“He half rose from his seat and reached across another student’s desk to drop the mangled paper clip in front of Tommy.“Look, dude,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “You want to ask me out, you man up and do it proper.”

“It’s up to you.” He reached across the front seat and grabbed her hand. “It’s always up to you.” He drew her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss into her palm.”

“We’re not breaking up because you want to do the noble thing for me,” he said, his voice dropping low in warning, the edge there, dark and twisted. “You will never get away from me; you should resign yourself to that now.”“Lan––”“I’ll kill you and then myself, that’s a promise.”The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, I really should have worried.”

“No." Tommy turned and headed toward the door. As he reached it he turned and said, "I'm not fucked." The Sartre reader looked up from his book and said, "We all are. We all are.”

“Luce," he said at last, his voice soft. "what do you want me to do?" He paused, waiting for my response, but I wasn't sure what he was asking, so no response came. "Please, just tell me," he continued. "Tell me what you want me to say, and do, when it comes to Adriana or any other girl that looks my way, and I'll do it. You want me to fire a spit wad between their eyes? So be it. You want me to flip them off any time any one of them looks my way? You got it. You want me to poke my eyes out so I can't see another one of their suggestive smiles again?" he trailed on, half of his face squishing together. "Well, that would suck, but I'd do it. For you." Cradling my face in his hands again, he leaned forward so his eyes were staring into mine from half a foot away. "Just tell me, baby. What do you want me to do?”

“His seat belt was on, and his hands dropped from where he’d been fiddling with the visor. “You look small,” he finally said, looking both innocent and wise.”