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“And now he might be.”

“Yeah. Wow, this is weird,” I say, my world feeling bigger and smaller all in one. My heart starts to race, but I don't let it. I can't, not yet.

“With Bee, too, I think we have a full schedule ahead of us,” he says, swinging his keys around his finger. They drop to the floor with a clunk. We both lean down to pick them up, and when he grabs them first, my hand brushes his. I pull mine back and straighten up, feeling my face redden. He busies his hands and leans against his door. “Right, well, it looks like we have plans for tomorrow.”

“I was hoping you'd come along.”

The stairwell door suddenly opens, and Trey walks out, his shirt a bit twisted. “Oh, hey.” He balks at us standing there in the hall, then nods.

“What's up?”

I still can't figure Trey out. One night he terrifies us in some sort of initiation, and the next he takes care of my drunk best friend—at least, I hope he took care of her. It
seems like he cares, but I can't help but get frustrated with the sight of Treena trying to impress him, with her getting irritated about his other girls around. I want to like him, for her, but it's hard separating him from how I feel about her leaving me repeatedly. They're woven together, and I need to at least figure part of it out.

“Just hanging out,” Bennett answers for me. “What's up with you?” he asks.

“Actually, I was looking for you. Homework question,” he says, and Bennett gives me a look.

“I guess that's my cue,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

“Good luck,” he says, then in a taunting voice he adds, “You're gonna need it.”

I nod, turn around, and then turn back. “Wait, did you just quote
Star Wars
to me?”

He shrugs and I shake my head, smiling to myself as I head down the stairs, and inhale deep as I open the door.

“Hey!” Treena says, sitting on her bed with a book in her lap. “What's up? I haven't seen you all day! Sorry I've been gone. I had this huge test in chem and, oh god, I think I did okay, but you know how I feel about chem right now. I hate that it's just tests over and over again right now.”

Okay, she's acting normal. So I guess everything went okay last night. I guess she's not thinking about what happened.

“Cool. Hope you did okay,” I say, because I'm not sure what to say.

“What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Um, not much, just . . . more investigation,” I say, realizing that, aside from her being with Trey, the main reason I'm upset is because she hasn't been there for me, throughout this whole thing. She was supposed to be the one going to all the places with me, not Bennett.

“Cool! Go well? Get some more fascinating tidbits?” she asks, which I find funny because if she really understood what I was going through, what I was learning, she wouldn't be calling it “fascinating tidbits.” It's so much more than that.

It makes me think that maybe there was something more in Bee and my mother's ex-friendship. Maybe Bee wasn't just pissed off at her because of the whole Chad thing; maybe she was feeling betrayed by a friend. Left behind by a friend. Maybe that feeling is still around because they were great friends, best friends, and you never really get over losing someone that close.

“Yeah, a lot. My mother was . . . quite the person,” I say.

“Oh yeah? How so?” she asks, putting her book down and looking at me with expectant eyes. She wants to bond, after all this time. And I can do one of two things: 1) tell her how she's been. Or 2) just talk to her.

So I sit down with a sigh and tell her a bit of what I've learned. Not everything, but enough to get her up to speed, ending with my next few steps.

“
Wow
. Really? Oh my god. You have . . . wow.” She looks down. “I can't believe it. I wish I could have been there with you,” she says morosely.

“You could have. Or, at least, you still can be,” I continue, giving her the option to stay with me, try again. “Tree, I really need you with me. This has been hard.”

“I know, I know. I can only imagine what you're going through. . . .”

“I
know
you want this year to be different, and I know you want to change, but this whole thing is changing me, and I'm not sure how. It's crazy how much it's affecting me.”

She looks at me and nods. There's emotion behind her eyes, and it's like she's conflicted, but I don't know why.

“You're really brave, you know?” she says. “Doing all of this. It's, like, it's amazing and you're doing it. And I'm so scared for you, that you'll learn something bad. . . .”

“I've already learned some things that didn't make me exactly thrilled . . . I have no idea who my mother is. I'm still trying to figure her out.”

