“Look,” said Adam, “Ronan chose his side. It wasn’t me.” This struck Ronan as profoundly unfair. The world had chosen for him. The black smudge all over Declan’s sleeve was proof of it. Left to his own devices, Ronan had chosen Adam, he was sure he’d chosen Adam. Hadn’t he come to Cambridge, even though he hated cities, even though he loved the Barns? Hadn’t he played cards with Adam’s new Harvard friends, even though he hated them? Hadn’t he had a list of apartments he was going to look at, hadn’t he tried?
