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Elliot’s watching the light from her room. He’s memorized it, fourth floor of the dorm, three from the right. He can’t help but quicken his step a little more, and remembers an old daydream: straight up the wall, so easy, scampering like Spider-Man through her window.

The stairs will do, though. He bounds up them in threes. Elliot’s breathing hard by the top, but it blends with the rush of reaching her door at last; he spills into a delighted smile, into the arms of a girl who smells like sun and looks like the best part of a bad movie.