“Great,” said Harvard. “Me neither. I want to talk.” “But I’m starving to death,” protested Aiden as Harvard took hold of his elbow and piloted him down the brick walkway running along the quad, back to the dormitory. Once again, Aiden’s stupid body betrayed him, every cell too aware of Harvard’s hand—on his arm, for God’s sake. The cells were all in a rush of warm approval. Yes, go with Harvard; yes, do whatever Harvard wants, yes.
