I’m not particularly a morning person, but I don’t mind getting up early. I know some people plan their whole schedule around not getting out of bed before noon. But I get up whether or not I have a morning class. Force of habit. 

I get up at my usual time and head out for breakfast. I like to get there before the rush and leave in plenty of time to get clear across campus before my first class.

My feet collide with something solid right outside my door. “Holy fucking hell!” I catch myself at the last moment, managing not to land on my face. But I lose hold of the stack of textbooks I’m carrying.

There’s a person seated directly outside my door, which wouldn’t be a problem if I exited my room while staring at the floor. But I don’t. So before I notice he is there I almost step on him, and I do drop my books on his head—which is hardly my fault given where he is in relation to my door.

He winces and rubs his head. They are chemistry textbooks. Not light.

I feel bad for yelling at him, but honestly he scared the crap out of me. 

Why is he sitting in the hall wearing his bathrobe? It’s obvious he recently got back from the shower. Besides the blue terry cloth bathrobe and the matching flip flops, which are dead giveaways, his hair is wet and he’s got a shower caddy full of supplies on the floor next to him. 

But why is he sitting in my doorway? I guess he hadn’t been directly in front of my door. Not sure how I’d managed to trip on him. Must’ve turned too sharply on exiting.

I think I recognize him from around the dorm. He’s the short kid from the end of the hall. His hair is very black, his eyes are very dark, and his skin is a pale tan color. He’s Asian, I think. Or Hispanic. Something less white than I am, anyway. 

I take his hand to help him up. But he winces and I drop it quickly. “Crap. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “That wasn’t you. I mean, the books were totally you,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “But not the wrist. I injured it at rehearsal. One of the perils of being a dancer.”

“Oh. I never thought of that. Wrists, I mean. How’s your head? And why are you here? This is a bad place to sit.”

He smiles at me as he pushes himself off the wall and stands up. “The head is okay. I’ll live, anyway. And I didn’t mean to be part of your morning obstacle course. Sorry. I left my key in the room and got locked out.” He gestures vaguely down the hall.

“What about your roommate?”

“Not home.”

“Grey?” I point at the door across from mine.  

He  nods at the sign on the door: “Out for a run.” 

I should have noticed that. “Oh. Well, you’ll have a long wait. They’re hardcore. I think they’re training for a marathon.”

I stand there wondering what else to say. Is there a right way to handle things when you trip over an unknown, mostly naked person outside your dorm room and nearly give them a concussion with your organic chemistry textbooks? 

“Do you want some clothes?” I ask.

The kid looks up at me and laughs.

“I’m sorry, what?” He looks me over slowly from head to toe and raises one eyebrow. 

I am easily a head taller.

“I know. My clothes will be too big for you. But you can borrow some for a while anyway. Until Grey gets back That way you can eat. If you want.”

“You are too sweet. Thanks.”

I let him into my room and he sits in the chair at my roommate’s desk while I look for something he can wear. Stoner Matt wouldn’t like this. He could be kind of a dick about his stuff. But he’s not here so he can’t object. Besides, it’s university furniture, not his.

I find some clothes that are least likely to fall off of this kid. He’s even smaller than I thought. I hand him some drawstring sweats and a Pink Floyd T-shirt that my sister got for me. 

When he is dressed, he looks ridiculous wearing my oversized clothes with his flip-flops. Nothing fits, of course. He has to roll up the pants so he doesn’t trip on them when he walks.

“Well, you look like a homeless person. Let’s go.” 

He looks amused, which means I probably said something offensive, but he doesn't seem overly offended. That’s good. People who are easily offended are not good company. Or rather, I am not good company for them.

“I suppose I should ask your name,” I say as the door swings shut behind us. “I’m Richard.”

He gives me a crooked smile. He has very white teeth. “I know. We met at freshman orientation.”

“Oh.” Sometimes I’m not very good with faces. Or names.

He’s still smiling. “I’m Jesse.”

“Okay.” I nod.