“I know, I know.” She looks down. “It's just . . . I've seen you do this before, and I've seen you hurt over this before, and I don't want to see that again. I don't
like
seeing you upset.”

So that's why she hasn't been around? She'd rather get the condensed version of the events, after I've had time to process, than actually be there for me? “Tree, I'm older now, I can handle this. You don't have to be worried.”

“I know, I know,” she says. “It's stupid, but I am.”

“Then I'd rather you worried with me, than worried elsewhere,” I say, and she gives me a half smile. I think maybe my
journey here has forced her to figure herself out, too, and that's scary in general.

“Okay, okay,” she says decidedly. “I'm in. I'm with you on your next step.”

“Tree, you can help at any step,” I say, smiling, then add, “Oh! I didn't tell you. My mother was an artist.”

“Wait, really?” I tell her about the art, and her eyes light up like mine probably did. “I can't believe that! You totally inherited it from her!”

“Maybe!” I say excitedly. At least that—that I can hold on to when everything else doesn't make sense. That is something real.

She smiles sadly, then says, “I hate that I missed that. I'm sorry I've been busy with school and . . . I'm still trying to figure that whole thing out, if I want to change majors, or . . .”

“Yeah, I know,” I say.

“And Trey . . . is new,” she says.

“Yeah, about that,” I say, and she jerks her head up expectantly. I can't ignore last night; I have to address it. “He was okay last night, right? After he brought you home?”

“Oh god,”
she says. “Last night. Yes. Oh, I'm so embarrassed.” She buries her face in her hands. “I kind of hoped we'd pass over it.”

“There's no way I'm passing over a very drunk Treena.”

“Ha,” she says. “It was not my finest moment.”

“You weren't awful. You were a happy, flirty drunk,” I say, thinking of Bennett's descriptions.

“Well, at least I wasn't an angry drunk. We have that on the hall. It's not pretty.”

“But really, everything okay?”

“Yes,” she says. “Despite my efforts of having him come back to my dorm with me . . . ugh . . . Trey was a gentleman. I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I kicked you out of our room. What was I thinking?”

“I don't think you
were
,” I say. “It's okay, I bunked with Bennett.”

“I'm still not convinced nothing is going on there. I saw you two at the party, acting all cute and stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving my hand. “We're just friends.”

“Uh-huh. The more you deny—”

“Anyway,”
I say, wondering how this conversation turned onto me so quickly. “Let's do something fun tonight.”

“Oh!” she exclaims. “There's a carnival in the union—we can get cotton candy and play games. It'll be like the Orlando fair we went to last year after graduation.”

“The one with the scary roller coaster?” I ask.

“You mean the scary roller coaster you refused to ride because you're a baby when it comes to extreme things?” she laughs.

“You refused to ride it, too,” I point out, smiling.

“Only because I was afraid my flip-flops would fall off,” she says innocently.

“Yeah, uh-huh,” I say, laughing now, too. At the memory. At us back then. “I miss us.”

“Me too,” she says. “It's still weird thinking of you in Orlando without me.”

“It's weird thinking of you up here, even though I've seen it. Celine called last night and was very impressed by your newfound partying.”

“Celine,” she says, nodding. “It's still weird you have a friend I don't know. What'd she say about me?”

“It's weird you have a whole life I don't know about,” I say, then, “She just said that college changes you into a partying animal, or the like. So when she called and I was at Jason's party, it was kind of fitting. She was hitting on some guy at Starbucks when she called, and I felt almost more daring than her. Which was weird.”

“Maude. You're looking for your birth mother. You're a million times more daring. And weird. Sorry, I just had to add one more.”

I smile and lean on her shoulder. She's right, I know. It's just a different type of daring, I think. She then adds, “Didn't you think someone was cute at Starbucks once, too?”

“No.” I shake my head, then grin. “Okay, yeah, that super-pretentious guy with glasses.”

“What made you think he was pretentious? The no-new-music-is-good attitude, or the ironic facial hair?”

“Don't remind me,” I say. “Hey, you liked that guy Lincoln who sometimes, but not always, referred to himself in the third person.”

