What wasn’t all right was the fact that, the next day, I had told Flint that I would watch West Wing with him. I had a massive amount of homework that I had been ignoring because of all my late night excursions and I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to get any of it done. I tried to get as much of it done as I could, but pounding my head against the desk and the bed it resided under didn’t seem to make a difference.

I could only focus on one thing, reliving my times with the crew and John, with minor modifications to make myself seem cooler, of course. I knew I had made mistakes and daydreaming was my way of reimagining the past so it turned out more in my favor. I recalled the warmth of John’s arms and the fear of crashing, erased the fear of crashing and added some wind in my hair. I brought to mind Ruby holding my hand and discarded her warning about John’s romantic past. I made myself better at pong, and wittier. Imagination land was the most fun because I was in control. Sometimes I even dreamed of standing up to my father, although that dream never went very far. I shuffled through my papers, trying to force myself away from my daydreams.

“Who’s ready for some political sarcasm and snippy humor?” Flint tumbled into the room, a happy puppy.

I put my head on the desk.

Flint stroked my hair. “What’s wrong, Andi? Not in the mood for continuous moving scenes tonight?”

I showed him my incomplete statistics homework. I hoped he didn’t look too closely. My handwriting was fine, what was written in it was not.

He put his water bottle on my desk and snatched it out of my hands. “Why must you elude me, Sorkin? I merely want to bask in your words.”

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The papers drifted back to my desk, smothering my hopes of getting anything done tonight.

Flint’s face fell as he realized that I was serious. That yes, I hadn’t seen him for a week but, no, we weren’t going to be hanging out any time soon, because, of course, I had spent all of my time hanging out with EMS people.

“I guess you’ve been really busy,” he said.

“I’m really trying here,” I said, which only made him more upset.

“You had all day to do this homework and you’ve started now? You had to have known about this for at least a week. Why did you go to that party last night? Huh? You thought this would all disappear?”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Grow up then,” he said.

Flint left me with my statistics homework and my blanket. I felt jittery, the sick feeling in my stomach threatening to rebel. I knew that this was my fault, that Flint was only trying to be a friend and that I had blown him off more than one too many times. I picked up his water bottle and contemplated where Flint’ alma mater had printed it’s name. It was a funny kind of posterity, to be remembered on a water bottle. Flint would have appreciated it had he stayed.

I ripped a sheet of paper out of a notebook and began to pen a letter. Flint, I’m sorry. Flint, I know I messed up. Flint, I still want to watch with you, if only for your commentary on inconsistencies between scenes and lines that were not intended to be said, ever. I tried not to make excuses for my behavior, even though all I wanted to do was have him understand my side. He didn’t get what EMS meant to me. Being understood is so much harder when you’ve just turned down West Wing.

I folded up the paper and wrote Flint in big block letters on the outside flap. I slipped it under his door, into the darkness. I wasn’t sure if he was still in the room or choosing to hide in a way that would make me feel guilty if I found him. I hoped that he would see the letter before his roommate. It was one thing to bare your heart to a friend. A friend’s roommate was almost the enemy.