by Sarah Kuhn
Holy shit.
I winced. I’d forgotten what a jaw-droppingly atrocious singer she was.
I stuffed down the giggles percolating in my chest, shot some extra concentration toward keeping the glamour up, and joined her, attempting to harmonize. I’d like to think it was a very noble attempt, but it mostly served to highlight how nails-on-chalkboard Aveda’s singing was.
“Fuck, yeah!” someone yelled. I turned to see Pippa pumping her fist in the air, grinning at us encouragingly. “That is sick! Yessss!”
I laughed a little, turning to Aveda, meeting her eyes—really giving it my all to sell the song. She responded, bringing a hand to her chest and fluttering her eyes closed. Truly emoting.
As we belted our way through the chorus, gesturing dramatically to each other, I felt something in my chest loosen, my worries dissipating into the air. At times like this, when Aveda and I were really in sync, it felt like we could communicate without saying a single word.
Even if we were singing all the words.
It made me grateful that we’d found our way back to being true best friends, that we’d left so much codependency and toxicity in the past. That feeling swelled in my chest, overwhelming me with warmth as we sang through the song’s climax, holding that last note extra long.
“Hell, yesssss! Go, cool new TAs!” someone screamed—maybe Pippa—and the whole room burst into thunderous applause. We bowed deeply, then Aveda grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door.
“Wait,” I hissed at her, another burst of giggles escaping me, “where are we going?!”
“A true performer knows when to make her exit,” Aveda hissed back, also giggling. “And we can’t go out on a higher note than that! Get it, high note . . . because of the karaoke . . .”
She pushed through the doors, and we started to clatter up the stairs to our room, giggling all the way.
“I’m sad we didn’t find Tess,” Aveda said. “But that was so fun!”
“Hey, wait! Cool TAs, wait up!”
We whirled around to see Pippa bounding up the stairs after us, dragging a morose-looking Shelby behind her. I guessed she’d ditched Natalie David.
“That was so amazing!” Pippa crowed, pumping her fist. Her swoop of platinum hair twitched with excitement, her dark eyes flashing. “Are you guys hungry? Do you wanna, like, hang?”
“Is that code for something?” Aveda whispered to me—very loudly. “Is it a drugs thing? A sex thing?”
“No, I literally mean I’m starving and we should eat something,” Pippa hooted, clapping her hand over her mouth. “And I can hear you.”
“Sorry,” I said. “Angelica is a little bit of a, um, square.”
“A . . . what?” Pippa shook her head at us. “You guys are hilarious. Okay, we need to find someone to drive us, since we’ve all been drinking.”
“I haven’t . . .” I started to say—then trailed off as another wave of fogginess passed over me, making me dizzy. I gripped the banister for support.
“You okay, Eliza?” Aveda said, her gaze lasering in on me.
“Fine,” I said hastily. “But actually, I’m starving too. What’d you have in mind, Pippa?”
“Only the best cuisine around, it’s kind of a Morgan tradition,” she said, giving us a broad wink. Shelby remained silent, staring at the floor. Probably wondering why she’d gotten sucked into a late-night adventure when she’d been hoping to go to bed and get all rested for crew practice.
“Ooh,” Aveda hissed in my ear. “Sounds like another college-y type experience we need to have!”
“Now,” Pippa said, “we just have to find someone to—oh! You! Hey, you!”
Pippa waved eagerly to a student who was scuttling up the stairs, attempting to move around us.
“Yeah?” The student stopped and regarded us quizzically. This newcomer had a cool, pink-streaked undercut, and sported rhinestone-emblazoned cat-eye glasses, oversized plaid pajama pants, and a ratty t-shirt with the Morgan logo emblazoned across the front. Not really dressed for a party. But maybe for a late-night food run?
“Can you drive us to food?” Pippa said, her eyes widening hopefully. “It’s not far and I’ll buy you whatever you want. I mean, within reason. Don’t clean out the whole restaurant or anything.”
“I definitely can’t turn that down,” the student said, giving Pippa a wry grin. “Have we met before?”
