They were reading that one when they heard the door click. "Fuck," AJ muttered, scrambling to fold the letters. "I thought he wasn't supposed to come back."

"He wasn't," Howie whispered, throwing open the drawer to his night table and shoving everything in it. He slammed it shut just as Chris appeared, and when Howie looked down the corner of an envelope was still sticking out.

Chris grinned slowly. "What are you two lovebirds doing?"

"Discussing your sweet ass," AJ replied, and Howie wanted to die.

"I do have a sweet ass. And don't you forget it." Chris jingled his keys in his hand and turned in a circle like he was looking for something.

How long was he going to stay? They still had another letter to read, and they couldn't do it with Chris there. They couldn't even relocate without taking the letters out of the drawer, which Chris would see. "What are you up to?" Howie finally asked.

"Just grabbing a tape," Chris replied. "But I can't find it. It's labeled 'new songs.'"

"On top of the bar fridge," Howie said.

"Oh. Thanks." Chris walked over and pocketed the tape, then turned to give a broad wave. "See y'all later."

When the door finally clicked shut, Howie and AJ bumped into each other trying to yank open the drawer. "I'll do it," Howie grumbled, extracting the now-crumpled letters. He put the open ones in a pile with their envelopes and picked up the one from the computer guy.

AJ took it out of Howie's hand and threw it on the bed. "He sounds like a geek. Let's read the last one. Maybe it's from some guy with a really weird fetish you wants you to dress in women's underwear."

"You wrote to me?"

"Oh, suck my big black cock, Dorough."

AJ tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. He looked at it and his brow furrowed.

"What?" Howie asked.

"It starts really weird. It goes 'You say I'm a dreamer. We're too of a kind. With both of us searching for one perfect world we know we'll never find.'" AJ threw up his hands. "This is the weirdest one yet."

"That's not weird. It's a song." Howie grabbed at the letter. "Let me see it."

AJ handed it over. "Is it really?"

"Yeah. The Thompson Twins. Remember? That 80s group who shaved their eyebrows?"

"Oh yeah." AJ tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Okay," Howie read out loud. "I know that's cheesy but I didn't know how else to start this. I've never done this kind of thing before and I feel a little ridiculous."

"Good sign," AJ pointed out.

"And since your ad said that you liked music, I thought you might appreciate it. I'm basically doing this because I want to get to know a few people, and you didn't sound like one of those typical guys who go on about their hot bodies." Howie stopped and hit AJ on the arm.

"Okay, okay," AJ conceded. "Keep going."

"I thought maybe we could write a couple of times and then meet for coffee. For friendship, because that's what your ad said. And maybe more, because that's also what your ad said. So feel free to tell me about yourself, like your age, what you're into, what you're taking, and whether or not you can stand people who listen to cheesy 80s music." Howie smiled.

"Huh," AJ said thoughtfully.

"He sounds nice," Howie said. "I could write him back. He left a p.o. box at the bottom."

"Go for it," AJ said. "Maybe he'll be the one to get your rocks off before we go to Germany."

Howie folded the letter carefully and put it back in the envelope, not feeling so ridiculous anymore. "What should we do with the other ones?" he asked.

"Keep 'em," AJ replied. "It's the first of your fan mail."

Howie tucked them all back in their envelopes and looked around for a spot where Chris wouldn't see them. He finally found a hard-cover copy of "The Wealthy Barber" he'd had to buy for a class and stuck the letters in the middle, setting the book back on the little shelf under the drawer of his night stand.

AJ crawled off the bed and walked to the stereo. "You have our tape?"

"It's already in there."

AJ hit "play" and the music started. "Good," he said. "Let's dance."

***

Howie wasn't sure what to do with himself when AJ left. He rewound the tape and danced around a little, but he was too anxious to get anything right and just wanted to cut loose and go freestyle with it. So he did, and ended up on his bed, facing the mirror, pretending he was in his first video. It used to feel weird to play rock star in the mirror, but everyone in his group had started out singing into a hairbrush, and the closer they got to leaving for Germany, the less Howie cared. When he got bored with that he bounced on the bed a few times, keeping his hand on the ceiling so he wouldn't bang his head, and then let his feet slip out from under him so he landed on his ass. He bounced hard a couple of times. The bed creaked and strained under him, like some part of it might have broken. Howie cursed under his breath.

