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Edith takes us to a diner for lunch, and the whole campus comes alive while we’re gone. Especially the main quad—they’ve put

up a platform stage, a big white tent, and rows of folding chairs that stretch almost to the edge of the green. Still not

ready for showtime, I guess, judging by all the staff milling around with clipboards and walkie-talkies. There are lots of

students around, too—hovering around the perimeter to watch the setup or playing self-conscious tour guide for their visiting

relatives.

The entire tableau makes my chest squeeze—it’s that weird, contradictory mix of fullness and longing. Nostalgia really does

contain multitudes. Right now, it’s not quite a “Kodachrome” feeling; it’s really more of a “Scarborough Fair.” Like I’m groping

around for memories that aren’t even mine. Maybe there’s a verb tense for that—something you use when discussing your own

borrowed future.

How do I already miss college when it hasn’t even started?

“Oh, I bet that’s my sister.” Edith stops to check her phone. “Okay, yup. They’re back from brunch and heading to the bookstore.

Should we meet them there? I think it’s right off the quad.”

Turns out, the bookstore’s not just off the quad; it’s right behind us. You just have to walk around a building to find the entrance. In retrospect, the steady traffic of bald guys in “Blackwell Dad” T-shirts should have told us we were close. The DILFs always know.

“Multiple floors. I like it,” Nat says.

I follow her inside, gaze flicking from shelf to shelf. There’s a checkout desk along the side wall, a staircase in back,

and a huge front display of books by alumni and professors. Of course, there are regular books, too, plus some picked-over

shelves of textbooks, meticulously organized by course numbers. It’s just like the store at East Seneca College.

But the bulk of the space isn’t for books; it’s for gear. Racks and racks of T-shirts and hoodies, scarves and hats and windbreakers.

Keychains and lanyards and plushies, oh my. Also, it’s teeming with people; it’s almost like a music festival’s merch tent.

When you think about it, college really is just one big fandom.

I wander around the clothing racks, stopping periodically to feel the sleeves of fleece jackets, or to gawk at the occasional

$80 sweatshirt—embroidered with a tiny Blackwell College crest, of course. Natalie’s quietly thumbing through the sweatpants;

I’m just about to join her, when I run into—well, Edith. Except it’s not. It’s almost Edith.

Edith, but she’s wearing a sundress—and her hair’s a little browner. Her ponytail’s a little more wavy than curly.

“Okay, you have to be Imogen.”

Her eyes widen. “Yes. Hi! You’re one of—you must be Amelia or Natalie, right?”

“Amelia! Way to make me feel famous.”

She laughs, revealing a dimple just like Edith’s, and—wow. Between these two and the freaking Rosemann-Long twins, the dimple situation on this campus is downright out of hand. Thank God Mark’s such a little sourpuss; if he smiled more, I’d be done for. No bisexual on earth could survive that.

“You look so much like your sister.” I blink. “And you’re probably so sick of hearing that.”

“No, it’s fine! And we do—I know.” She laughs again. “Did you guys just get here?”

I tilt my head back and forth. “Like an hour or two ago, maybe? Also—God—thank you for giving us your room, by the way.”

“Oh man, you gave up your room?” chimes a freckle-faced brunette. “Where are you gonna sleep?” She hooks an arm around Imogen’s

shoulder, and Imogen smiles up at her blushing.

I feel— holy shit . I feel so single right now.

“Oh—hi! I’m Tessa,” she adds. “Are you one of Zora’s friends?”

“Amelia.” I nod. “Also—sorry, I’m kind of obsessed with your shirt. Is that...”

“A photo of a pubescent boy in a snorkel mask?” Tessa grins. “Yup.”

“Oh my God. Okay.” Imogen turns to me. “That’s her brother, and it’s his bar mitzvah shirt from a million years ago. It says

Dan’s bar mitzvah under the picture. I promise it’s less weird when the shirt’s untucked.”

“Well, technically, it says Make a splash at Dan’s bar mitzvah .”

“He’s graduating tomorrow,” Imogen adds. “She’s had this outfit planned for almost a decade.”

“Nice,” I say. “You should break it out again for his wedding day.”

“Already planning to!”

“Okay, sweet—you guys have met.” Edith drifts over, holding up a pudgy stuffed cat in a little Blackwell shirt. “Look who I found.”

“Oh, no way!” Imogen boops its nose.

“This is literally our cat, Quincy,” Edith explains, glancing quickly over her shoulder. She lowers her voice to a whisper.

“I’m buying him for Zora.”

“Is she here? Can we meet her?” Tessa asks.

“Yup.” Edith tilts her head toward the science textbooks.

Tessa presses a hand to her heart. “Look at that nerd.”

“I know.” Edith glances back at Zora and smiles, and I try to memorize what it looks like.

This is how you smile when you’ve been in love so long, it’s like breathing.