“Ah yes.” She nods. “‘Lincoln wants to take German
next year,'” she says, imitating him. “We have great taste.”

I sit up and say, “It's a good thing your parents didn't know about Lincoln. They would have hated him.”

“What, he was half Indian, they would have half loved him.”

“Do they know about Trey?” I ask, broaching the subject.

“Oh, god no. Not that he's bad or anything, but I'm not going to introduce them to someone I'm not serious about.”

“You're not serious about him? You seem pretty . . .”

“You know what I mean. Like, after we've been dating for a few months, yeah, okay, I'll tell them.” She shakes her head, then says, “Oh god, that sounds terrifying!”

“Well, I mean, he's your first boyfriend. Wait. Is he your boyfriend?”

“I don't know . . .” she muses. “I mean, right now we're still . . . figuring things out, I guess?”

“Is he hanging out with other girls like he is with you?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “He said he wasn't. It's just me.” She pauses, then adds, “You do like him, right?”

“I just . . .” I hesitate because I'm still not sure. “He's okay, yeah, I just don't know him well. I mean, I wasn't into that whole haunted house thing, but . . . You're just kind of . . . with him a lot, so . . .”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just, you know. To be honest, he's making me feel more included. Like I'm part of something. After my attempt at finding a club to join kind of bombed, I just wanted something, and knowing this guy
likes me and is introducing me to people and places . . . I don't know, it's kind of cool. It feels like college.”

I nod, because what can I say to that? I want her to be happy. I want her with someone who will make her feel good.

Maybe that's what college is about after all. Not just discovering yourself, but discovering what makes you happy—whatever it might be.

We continue talking through the afternoon, then eat a quick dinner downstairs before going back upstairs to change for the on-campus carnival Treena heard about. Treena puts on her bangles and a short, cute dress that her parents would freak over. Her mom's thoughts on clothing were typically the more the better. Let's be honest—the same goes with my mom, too. “I thought we were going to a carnival?” I ask, looking down at my jeans and black Pepperpots T-shirt. They're a local band we used to see together a lot, so I thought she'd appreciate me wearing their shirt.

“Yeah, but it doesn't hurt to look cute, right? Wait, I have a skirt that goes with your shirt,” she says, pulling out a very short, very tight skirt.

“I don't know,” I say, trying it on.

“It's perfect! You have to wear it,” she says, jumping up and down.

“Okay, okay.” I shrug, pulling it down a bit, still wondering why there are outfits for just a girls' night. I look at myself in the mirror and see, well, myself, dressed up. Only with a lot of leg.

Treena gives me a giant thumbs-up and we leave her dorm for the carnival.

As we walk down the sidewalk, arm in arm, I can see the guys looking at her, and I realize it's not just at her, it's at us. And that's when I feel it. The attention, the looks, the thoughts. They think we're cute. It's not like I haven't tried to dress up before, but never in a skirt like this, and never with results like this. So when I see Treena with her chin a little higher, and a bit of a bounce in her step, I get it. She likes the attention. And I guess she wanted to give me some, too.

“Oh, did I tell you they played here last week?” Treena asks, pointing to my shirt.

“No! Did you go?”

“Of course! They were awesome.”

“I haven't seen them in forever,” I say. It's not the same without her. “Do other bands tour through here?” I ask, thinking of the pixie haircut girl who said all the good bands go to Orlando.

“Yeah! I mean, before the Pepperpots, we saw Wilco at
Club Downunder, the on-campus venue, who were awesome. Oh, the club also has trivia nights, which are fun. Not surprisingly, Bennett won for us last time.”

“Ha, yeah, I'm not surprised. He told me about his
Star Wars
obsession.”

“Yep. He killed at the
Doctor Who
round. I mean, he named us the Weeping Angels, which apparently is a reference? I don't know. No one else could touch our team.” I wish I'd been there. I wish I were part of these memories, too.

We walk on, toward the union, and though we're quiet, the night is not. It seems like a lot of people are out, heading in the same direction we are. And while a lot of them are excitedly talking, I'm happy we're not. Because it means we're okay enough to be back at our comfortable silence. We have an understood quietness.