He fumbled around for the remote, finding it on his night table amongst some spare change and a crumpled note from the registrar's office, and turned off the stereo. He wasn't even sure where Chris was, but it was almost 10 p.m., so he'd probably be home soon.

Howie lay on his back and grabbed his copy of "The Wealthy Barber," finding the letter he liked easily amongst the others. He'd started his reply, and it was tucked safely in the back of one of his notebooks, on a folded sheet of loose-leaf paper.

He was still reading it when the door clicked, and he shoved it back in the book and tucked the book back in its place.

"Hey," Chris said, throwing his keys on the table. "What's up?"

Howie wiggled his feet. "Not much."

"Well, we have three now. We just picked up some kid who used to be on the New Mickey Mouse Club."

"Cool," Howie said, chin to his chest as he picked at his fingernails. "Can he sing?"

"Oh, yeah," Chris said, stripping down to his boxers. "He can sing like all get out."

Howie watched the ridge of Chris's spine as Chris bent over and took off his socks. Tried not to watch his ass, because Chris was his roommate and that would just be nasty. "Where did that phrase come from, anyway?" Howie asked.

Chris turned, twisting his shirt until it was right side out. "What phrase?"

"'All get out.' It sounds Southern or something."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Howie. I don't know. You ask the strangest questions." He tossed his dirty clothes on his desk chair and padded around barefoot, gathering his shower material. "I met the coolest girl for you today," Chris said. "But I know you're too shy to actually talk to her."

"I'm not shy," Howie protested. "I'm just...." Okay, maybe he was shy, but it was also a great excuse to just talk to guys, anyway. Even then he had a hard time knowing what to say.

"There's, like, a whole crew of girls at the end of the hall who think you're hot," Chris said.

"Really?" Howie asked, not really caring but figuring it was polite to respond.

"Yeah. But they all figure you're gay."

Howie's heart stopped beating for a second. He had to cough to get it started again, and he said the only thing he could think of to say. "Shut up."

"Well, they do."

"Shut up, Chris!"

Chris grinned. "What, like that would be so horrible? There are worse things than people thinking you're gay."

No kidding, Howie thought. Like actually being gay and afraid to tell your roommate, not because he would be mad, but because you were worried that he'd think you were always looking at him. Especially when you were.

Chris threw his shower stuff on top of the desk. "I'll do it in the morning. It'll be packed in there right now anyway." He strolled over and climbed in his bed. "Are you okay? You seem...preoccupied."

Howie watched the ceiling, still wiggling his feet absently. "I'm just thinking about Germany."

Chris rolled onto his side and tucked his hand under the pillow. "What about it?"

"About what's going to happen when we get over there. About what happens if we only get one chance at this and we blow it." Howie gulped, not really wanting to go on because he might get emotional, but at the same time desperate to talk about it.

"You'll do fine," Chris said calmly.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Howie stopped wiggling his feet and sighed.

"And you'll be a long way from your family," Chris said.

"And my friends."

"You'll do fine," Chris repeated. "I know it. I have a feeling. You're going to have thousands of German girls chasing you down the street. And you'll become a big fuck-off pop star and you won't even remember me."

"That's not true," Howie said solemnly. "That would never happen. And besides, you'll be a big fuck-off pop star too."

"Heh." Chris smiled and snuggled into his pillow. Neither of them said anything for a couple of minutes.

"I'm scared to death," Howie said quietly.

"I know. But don't be. It's an adventure. And you know, if by some small, minuscule chance people don't love you, you can just come back here and kick ass."

"Yeah." Howie sat up slowly, shuffling out the door and down the hall to brush his teeth. When he came back, Chris was already asleep.