I’d just gotten out of the shower and was changing into my pajamas when the phone rang, startling me. I scrambled for it, the cord getting tangled in my T-shirt.

“Hello?” I said, expecting it to be my mom, or maybe my sister.

“Um, hi.” It was a boy’s voice, deep and unsure, and I thought it had to be a wrong number. Genevieve’s dad had called me once, by accident, because her extension was only one number off from mine.

I waited silently to see what this boy wanted, and then he was like, “Sadie?”

“Lane?”

“Yeah, sorry. I forgot these phones don’t have caller ID.”

I’d never had a call from a boy before. I mean, I had, in eighth grade when Vijay Chandra and I had to do this presentation on the water cycle, and he’d called me over the weekend to practice. I’d gotten the occasional text or DM, but never a call. And never late at night, although it was sad that 8:55 felt late.

“Welcome to the Dark Ages,” I told him, “where a ringing phone is always a mystery.”

I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared out the window. The view was nothing but woods, which I’d always liked, but for the first time I wished my room was on Marina’s side of the hall, where you could see into Lane’s dorm.

“So,” I prompted.

“So,” he said. “I just got off the phone with my parents, and I sort of need a normal conversation right now. I hope that’s okay.”

I knew what he meant. There was something dreadful about the way my mom always asked how I was doing like it wasn’t just some pleasantry and she was actually afraid of the answer.

“No problem,” I said. “One normal conversation coming right up. I’ll start. Um . . . did you see the new movie that just came out?”

There was a confused moment of silence, and then I could almost hear Lane grinning through the phone.

“Yeah, last night at the IMAX,” he said. “I should have saved my money, it was so overrated. And how about the YouTube video of that animal doing the thing humans do?”

“You’re just seeing that? Like, fifty people posted it on Facebook yesterday,” I said. “Hold on, I’m getting a text.”

“It’s fine, I should probably open this Snapchat.”

We were both laughing.

“There,” I said. “A normal conversation.”

“It was great. Thank you.”

Lane chuckled, then coughed into his sleeve or something, like he thought that would muffle it.

The hall nurse was going to come by soon, so I picked up the receiver and hid it behind my pillow. Then I climbed into bed, the phone cradled against my shoulder.

“It’s almost lights-out,” I said.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Should we—”

“No, I want to keep talking,” I said. “Put the phone in your bed. We’ll sneak it.”

“Hold on,” he said, and there was a lot of banging on his end, and some muttering.

I climbed under the covers and tried to look innocent. I could hear the nurse in the hallway, making her way toward my room.

“Okay, done,” Lane said proudly.

“Wow, gold star.”

Nurse Blanca knocked on my door then and barged in the way she always did. I thrust the phone under my duvet and tried to look ready for bed while she pulled up my vitals on her tablet.

“Your heart rate’s a little high tonight, honey,” she said.

Damn it, Lane. I didn’t want the nurse to give me anything, so I tried to think of an excuse.

“There was this huge spider. It was terrifying. But I killed it with my shower shoe,” I said, pointing toward the wardrobe with such conviction that for a moment I believed it myself.

“Good for you, honey,” she said. “Sweet dreams.”

And then she switched off the light.

I waited until I heard her go into Natalie’s room, just to make sure.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I’m back.”

“What was that about a spider?” Lane asked.

“Um,” I said.

“Oh, wait, the nurse—” He must have put his palm over the speaker, because I couldn’t hear anything for a minute, and then he came back on.

“I almost hung up on you twice by accident,” he said. “These phones are ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but they’ll probably come back into style one day,” I said. “We’re just ahead of the curve.”

“Ugh, I bet you’re right. Twenty years from now, all the hipsters will have landlines. Or those other ones, from the black-and-white movies, with the circular dials?”

“And all the girls will wear vintage Ugg boots and complain how they were born in the wrong era,” I said, snuggling under the covers.

It was cold out, but the night air felt good. Fresh. Like maybe each breath was helping to fix the mess inside my body. I could hear the leaves rustling, and the insects chattering, and I wondered if any of them were having conversations as wonderful as the one I was having, in the dark, over the phone, with this beautifully strange boy.

“No one thinks they were born into the right era,” Lane said. “It’s like that movie Midnight in Paris.”

“You’re a fan of Woody Allen movies?” I asked, pleasantly surprised.

And we spent the next hour whispering into the phones about movies, and books, and music until I could barely keep my eyes open.

I could hear Lane yawning through the receiver.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Long hike.”

“I’m falling asleep, too,” I said. “We should probably . . .”

“Wait. Before you go, give me a word, and I’ll see if I can dream about it,” he said.

I wanted to say, me. Dream about me. Dream about us in a coffee shop, on a real date, and I’m wearing a cute dress, and you’re in one of those button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled, and we’ve both brought books to read, but we can’t stop smiling at each other over our cappuccinos, and instead of driving me home afterward, we go to the park and play on the swing set like kids.

“Coffee.” It was the first thing that popped into my head.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, seeing as how I’m obviously in love with coffee.”

“Well, coffee is pretty hot,” I said.

“That was terrible,” Lane said. “Awful. I’m hanging up.”

“Fine.”

But he didn’t.

“And I want you to dream about . . . hmmm.” He stopped to think for a moment. “Puppies?”

“Why puppies?” I asked.

“I don’t know!” he said defensively. “I thought girls liked puppies. I guess, just, dream about something awesome?”

“It’s a deal,” I promised.

Lane called me every night after that.

MARINA LOOKED TERRIBLE at breakfast on Wednesday morning. She was the last of us to arrive at the table, and she didn’t say anything as she slid into her seat. She just glared into her oatmeal like it was the source of all problems in the universe, and she’d already taken a bite before anyone had told her.

“What’s going on?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t what I thought. Marina usually went to see Dr. Barons on Tuesday afternoons, but she’d seemed fine at dinner.

“Yeah, what’s up with the doom and gloom?” Nick asked through a mouthful of pancakes.

I kicked him under the table, and he kicked back at me, making a face. I swear, sometimes Nick had no tact. Particularly if it was, well, bad news of the Latham kind.

“Amit called me last night,” Marina mumbled, which was just about the last thing I was expecting her to say.

“Wait, what?” I said, scandalized. “And you picked up?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to check my caller ID.” Marina rolled her eyes over the ancientness of our room phones.

“Who’s Amit?” Lane asked, confused.

“My ex-boyfriend,” Marina explained. “He went home from Latham and decided to dump me via the silent treatment. Anyway. He called, finally. He kept saying he had no one else to talk to and he was really sorry to bother me.”

“Please tell me you hung up on him,” I said.

Marina sighed.

“No, because that would have been somewhat self-actualized of me. I asked him to tell me all about it.”

“You didn’t!” I moaned.

“He sounded horrible,” Marina said. “Really depressed. I think he was crying, or having a mental breakdown or something.”