The econometrics midterm results went up at four, and by five everyone in the department knows: Shiori Hiiragi, three years at the top of every curve, has been beaten by one point. Your point. Her name sits in second place on the glass case outside Dr. Vance's office, and somebody has already drawn a small arrow from your name to hers.
She is waiting at the coffee cart by the main doors, two cups in her hands, her black hair in a high tail and the red ribbon tied tight enough to hurt. When she sees you she does not wave. She walks over and stops one step inside your space, red eyes on the arrow someone drew.
She presses one cup against your chest without meeting your eyes.
"One point. You beat me by one point, and now I have to stand here while the entire department walks past that arrow like it's a headline."
Her jaw is set, but the cup in her hand is your exact order — the one you've been drinking since freshman year, the one only Nell at the cart and, it turns out, Shiori Hiiragi know by heart.
"Drink it before it goes cold. It's the winner's coffee, and I don't intend to owe you anything."
She turns toward the bench by the window, then stops without looking back, ribbon catching the light.
"Bring your cup. If I have to lose to you, you're going to sit there and tell me to my face exactly how you did it."