Begin Again(11)

“Tried, past tense.” Once I let us in the room he pauses at the door, taking in Shay’s intricate array of books and kitschy things. “Damn. This is a nice setup. Hope we don’t have any earthquakes.”

“Why are you trying to leave? You’re an RA, won’t you be a senior next year?” I ask, following him so close I nearly bump my nose right into his shoulder as he sets my backpack on my bed.

He seems unfazed to see me an inch away from him when he turns back around. “I’m a sophomore. And unlike you I didn’t get accepted by any midyear transfers last semester, so I probably have a better shot this time around.”

If there’s any more of my stomach left to sink, it just hit the metaphorical floor. “Is this place really so bad?”

Only then does Milo pause. “Nah. School’s fine. You’ll be alright.” His gaze falls back on me. “Besides. You don’t seem much like a quitter. That is, if the three-page introductory email you sent me and the dorm supervisors is any indication.”

He’s right. I’m not a quitter. I’ve watched every season of Grey’s Anatomy. I led a school-fundraiser car wash during a hurricane. I once ran an entire 5K matching pace with Connor despite never having run a full mile in my entire life.

And then I find it: some shred of what I was looking for. The stubborn part of me that doesn’t know how to hear the word “no.” The Amy Rose in me. It’s a little thing, maybe, but it’s enough. The world slows down for a moment. I take a breath and look back at Milo.

“You read it?” I ask.

“Your proposed matching T-shirt designs for the dorm weren’t bad. Financially unfeasible, but not bad.” He takes his hand off my shoulder so unceremoniously that I might have imagined it, then heads back toward my door. “I’m going to class. Tell Shay to hide those candles if there’s a fire drill.”

“Okay.”

Except the word doesn’t come out all steady like I’d planned. I’m hoping he’ll ignore it, but then Milo turns back to look at me, leaning against the doorframe and taking me in. I take him in right back, and wonder why he seemed familiar to me earlier. Those sleepy eyes and dark curls are pretty distinctive, but he doesn’t look like anyone I’ve ever met.

“And just . . . take a breather. Unpack your stuff. Go walk around campus.” He makes a vague gesture at our window. “I feel like you won’t have any trouble making friends.”

I smile then. Not the syndicated-talk-show smile or even a power-past-the-tears kind of smile. An actual one, so surprising that for a moment I’m not sure of my own face.

“Thanks,” I say.

One of the corners of Milo’s lip tugs up, like a smile snuck up on him. By the time he waves me off, all traces of it are gone. “You know where to find me.”

The door closes, and the brief reassurance goes with him. For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to do. That’s the thing about having your goals set in stone—you always have a road map. The path might not be easy, but at least it’s clear.

Now it’s hazier than ever. I have all this energy, but I don’t know which way to direct it. I step toward the window, staring at the campus at my feet, and try to imagine myself here in a real way, instead of the daydream way that I have since I was a kid. But even then, I see the faint shadow of someone else—a girl who was already making her mark. A girl who didn’t just make plans, but brought them all to life. A girl who left a distinctive swirl at the end of her “A,” and didn’t follow any road maps, but made her own.

I can’t help looking out at these winding paths without seeing her footsteps in every one of them and wondering if I’ll ever be able to fill her shoes.





Chapter Six


Grandma Maeve doesn’t laugh. She cackles. And this particular cackle goes on for so long that I almost have to hold the phone away from my ear.

“I had a feeling something would go topsy-turvy with your whole plan to surprise him.”

“We both did,” Gammy Nell chimes in.

I’m on speaker, which has informed me that despite threats from both grandmas to “find a place of their own” the second I was gone, they’re still very much living together in our house. I don’t even realize how worried I was about that until the relief of it is washing over me.

“Then why didn’t you say something?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest to try to stave off the cold. It’s plenty freezing in Little Fells in the winter, but Blue Ridge State is just elevated enough to somehow make the bite even sharper.

I sit down on a bench on the borders of the lake in the arboretum, breathing in the freshness of the air. The lake is all frozen over right now, gleaming in the sunlight, looking prettier than it has any right to on this day when I may have unconditionally messed up my entire future.

Despite it all, there’s something grounding in being here, something calming. I’m glad Milo convinced me not to go home. Glad that I can feel the unfamiliar relief that comes with being alone and wandering at my own pace. It feels like there’s infinite space out here, enough that for once I don’t need to worry about making myself fit.

“Because, chicken. You were supposed to go there either way,” says Grandma Maeve.

“And I love that bagel place off campus,” says Gammy Nell. “Good for lunch visits.”