The union is pretty crowded by the time we get there. It's an enclosed courtyard, bordered by Club Downunder, a theater, the cafeteria, and offices. Right outside is a colorful bouncy slide with a long line wrapped around it. Beaming lights are casting shadows down on it.

This is exactly what I needed after today. I learned so much, saw too much, and just . . . needed time away from learning. I just want to be me and have Treena be Treena, and remember what it was like to be us.

“We have to go on that later,” Treena says excitedly, and I nod, thinking that a slide and miniskirt do not mesh well together. “But let's see what's going on first.” We walk toward
the center of the action, and inside it's just as crowded, with different stations of games and snacks. There's a popcorn stand, a cotton candy stand, and a funnel cake stand. There are also games set up, like at a real carnival, and photo booths. “Oooh, but first, snack?” she asks, gesturing toward the food stands.

“Cotton candy, yes,” I say, and we get the blue flavor, all piled and wound high. I bite down on it and promptly feel the sugar coating my teeth. My dentist dad would kill me if he were here. Mom warns against boys and drugs; Dad, sugar.

“Is my tongue blue?” I ask, opening my mouth.

“Yes!” Treena laughs, pointing at her electric-blue tongue. “Mine?”

“Definitely. We look like Smurfs.” I take out my phone and she yells, “Buddy Shot,” and we take a picture, tongues out and smiling. And I think it'll be a great addition to my blog, because this is a new step forward, happily. We walk away from the stands and I find myself in a maze of people, but for once I don't feel so alone within it. It feels like I'm part of the flow, and not against it, and I'm not sure why I suddenly feel so different. Like I can do or be anything. I look up at the sky, and see the stars shining down, calm against the swirls of energy surrounding us.

A guy stops in front of us and shouts “Hey!” to Treena.

“Oh,” she says, less enthused. “Hey, Brad.” Then she looks at me. “Maude, this is Brad, one of Trey's friends from the soccer team. He was at the party last night. Brad, Maude.”

“Hey,” he says, taking me in. He looks athletic, too, with short brown hair and a jersey on. In fact, he looks remarkably like Trey. “Are you guys going to the club tonight?”

“No, we're just hanging out,” she says, and I smile, happy that she's ditching plans for me.

“Really? Oh man, you're missing out. It's some girl from Tri Delt's birthday, and it's going down,” he says, pumping his fist in the air.

“You don't even know who the girl is?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips. I like how she's getting an attitude with him. I like how she's defending herself.

“Does it matter?” he laughs. “Party is a party. Hope to see you guys out there tonight,” he says, then eyes me again before walking away.

“Ugh,” Treena moans. “That guy annoys me.”

“Tri Delt?” I ask.

“A sorority. Trey mentioned going to Colt's, this club that plays country music, but . . . he didn't say there was a sorority party going on.”

“Not a fan of sorority parties?” I ask.

“They're fine, whatever. There are a bunch of girls in my English class, and I think I'm just too brown for them. Like, they're really blond.”

“Sounds fun,” I say.

“Yeah, and they're all just perfectly gorgeous,” she says, picking at her arm self-consciously.

“Tree, you're beautiful,” I say, defending her.

“They're, like, models. And Trey's friends with them.”

I sigh, automatically knowing—and hating—what I'm going to ask next. “Do you want to go to the club?”

She looks at me, her eyes alight, then looks back down. “No, no, it's just us tonight. I can see Trey tomorrow. . . .”

“Tree . . .” I say.

“No, it's our night. I want to spend time with you.”

“Tree . . .” I say again, because sometimes she needs a push to be honest. And while I want her to say no again, I know she won't.

“Maybe.”

“All right. Let's go,” I say, relenting for her sake. “Plus, I need to get the full college experience and I haven't been to a club yet.”

“We should get someone to drive us,” she says, already planning. “Girls drink free there, and even though we're not twenty-one, we can still get by. I wonder if . . .”

“I'm on it,” I say, taking out my phone and texting the only other person I know here.