Please Don't Elbow the Upperclassman Into His Ex's Arms

I was trying to keep thirty freshmen from blocking the lunch line when someone's backpack hooked my elbow and sent Owen Mercer into the arms of his ex-girlfriend. It happened at Bellwether College's dining hall, a low brick building with a ceiling loud enough to turn every conversation into weather. The new students had arrived in a single hungry wave. Trays clattered. Somebody shouted about the vegetarian station. The line for grilled cheese had bent around the salad bar and doubled back on itself. I had a laminated orientation badge pinned to my shirt and a clipboard tucked beneath one arm. I was a sophomore, which meant the college trusted me to answer questions about dining plans but not to make decisions about anything important. "Keep moving," I called. "If you've already got a tray, the tables by the windows are open." A freshman in a green hoodie turned too quickly. His overstuffed backpack swung wide. It caught my arm just as Owen squeezed past me, balancing a stack of clean plates he'd volunteered to carry from the dish station. My elbow went back. Owen's shoulder went forward. His plates flew. He stumbled across the last three feet between us and caught himself against a woman in a navy jacket. She grabbed his waist to stop him falling, and for one silent second, they held each other like they'd been interrupted in the middle of an embrace. Then the plates hit the floor. "Owen?" the woman said. "Claire." He stepped away so fast he nearly backed into a table. I knew Claire Vaughn from posters in the student union. She was a senior, a student arts editor, and Owen's ex. I didn't know why they'd broken up. I did know that people still lowered their voices when they said her name around him. I crouched to collect the plates. "I'm so sorry. I was trying to—" "It's fine," Owen said, but he was looking at Claire. "Are you okay?" She brushed a hand over her jacket. "I'm fine. Are you?" "I'm fine." Their words arrived carefully, like they'd both signed a form saying they wouldn't say anything else. A freshman behind me whispered, "Are they together again?" I looked up. "They're standing in a dining hall." He gave me an uncertain smile and moved along with the line. Owen took the last plate from my hand. "You didn't do anything." "I absolutely elbowed you." "Then I'm grateful your elbow's so committed to campus hospitality." Claire's mouth twitched. "You still make terrible jokes when you're embarrassed." "I don't know what you mean," Owen said. For a second, I thought she might say something that would turn the room quiet again. Instead, she glanced at the scattered trays and picked up one. "I should go," she said. "Right," Owen replied. She turned toward the far end of the room, where two students had saved her a seat. Owen watched her walk away. I watched him watch her, and hated myself for noticing. The freshman line surged behind me. "Okay," I called, louder than I meant to. "That's enough excitement. Lunch is still lunch." Owen looked back at me. "You've got this." "I have a clipboard." "Same thing, apparently." He helped me carry the plates back to the dish station. His hand brushed mine once. It shouldn't have mattered. It did. I'd met Owen a month earlier, when I'd been assigned to help him hang signs for the campus volunteer fair. He'd been patient with my terrible tape job and had remembered my name the next time we crossed paths. After that, we'd traded jokes in the student center, shared a late-night coffee, and walked together from the library twice. Nothing had been called a date. Nothing had been called anything. I'd been telling myself that was fine. By the time I got back to the line, the freshmen had found the pasta station and the room had settled into its regular roar. I looked toward the windows. Owen was standing with a tray, alone. Claire had disappeared. He caught my eye and lifted his coffee cup. I lifted my clipboard in return. Then he sat at a table near the windows, and I went back to work. For the rest of lunch, I told myself that the tightness in my chest was only from the crowd.