Begin Again(43)

“Wait.”

Valeria’s hand hovers just above the ribbon, raising her eyebrows.

“Um—I’ll take it,” I say, lowering my voice. “If that’s okay.”

“I thought you had a starter ribbon,” says Valeria, puzzled. “Isn’t that why you missed the TA office hours to go over your missed test questions last Saturday? Because you were trying to get a red one?”

My face flushes. Not that I’d ever admit it to Valeria, but last week’s little incident is not the first time a ribbon collection has conflicted with my studying. There are intentionally a ton of events so you can easily miss some of them and still get all the ribbons you need, but the thing about collecting them for two people is you can’t really afford to miss any at all.

It’s also why I’ve been scrambling to keep up with my “Bed of Roses” column, and why I haven’t been able to go back to Little Fells to visit my grandmas, or even to visit Connor. I know it’s early in the semester to be worrying about that kind of thing, but I miss them. The idea of having to wait to see them until the ribbon hunt is over in March makes me ache.

But at least if I have this starter ribbon for Connor, it won’t be for nothing.

“My boyfriend doesn’t have a white ribbon,” I admit. “The one who transferred out. He’s trying to come back.”

“Oh. Then knock yourself out,” says Valeria, sliding it across the table. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It feels like magic when I touch it. Some of the guilt of Connor’s situation is flushed out by this immense, ridiculous relief—I’ll still be able to do this for him. I’ll be able to make this right. I’ll be able to—

“Oof.” My chair gets unceremoniously sideswiped by a group of students rushing out the door fast enough to leave a gust of wind in their wake. “Wait, did the fire alarm go off or something?”

“No,” says Valeria, glancing at a notification on her phone. “It wasn’t my ex. Turns out it’s Skip Day.”

This tradition is so notorious at Blue Ridge State that campuses all across the country are jealous of us for it—once a semester, the university lawlessly cancels classes for the day without warning. Last semester, Connor used it to come surprise me at the community college with a picnic, waiting for me outside the psych building.

I check my phone at the thought of him, but there’s nothing so far. Not even a “Happy Valentine’s Day” text. I remind myself that he’s busy with his dad, and we did spend the better part of last night co-watching old episodes of True Blood together.

“But we should still finish up since we’re here,” says Valeria, her eyes on the pages but her body undeniably tilted toward the door.

“Absolutely not,” I tell her, scooting back in my chair and closing the textbook with a satisfying thunk. I gesture toward the students leaking out of the building in a steady stream. “Run. Be free. Math isn’t real today.”

Valeria hesitates. “You’re sure?”

“Six thousand percent.” I point at the textbook. “That’s a statistic, right? You’ve done your job here today.”

Valeria leans in for a quick hug. “I’m gonna go back to my parents’ house for the day and work on that ending where there’s peace and quiet. But we’ll pick this up later this week, okay?”

I squeeze her back hard. “Sounds good,” I say, which is only half a lie. Valeria is quickly becoming a close friend, even if math will forever be my mortal enemy. “You mind if I read your book, too?”

“Manuscript,” Valeria corrects me. She bites her bottom lip, considering. “Yes. But only if you give the ribbons a rest this weekend, so you can get in some more study time?” she suggests.

I wince. It’s hard to get anything past her when she’s assessing my stats skills every week. I’m guessing they have not improved all that much, based on her request.

“Send it my way when you work out the ending!” I call after her, sidestepping.

She laughs on her way out of the library. “You have more faith in me than I do.”

By the time I get back to my room, Cardinal is a ghost town. I find a note on my bed from Shay saying she left to go visit her parents. I consider trying to hitch a ride to Little Fells, but Connor’s still busy and my grandmas are both out of town visiting D.C. so they can do a macaron and cupcake tour in Georgetown.

But there’s no point in getting down about being by myself. I rally quickly by doing what I always do if I sense myself circling the drain of a self-pity spiral: I take a shower, making a mental list of all the things I can tackle today with the unexpected free time.

“Dear god. It’s a sentient teddy bear.”

I don’t even register the words until I’m looking over at Milo, who is facing me in the hallway looking mildly astonished and impressed at my robe. He is far from the only one to comment on it—it’s floor-length and ridiculously fluffy, and it comes with a matching hair towel that may or may not have little ears poking out of it.

I stop in my slipper-clad tracks. “You’re still here,” I say, self-conscious. Not just because I am poofier than a cloud, but this is the first time the two of us have been around each other without any kind of social buffer since our tumble in the snow.