are there waiting. Tristan gives him a warm hug and takes care of the introductions. After a dinner of pizza for the guys and salad and soup for Juliet and I, we all decide to go out to Lion’s Head Tavern, a bar on Amsterdam Avenue. It’s Tristan and Dylan’s favorite mainly because it’s a dive bar that serves greasy food and accepts poorly made fake IDs. Nick doesn’t have one, but luckily the bouncer doesn’t card him. Too tall, probably, I decide.

“So where do you go to school?” Dylan asks.

“Just a local school. Cal State Northridge. I live at home,” Nick says with a sigh. “Agh, I’m so jealous of you two. Your dorm is amazing. And you get to live with girls. Imagine that.”

Tristan’s had a couple of drinks already. “Well, not just girls. My ex-girlfriend,” he jokes. I’ve had two drinks as well and laugh along with everyone else.

“Yes, things could’ve been better.”

“Oh please, you two have been friends forever. This is just a blip in your otherwise smooth relationship.” Nick waves his hand.

Tristan and I exchange looks. I hope that he’s right.

“So how are your folks?” I ask. I’ve always loved Mrs. Thomas. Practically every night that we’ve spend hanging out in Nick’s basement, she came downstairs with a batch of freshly baked cookies.

“Fine. The same.” He shrugs.

“So what’s it like to keep living at home?” Dylan asks. “Do you still have a curfew or anything? Or can you do pretty much anything you want?”

“A curfew?” I smile. “When was the last time you had a curfew, Dylan? When you were twelve?”

“Yeah, I think about that. But I’ve heard that some parents can be sticklers for those.”

I shake my head. Nick laughs and then says, “No, no curfew really. It’s just not as fun. No one to hang out with in the evenings. Mainly because everyone at school is hanging out with people in their dorms.”

“That sucks,” Tristan says.

No one says anything for a moment as we try to imagine what that must be like. I feel bad for Nick. He’s missing out on what college has to offer and the worst thing is that he knows it.

“Why don’t you move to campus next semester?” Dylan suggests.

Nick shrugs. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Juliet asks.

Tristan and I exchange an uncomfortable look. It’s so obvious to us. But not them.

“Money,” Nick finally says.

“But can’t you apply for some sort of financial aid?” Dylan asks.

“You rich kids always think that they’re some sort of solution that the rest of us haven’t thought of, don’t you?” Nick says. Everyone’s taken aback by his tone.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it that way,” Dylan says.

“My parents make too much money for most financial aid and not enough to actually pay for the dorm. At least, they think it’s too much,” he says. “And I do, too.” He adds after a moment.

No one knows what to say after that. Awkwardness fills the air like a noxious gas. And no one can breathe. Not even the person who let it out.

Eventually, we head back to the dorm. Tristan and Nick trail behind as Juliet, Dylan, and I walk ahead, just fast enough that it doesn’t quite look like we’re rushing.

“Hey, I’m sorry about Dylan,” I hear Tristan say. “His parents have a lot of money. He doesn’t really get it.”

“No worries,” Nick says.

“He’s not really a bad guy. He just found out that his girlfriend is in love with her Resident Advisor so he’s been kind of a dick since then,” Tristan adds.

Peyton’s in love with her R.A.? The thought echoes in my mind as we head out of earshot.

“How long is he staying again?” Dylan asks me in the elevator.

“Um, a couple of days, I think,” I say. “Listen, he’s not really a bad guy. He was just on a long flight and…”

I find myself repeating Tristan’s words except that, unlike him, I don’t really have a good excuse. Nick was a dick. Dylan didn’t mean anything by what he said and he had no right to get upset or talk like that.

Dylan just shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. I was just wondering.”