This time Chris was wearing overalls and a ribbed white shirt underneath. "How do I look?"

"Fine," Howie said without looking up.

"You didn't even look."

Howie looked up. Chris was wearing a Phillies cap backward. "It covers up your hair."

"So is that a yes or a no?"

Howie sighed. "You look fine. She's going to like you no matter what you wear."

Chris turned on his heel and went back to his side of the room again. Out of the corner of his eye, Howie could see him shaking and shimmying into new clothes.

The truth was, Howie figured Chris wearing a hat was a good thing. He'd twisted his hair into dread locks that hung in his eyes and it was just starting to look weird.

Chris leapt back in front of him wearing the same shirt but a different pair of jeans. He also smelled of Howie's cologne. "Now?"

Howie's hand dropped from his forehead to the desk. "You. Look. Fine."

Chris was unaffected. "Okay," he said in a chipper voice and went back to his corner.

Howie leaned back in his chair and stretched, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Their room, like all the dorm rooms, was small - a big white square with two beds, two desks and a big closet for them to share. The first thing he and Chris had done was rearrange the furniture to make it look like they had more than one room. Chris moved his desk so it faced the window, turning the corner into his own little office. Howie turned his desk so the back of it faced his bed, so the mirror on the wall was directly to the left of him. A few times he'd dozed off while studying and woke up to his own reflection and scared the shit out of himself.

"Is AJ coming over?" Chris asked.

"Yeah."

"Tell him to get you out of here. You've been moping around all week."

Howie tried to pick up where he left off reading, but none of the page looked familiar anymore. He started at the top and read the first paragraph before Chris leapt out again. "How do I look?"

Howie looked up. Same jeans, black shirt. Oh. Chris looked good in black. "You look great, Chris. I mean it."

"Okay. I'm out of here."

"Have fun."

A sliver of noise from the hallway spilled in when Chris opened the door. Howie watched the door close slowly and lock automatically when it shut.

Okay. Finally alone.

He pulled his textbook back to reveal a sheet of loose-leaf paper underneath. He had one word written so far. "Guy." It was the only word he was sure he wanted to use. "Male" sounded so formal. "Guy" sounded like someone's friend.

He drew an arrow in front of "guy" and wrote "single." Single. That sounded a little desperate, didn't it? There were a lot of ads that didn't have "single" in them. But "guy" seemed to need a modifier.

Howie chewed on the end of his pen. A what guy? How had people described him? He'd heard "cute" a few times, but there was no way he was going to be egotistical enough to write that. Besides, he wasn't sure he agreed with them. Chris always called him "nice." Nice guy. What did a nice guy entail? A nice guy was nice to people. A nice guy helped out his friends. That was it. Nice.

Howie scribbled out "single" and wrote "nice." There. Now that he knew how to describe himself, the battle was half over. Although he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for, exactly. Just somebody to change clothes for, maybe. Or, on a deeper level, someone to kiss.

Oh, who was he kidding? Sex wouldn't be bad either. Although Howie was very selective about who could touch his body. He'd had sex with two people in total, both of them female. His only experience with guys was at a party six months ago, where some astute and very cute senior groped him a little in the corner of a room. Howie didn't exactly consider himself a stud.

AJ showed up about an hour later. Howie let him in and AJ flopped down on Howie's bed, crossing his legs. "Did you write it?"

Howie nibbled the pen some more. "Sort of."

"Well, let's hear it."

Howie took a deep breath. "Nice guy, new to..." The hand holding the paper dropped to his knees. "I can't read this out loud."

"Give it here, then." AJ reached over and snatched the paper out of Howie's hand. "Nice guy, new to scene, seeks another nice guy for friendship, possibly more," he read. "That's so boring."

"Well, I don't know what to say. This was a stupid idea. I'm only doing it because you told me to."

AJ motioned with his hand. "Give me that pen."

Howie grabbed a black pen off his desk and flipped it to AJ. "This is a stupid idea," he repeated.

