Page 14

I have never had writer friends.

I think I might love it here.

* * *

The Lion’s Den is one of the campus cafés, and I make my way there after Spanish, which I was pleased to find was largely conversation-based, although much more fast-paced than any of my high school classes. Over the past week, I’ve been grappling with the sudden sense of freedom here. Example: I can get coffee with someone in the middle of the day without telling anyone where I’m going.

“I might be a snob,” I warn Kait as we sit down with our mugs at one of the only open tables. Twinkle lights crisscross the ceiling, an abstract mural on the wall behind us. “I worked part-time at a café in Seattle, and we are very serious about coffee.”

“Seattle kind of has that reputation, doesn’t it?” She brings the mug to her lips. “Coffee, music…”

“Weather, microbrews, apples—”

“Apples?”

“Yes!” I say. “Washington State takes a lot of pride in their apples.”

I learn that Kait Donnelly is from Hartford, Connecticut—“where we’re snobby about our seafood”—and that we’re in the same dorm, with her on the third floor and me on the eighth.

“And you’re a creative writing major too?” I ask, sipping my hazelnut latte. Not as good as Two Birds One Scone, but perfectly acceptable.

“Destined to be a tortured literary soul for the rest of my existence, yes,” she says. “Not that we need to suffer for our art or anything. Just that sometimes I do, and I’ve made my peace with it.”

I laugh at this, even though writing has never been that way for me. At least, not until earlier today. “What do you write that tortures you that much?”

“A lot of fanfic,” she says. “Do you read any? Or write it? I have to know who your ships are.”

I shake my head. “No, but I’m open to recommendations.” With what I hope is nonchalance, I readjust my headband, which has been slowly digging its way into my skull. “I… read and write romance.”

The words come out with only a tiny bit of hesitation. This thing I kept hidden for so long, worried people would judge me for it.

“That’s really cool. So you get that people can be shitty about it.”

“So shitty! Even though, of course, most of those people have never read it.”

“Some of my friends think I just want to write about hot people banging.”

I let out a small cough. “I can relate.”

“Which, to be fair, sometimes I do,” Kait continues, “but I like a good fluff fic as much as the next person.” She twirls a short blond strand around one finger. “My boyfriend doesn’t get it. He thinks it’s a complete waste of time, since none of it can be published as is, even when I remind him that plenty of successful books started out as fanfic.”

“Does your boyfriend go here?” I feel an immediate rush of affection for Neil, who not only understands my love for romance—after an admittedly rocky start at the beginning of high school—but has now read my favorite Nora Roberts, along with a handful of others.

“He’s back home. UConn.”

“I’m in a long-distance relationship too,” I say, and it’s nice to have this in common. “He’s at NYU.”

She swipes around on her phone before showing me a photo of the two of them… in front of the Colosseum in Rome. Gabriel has thick dark hair, a kind smile, and a stud through one eyebrow. Pretty sure anyone would look great with that backdrop, though, the ancient ruins and bluest sky.

“Sorry, not to vacation-flex,” she says, a touch of pink on her cheeks. “We backpacked around Europe over the summer. Best month of my life.”

“I wouldn’t even mind the flex. That sounds incredible.” I motion for her to show me more photos: Kait and Gabriel rolling pasta dough, wandering the Louvre, cannonballing into the Mediterranean Sea. “You just… went to Europe? Just the two of you?”

“Took a little time to convince our parents, but yep. We started dating sophomore year, so everyone pretty much assumes we’ll get married someday.” She says this casually, and I’m not sure if it’s because she believes it or because she finds it to be such a ridiculous statement that it isn’t worth taking seriously. “But I don’t feel like I really knew him until this trip.”

“Wow.” It’s about all I can say, because it’s impossible not to imagine doing something like that someday with Neil.

Because what if that someday could be next summer?