“Don’t think so, but I’ve seen you around, you’re on the second floor of Mara Dash, right?” Pippa said, extending a hand. “I’m down in the secondary basement—that little nook by the garden? Pippa. And this is Shelby, my BFF and roommate.”
“Hey,” the student said, taking Pippa’s hand. “I’m Tess.”
CHAPTER TEN
“TACO BELL?” AVEDA said, her voice twisting upward in skepticism. “This is the Morgan tradition? The ‘best cuisine around’?”
“Oh, yeah,” Pippa said, bouncing up and down in her seat. “This is the jam.”
Aveda glanced over at me as Tess piloted the car down a near empty Oakland street, the lit-up neon Taco Bell sign in the distance. A long line of cars snaked out of the drive-thru—prime late-night munchies time.
Aveda and I were jammed in the backseat with Shelby, who was staring sulkily out the window. I had somehow ended up squashed in the middle seat. Pippa had called shotgun.
Aveda and I hadn’t been able to speak alone since getting swept into this impulsive fast food adventure, so we were relying on our best-friend near-telepathy to communicate. Her face was still flushed, and I was still feeling a little . . . hmm, what was I feeling? Not exactly foggy, like before. Maybe it was a euphoric sugar high from the punch? No, that wasn’t quite right either, it was more like my mind felt . . . loose. Relaxed. Very unlike its usual state, especially lately.
I couldn’t believe after all that, we’d just run into Tess in the stairwell. Now we had an opportunity to talk to them about their ghostly encounter.
After we’d eaten our Taco Bell, of course.
“So, Tess,” Aveda said, as we pulled to the end of the long drive-thru line, “why didn’t you go to the party? It was a really kicking time.”
I smothered a giggle. Where had she gotten that from?
“I wasn’t feeling well,” Tess said, edging the car forward. “I dunno what I had, maybe a touch of food poisoning? Anyway, I started feeling better about an hour ago, and I was actually about to go grab food when I ran into you guys.”
“How lucky,” Aveda murmured, giving me a meaningful look.
I nudged her in the ribs, cocking an eyebrow in a way that I hoped said: Tone it down, fellow kid.
“Now,” Aveda said, turning her laser-like focus back to the neon sign. “What do you all recommend? I’ve never eaten here.”
“Really?” Pippa whirled around to goggle at her. “How is that possible?”
“Angelica’s a very healthy person, eats a balanced diet,” I said, giving Aveda an affectionate look. “Fast food isn’t usually on her radar.”
“That is a tragedy,” Pippa said, her eyes widening. “Oh, man. Your mind is about to be so blown.”
“Follow Pippa’s lead,” Shelby said, turning away from the window. “She’s the best Taco Bell orderer around.”
“A title I take very seriously,” Pippa said, jabbing an index finger through the air.
Shelby shook her head and let out a little chuckle. I studied her for a moment. She seemed more clear-eyed than she had earlier, recapturing some of that unnerving stillness. And that was maybe the first time I’d seen her laugh, ever. Despite her general morose state, she truly loved her friend. But there was something about her I couldn’t quite get a handle on. In some ways, I related to her very much—the quietness, the playing second fiddle to a more dramatic BFF. She was kind of like Mouse Evie, sinking into the shadows. Maybe she was comf
ortable there? I had thought I was comfortable there—but I’d been hiding.
“Hey,” I murmured to Shelby. The others were busy loudly discussing the Taco Bell menu as we inched forward in the drive-thru, so they didn’t hear me. “You okay?”
“What?” She looked up at me, startled out of her thoughts. “Um, yeah. Totally.”
I gave her a gentle nudge. “Really? You look like you’re thinking very hard about something.”
“I . . .” She frowned, toying with the ends of her shaggy hair. “I’m a little worried about Pips. She confessed her love to Natalie, then they made out, then Natalie disappeared. I think she went off with someone else. And Pips didn’t even blink, ya know? I know this is bothering her deep down, and . . . and I really should be in bed at this point if I want to get up for crew tomorrow, but I can’t just, like, leave her.”