AJ put the paper on his knee and started scribbling over what Howie had written. "Howie, if you don't get laid, you're going to drive me nuts."

Howie chewed at his thumb nail, watching AJ's brow furrow as he wrote something under Howie's old message. AJ studied it for a minute, like he was in deep thought, and handed it back.

Howie could barely read AJ's handwriting, and when he did, his face flushed deep red. "'Young but legal stud with a hot body and killer voice seeks built, well-hung guy for long talks and hot times?' AJ, I can't put that in."

AJ shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because...because first of all, that's too many words. And I'm not saying 'hot body.'"

"But it's true," AJ replied. "You need some way to put the body thing in there."

Howie couldn't stop blushing. "But that sounds...grotesque."

"Then say that you're into working out," AJ said. "You need to sell yourself in this, man. Here, give it back."

Howie handed the paper back, looking everywhere but at AJ. "This is a stupid idea."

"Just shut up for a minute." AJ's brow furrowed again as he went to work, crossing out some words and scribbling in new ones. "Okay. 'Nice university guy into music and working out seeks same for...' What are you looking for?"

"I don't know," Howie mumbled.

"Whatever you're looking for, it can't be long. We're leaving for Europe soon. Why don't we put 'friendship?'"

Howie waved his hand. "Whatever."

AJ sounded out the word as he wrote it. "Frrriend-ship. There we go. You're all set. Although I don't see why you don't get one of those voice mail boxes. No one's going to take the time to actually write you a letter."

Howie shrugged at his text book. "Because I can't talk on the phone. That would be too weird. And someone might recognize my voice. You're, like, the only one who knows about this."

"Whatever," AJ said, folding the paper neatly in half and setting it back on the desk. "Are we gonna get out of here or what?"

"I think I'm just going to..."

AJ stood up and tugged Howie's shirt sleeve hard enough to pull him out of the chair. "The fuck you are. Come on."

***

Howie spent Saturday night in boxer shorts and a worn T-shirt, circling the room doing dance moves. Chris cowered in the corner, eyes still baggy from the night before, flipping through his study notes. Howie wore headphones so he wouldn't make noise, but he couldn't help mouthing the words to the songs.

"Jam on 'cause Backstreet's got it," he whispered. Over to the TV. Back to the bed. Step, two, three. Turn. Stop to do the prayer pose.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chris shuffle a little, looking like he was trying to ignore him.

And then the music picked up again. Damn, this was a good song. His bare feet slid across the carpet easily, and he couldn't help but throw a couple of his own moves into the mix.

Then the next song. "Boys will be boys, you gotta know right now, baby..."

Chris's voice cut through the music. "Howie!"

Howie flipped his headphones off, looking over to see Chris staring at him, his head still bent over the notebook in front of him. "Yeah?" Howie said.

The tone of Chris's voice told Howie that it wasn't the first time he'd tried to get Howie's attention. "Could you just cut that out for awhile?"

"Okay. Sorry." Howie looked down at his Walkman for a minute, not really wanting to turn it off, but he hit the "stop" button and sat down on the bed. "How was your date?"

"Okay," Chris said, still looking at his notebook. "Kind of boring. What did you do?"

"Not much. AJ took me to some party and then I came home."

And agonized over the personal ad some more. And thought about how crazy he was. And then masturbated.

Chris dropped his pen on the desk. "I have to shower. I feel gross." He slid the chair out and stood up, stripping off his shirt and throwing it on his bed. "Is Mama Dorough coming tomorrow?"

"Yeah. She's bringing cookies."

"I love Mama Dorough," Chris said. Howie watched him grab his clothes and towel and cross the room. Chris's shoulders were a little sunburned. He must have gone to the beach this week while Howie was in the middle of his study marathon.

Howie heard the door shut behind Chris and knew that Chris was heading down the hall to the showers. Howie glanced at the clock. He knew from past experience that he had 10 minutes. If he held the right image in his head - called on the right fantasy - that was more than enough time.

