I'd never talked to her outside of class -- never really talked to her in class for that matter, except that one time we were assigned a group project together -- so I was a little surprised at her starting a conversation with me. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I said, "There's one in the student union in the village."
"The main dormitory complex."
"Oh," she said. Then, "I don't live on campus."
"Come on," I said, suspecting I was going to regret this. "I have to go that way for dinner."
I led her across campus, trying to strike up a polite conversation which morphed into a debate on the merits of Pink Floyd vs The Grateful Dead. Being a hippie, Heather believed in the primacy of Jerry Garcia over every rock musician ever, a contention I found frankly absurd. But we did find common ground on the fact that anyone who listens to Phish is a superficial poseur.
Once we reached the SU, I led her down to the mail room and then excused myself to check my mail. That done I slipped off to the cafeteria thinking I was done with her.
When I came out of the cafeteria an hour later, I noticed someone in the phonebooth across the hall. This was unusual as I don't think I'd ever seen anyone use the payphones in the three years I'd lived on campus. Out of curiosity I looked over to see what sort of freak of nature didn't have a cell. Probably one of the cafeteria staff. But then I saw it was Heather. Before I could look away, our eyes met and she waved me over.
I could've pretended I didn't see her, but I went over. She looked as though she'd been crying, her cheeks flushed and a trace of dampness along her nose (her eyes were red too, but that's pretty standard for a stoner).