I smiled, touched by Shelby’s genuine caring. “That’s incredibly kind of you, to want to look out for her like that. But don’t forget to look out for yourself, too—you can’t be a good friend to someone else if you’re constantly sacrificing your own needs for what you think they need. Trust me, I know.”
Shelby’s eyes slid to Aveda, who was currently peppering Pippa and Tess with a boatload of questions about the flavor profile of the Crunchwrap Supreme.
“How do you not just, like . . . worry all the time. About the people you love?” she asked, her eyes widening earnestly.
“You know, I think that worry is inevitable—it’s just part of being human,” I said with a slight chuckle. “Just know that they’re worried about you, too. We’re basically passing worry back and forth at any given moment. Ugh, sorry.” I made a face. “That’s not super comforting, is it?”
“No, no, it is,” Shelby said, her face screwing into a thoughtful expression. “I’m just wondering how I can draw that boundary for myself and not feel like a total jerk.”
“You’re not a jerk,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. “And it can be hard to advocate for yourself—to have compassion for yourself. Just remember that you’re important. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you need and asking for it. And Pippa seems to care deeply about your well-being too, so if you explain that sometimes you just need to go the fuck to bed and it doesn’t mean you care any less for her . . . well, she should understand.”
“I didn’t think of it like that,” Shelby said, nodding slowly. She gave me a small smile. “Thanks, Eliza.”
“Any time,” I said, smiling back.
“What are you guys whispering about back there?” Pippa screeched, whirling around in her seat. “Oh, hey!” Her eyes got big as a plinky piano wafted over the radio. “Angelica, Eliza: it’s your song! From karaoke!”
“Ah, good ol’ ‘Eternal Flame’!” Aveda exclaimed, elbowing me in the ribs.
“Yessssss,” Pippa yelled, pumping her fist. Her bangles jingled in time with the music. “Come on, let’s all sing!” She reached over and turned the radio way up, the music blasting so loud, the car windows seemed to rattle. “Everyone!”
“I don’t know the words!” Tess protested.
“Make ’em up!” Pippa insisted. She reached around her seat to swat Shelby’s knee. “Come on, Shel! Eliza, Angelica: lead us! Teach us the lyrics!”
I exchanged a look with Aveda—and we started to sing.
They all joined in, Tess tapping in time on their steering wheel. Our voices were loud, not at all harmonious, and definitely making up lyrics that were not entirely correct. But somehow we sounded very together. A unit.
“Yessss!” Pippa shrieked, rolling down the window and sticking her head out. “Let’s see if we can get people in this long-ass drive-thru line to join in!”
We all sang at the top of our lungs, exhilaration racing through my bloodstream even as most of the other car passengers yelled back at us to shut up.
I turned to look past Aveda and out the window, studying the neon lights flashing a garish rainbow of colors against the orderly line of drive-thru cars. And I felt an overwhelming surge of warmth.
I’d been to this Taco Bell before. I used to occasionally stop by to grab a blessedly cheap dinner for Bea and me on my way home from school. But I’d never been on a late-night snack run like this, crammed into a car with a bunch of classmates, singing our hearts out. I’d never felt that easy camaraderie or been part of a very serious discussion about gorditas vs. chalupas. And I’d never had that actual carefree feeling Aveda kept referencing—wherein, just for a moment, that sort of inconsequential discussion could be the most important thing in the world.
It was . . . nice.
“Ooh,” Pippa said, her eyes widening with delight as the song died down and we finally reached the drive-thru. “I’ll have three chalupas, a Mexican pizza, one of those tacos with the Doritos shell, a beefy five-layer burrito with extra nacho cheese—”
“You want all that?” Aveda said, shooting forward in her seat. “Right before bed?”
“Didn’t you hear what Shel said earlier?” Pippa sniffed, waving a regal hand. “I’m the best Taco Bell orderer around.”
“Point,” Aveda said, nodding thoughtfully. She tapped Tess on the shoulder. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
* * *
“My god,” Aveda exclaimed, staring down the barrel of her second beefy five-layer burrito. “How is this so revolting and so delicious at the same time? And why can’t I stop eating it?”
