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knowledge, she felt sure, she’d one day be glad to have.

B ut what did she want, really? What did she imagine?
    It wasn’t as if, truth be told—and in the overheated darkness of her narrow room, she could tell the truth, at least to herself—Flannery knew. She did not know what she wanted. At a certain late point her mind willfully gave out, apologizing its way into a vague shrug of silence.
    Do you want to have sex with that woman? Flannery tried to ask herself bluntly, staring at the dark ceiling, which vibrated with the loud explorations of her upstairs neighbor and his girlfriend. Flannery tried to shock herself into acknowledging a sexual awakening. Maybe that’s what this was—she had heard of such things. Do you mean to tell me you’re a lesbian? she demanded. Is that it?
    She had seen the signs around campus. There were signs up for everyone: Latinos and African Americans, Avant-garde Musicians and Bridge Players. In the post office, collecting lifeline letters from her high-school friends, who scribbled to her intensely from their exiles elsewhere, Flannery had noticed a bright purple sheet of paper stuck to the tape-and-tack-scarred wall. “Gay and Lesbian Student Meeting. FRESHMEN WELCOME !” The notice seemed slightly sinister and predatory to the prude lurking within her. She did not think about going to the meeting, but she found herself curious—mildly—about what sorts of people would be there.
    The word didn’t appeal to her. “Lesbian.” She didn’t like the sound of it. It sounded slippery and gummy, or slightly nasal, like people with adenoid problems. Besides, if her back was against the wall, Flannery would have to admit that she found José, who was in her Intro to Art History class, also cute, handsome—whatever.
    It was just—This much Flannery could say to herself, aloud, could allow into the full light of her wakeful hours.
    It’s just simple. It’s simple.
    I just want to kiss her.

D reams said otherwise.
    Inevitably.
    That is what dreams love to do. Taunt you with a bawdy vividness you have forbidden by day. Rummage through your mind’s closets, dig through its storage drawers, finding hopes or perceptions you had not known you harbored. Colors you had not consciously seen. Jokes of a cleverness you had never suspected yourself capable of.
    As the nights grew colder and November crept stealthily on, Flannery’s dreams grew hotter. Less inhibited. They threw off their coverings, stripping down at night even as Flannery was layering more on by day. As Flannery began to sense what might eventually be meant by winter , her dreams headed resolutely toward a bare-skinned summer.
    Once, Anne was a small black terrier, and Flannery was stroking her. Cautiously.
    Once, Flannery walked in on Anne and Nick. In her own room. Somehow she did not mind, but wished they had not chosen her room for their embraces.
    Once, Flannery was still in Anne’s class. Bob was furious. She handed her paper in late and got a bad grade.
    Once—
    But that one caused a prickling flush when Flannery thought of it, a clutch in her gut and an undeniable heat in her thighs. She’d swallowed hard when she remembered it the next innocent morning. That one: she had to censor that one. In an effort to keep the internal peace.
    They were—
    It was—
    And then, when she—
    No, no. That one, without doubt, had to be censored.

F lannery couldn’t see any immediate solution to any of it but to dance. So she danced.
    Anywhere she could. She danced at cramped freshmen parties in dorm rooms, at which people paired off with a prompt urgency brought on by the beat and the general beer-cloud of conviction that that’s what they were there for. She danced in daring, off-campus apartments on dark streets, where the students were older, the music was better, and Flannery saw two men kissing for the first time in her life. She even accompanied Nick—she and the bleach-headed math major had become wry outsider