A Native college student recounts the people he dated once he left his reservation. He reflects on how different White culture is from the Native culture he’s from. For the White girls, the pushing and pulling of power seems to happen covertly. In his own culture though, there are no secrets. Instead, there’s “[f]istfights and open hatred and telling someone straight out you want to fuck.” Then he meets his “love.” She’s Native too, a grad student at the college he’s attending. They meet mostly at night. He comes to her neatly decorated dorm room, and when she has to study, he watches her until she kicks him out. They’re a little haunted by the idea that they could be distantly related, something her mother floated when he met her. She becomes disenchanted with her research, saying she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life teaching white people about Native Americans. The college student worries about the future, that at ninety, he’d have “nothing to show for my life but dying alone with twenty-five published books, my faithful dog nearby, ready to eat my kidneys.” He worries that she is using him for material in a book. Winter break comes, and they begin to grow apart. She admits she never orgasms when they have sex. They can’t figure out how to connect. She begins to calls him “cousin” and tells him he’ll feel better if he dates a "nice little white girl.” She drops out of school, moves back to her reservation to live with her cousin. The college student hears she flips burgers at a diner. The student begins to feel like he’s deeply lacking. He feels angry at what everyone else thinks it means to be Native. Sometimes at night, he watches people in the windows of nice neighborhoods, and feels calm imagining that he's someone else.