“Truly the food of kings,” I chuckled.
“And queens,” Pippa said, snapping her fingers. “And it pairs perfectly with this yummy punch.”
We’d taken our food to the big Mara Dash common area, a sprawling, drafty room just past the foyer that exemplified the dorm’s creepy Gothic vibe. The floor was cold tile in a forbidding gray—it looked like it had been repurposed from a particularly gloomy cathedral. The couches and loveseats were deep purple velvet, stiff and not very comfortable. And the centerpiece was a massive fireplace, which should have been cozy—but it was covered in cobwebs and dust, clearly never used. A single candelabra was perched on top of the fireplace, trying to poke its way out of the cobwebs. The atmosphere was cold and forbidding, like we’d just stepped into a scene from Wuthering Heights. But something about our little group, loud and chatty and snacking on the junkiest junk food, warmed it up.
“Look at us,” Pippa beamed, gesturing with her burrito. “We’ve got a total ride-or-die crew right here.”
Pippa had taken it upon herself to procure more of the punch from the dorm party—I’d requested the non-alcoholic version—and she’d also brought up a weird bit of decoration from her and Shelby’s room. It was . . . well, sort of a throw pillow, I guess? A round, fuzzy sphere about the size of a soccer ball in a shade of sickly puce that looked like it had seen better days. Pippa enthusiastically explained that it was called “Carpet Ball” and that she and Shelby had found it at a thrift store right after they became roommates.
“Carpet Ball is also in our ride-or-die crew,” she explained, patting the ball lovingly.
We’d spread ourselves out over the purple couches, and I was amused to see everyone had taken up a position that was very them. Pippa had plopped herself in the middle of the central couch and was cramming food into her mouth with gusto. Shelby had squashed herself into the corner of the same couch and was nibbling more conservatively as she stared into space, lost in thought. Occasionally she’d give Carpet Ball a squeeze, as if it was comforting her.
Aveda and I had taken the adjacent love seat and set up a little hot sauce trough between us. Of course Aveda looked completely unnatural eating a Taco Bell burrito, but she bit into it with single-minded intent, like she was trying to best it at something.
And Tess . . . well, I didn’t know Tess at all yet. But they’d plopped into a giant chair that matched the rest of the furniture and ate slowly, probably trying not to provoke their
previously food-poisoned stomach.
“So, Tess,” I said, trying for a warm, conversational tone. “What are you studying—are you in Professor Covington’s discussion seminar with Shelby and Pippa? I’m the new TA and we had a very spirited talk today.”
“Oh, you’re that TA,” Tess said, tilting their head at me. “Yeah, I heard all about that discussion. And I’m sorry I missed it, because Covington’s the worst. Thankfully, I’m not in any of his classes.”
“Ah, so his rep’s that bad, huh?” Pippa said, cocking an eyebrow. “You’re not in his classes, but you’ve still heard of him.”
“I have a friend who was in some of his classes,” Tess said. “She told me all about his condescending ass.”
“Wait, was in his classes,” Aveda said, sitting up straighter. “Did your friend drop them because he’s so bad?”
“Um, no,” Tess said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “She . . . she left, actually.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, pieces clicking together in my brain. “Was your friend Julie Vũ?” I looked at Pippa. “I thought you said she didn’t have any friends.”
“I thought she didn’t,” Pippa said, with an expansive shrug.
“I’ve been trying to check up on Julie since she left,” I said, turning back to Tess. “I know it’s only been a couple days, but I’d really love to get in touch with her. Provost Glennon told me she’s staying with family?”
“Not sure about that,” Tess said, their brow crinkling. They seemed to be getting more guarded by the minute. “Julie’s only family is her younger sister—and actually, I haven’t been able to get in touch with her at all. I’ve been worried. But . . . but let’s not talk about that!” They pasted on a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “To answer your original question, Eliza, I’m a Bio major.”
“Ahhh,” Aveda said, picking up the conversational in I’d so nicely set up for her. “That’s my department—I’m the new TA there!”
“Cool!” Tess said, toasting Aveda with a cheese-covered fry.