He laid back on the bed and looked at the ceiling, trying to decide on a fantasy, and suddenly changed his mind. He rolled out of bed, grabbing his tooth brush and shaving kit, and tucked his key in his pocket before he headed out after Chris.

The bathroom was big and linoleum-covered, like a change room. It was empty except for Chris in the last stall. The sound of rushing water echoed off the walls.

Chris poked his head out. "Howie."

"Yeah?" Howie said.

"Come here."

Howie stepped a little closer. "I'm here."

"A little closer."

Howie's heart did a slow somersault. He took another timid step. "What?"

Suddenly water came flying in his direction, soaking his face and hair and the front of his shirt. Chris cackled like a madman.

Howie wiped his face with the tail of his shirt. "That's so hilarious," he said, but he couldn't help but laugh. Then he looked around for a way to retaliate. Water wouldn't work. There was nothing else to throw in there that would do any damage. Then inspiration hit and he reached over and grabbed Chris's clothes.

Chris poked his head out again, his eyes wide. "Don't."

Howie grinned at him and inched in the direction of the door. When he was in safe running distance, he bolted out of the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind him. He giggled to himself as he ran down the hallway and into his room for a dry shirt. It was a tie game.

***

"Nice guy, brown/brown, into music and working out, seeks same for friendship, maybe more. Let's see what happens."

That was what finally went in the campus rag, in the "other" category. There was "males seeking females," "females seeking males" and "other." Howie walked home with the paper under his arm, afraid to open it in public, feeling very much like an "other." He rushed into his room in time to find Chris arranging his hair in the mirror.

"Hey," Chris said without looking over. When he finally did, he pointed to the paper. "Oh, can I see that for a second?"

Howie inched toward his desk, watching the floor. "Why?"

"Because they have movie listings."

Howie sat down, the paper still tucked firmly under his arm, and stared at his desk. "You're going to a movie?"

"I was thinking about it."

Chris walked over and reached for the paper. Howie pulled away instinctively. "What, do I have to arm wrestle you for it?" Chris asked. "Give me the damn paper. I just need it for a second."

Howie realized he was being weird and unfolded it, holding it out regretfully. Chris raised an eyebrow and sat down on Howie's bed. "You are such a weirdo," Chris mumbled, flipping to the movie section.

Howie watched like a mother cat when someone pets her kittens. This was it. Chris was going to flip to the back, recognize the ad and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Howie was an "other." But Chris closed the newspaper and handed it back. "There you go. Still in one piece." Then Chris sauntered back to the mirror to check his hair again.

Howie let himself breathe. He was dying to check the ad but he had to wait until Chris left. He watched Chris stroll around the room, searching for his keys and doing a once-over for anything he else he didn't want to leave behind. He stopped suddenly and faced Howie. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Howie smiled big. "Why do you ask?"

"You're just acting like...like you're all nerves or something."

"I'm cool," Howie said. "I mean it. Really."

"Ooookay." Chris tucked his keys in his pocket and headed for the door. "Later."

"Later."

The door closed slowly and finally locked. Okay, Howie thought. Show time.

Howie scrambled through the pages until he reached the back, and found it. "Other." The ad turned out great. No hideous typos like "Nice gay" or "seeks sane for friendship." And at the end of it, AJ's post office box that he didn't use anymore.

He picked up the phone and dialed AJ's number as fast as his fingers would allow. AJ answered with his typical "yo."

"It's in," Howie said. "It's there. So start checking your box."

"Thank God," AJ called out to whatever room he was in. "He's going to get laid!"

"Who's there?" Howie asked, a little panicked.

"No one. No worries. Coming to practice tonight?"

"Yeah. See you then."

Howie hung up the phone and faced the mirror. He always hoped that when he got older he would be a little less goofy looking. Maybe his smile would be the size of a normal person's, and his nose would get smaller, and he would actually look older than 12. But when he looked in the mirror, the same things still bugged him.

"Other," he told his reflection.