___

“Dad. Call me. Or call Wren. No, call me. I’m worried about you. I don’t like worrying about you.”

___

“Don’t make me call the neighbors. They’ll come check on you, and you don’t speak any Spanish, and it’ll be embarrassing.”

___

“Dad?”

“Hey, Cath.”

“Dad. Why haven’t you called me? I left you a million messages.”

“You left me too many messages. You shouldn’t be calling me or even thinking about me. You’re in college now. Move on.”

“It’s just school, Dad. It’s not like we have irreconcilable differences.”

“Honey, I’ve watched a lot of 90210. The parents weren’t even on the show once Brandon and Brenda went to college. This is your time—you’re supposed to be going to frat parties and getting back together with Dylan.”

“Why does everybody want me to go to frat parties?”

“Who wants you to go to frat parties? I was just kidding. Don’t hang out with frat guys, Cath, they’re terrible. All they do is get drunk and watch 90210.”

“Dad, how are you?”

“I’m fine, honey.”

“Are you lonely?”

“Yes.”

“Are you eating?”

“Yes.”

“What are you eating?”

“Nutritious food.”

“What did you eat today? No lying.”

“Something ingenious I discovered at QuikTrip: It’s a sausage wrapped in a pancake, then cooked to perfection on a hot dog roller—”

“Dad.”

“Come on, Cath, you told me not to lie.”

“Could you just go to the grocery store or something?”

“You know I hate the grocery store.”

“They sell fruit at QuikTrip.”

“They do?”

“Yes. Ask somebody.”

“You know I hate to ask somebodies.”

“You’re making me worry about you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Cath. I’ll look for the fruit.”

“That is such a lame concession.…”

“Fine, I’ll go the grocery store.”

“No lying—promise?”

“I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Tell your sister I love her.”

___

“Cath, it’s your dad. I know it’s late, and you’re probably asleep. I hope you’re asleep! But I had this idea. It’s a great idea. Call me.”

___

“Cath? It’s your dad again. It’s still late, but I couldn’t wait to tell you this. You know how you guys want a bathroom upstairs? Your room is right over the bathroom. We could put in a trapdoor. And a ladder. It would be like a secret shortcut to the bathroom. Isn’t this a great idea? Call me. It’s your dad.”

___

“Cath! Not a ladder—a fireman’s pole! You’d still have to use the stairs to get up to your room—but, Cath, a fireman’s pole. I think I can do this myself. I mean, I’ll have to find a pole.…”

___

“Dad? Call me.”

___

“Call me, okay?”

___

“Dad, it’s Cath. Call me.”

*   *   *

It was Friday night, and Cath had the dorm room to herself.

She was trying to work on Carry On, Simon, but her mind kept wandering.… Today in class, Professor Piper had handed back the story that she and Nick wrote together. The professor had filled the margins with A’s and drawn a little caricature of herself in the corner, shouting, “AAAAAA!”

She had a few of the writing teams—the people who had done really well—read their stories out loud in class. Cath and Nick went last, trading paragraphs so they were always reading what the other person had written. They got tons of laughs. Probably because Nick acted like he was doing Shakespeare in the park. Cath’s cheeks and neck were burning by the time they sat down.

After class, Nick held up his pinkie to her. When she stared at it, he said, “Come on, we’re making an oath.”

She curled her finger around his, and he squeezed it. “Partners, automatically, any time we need one—deal?” His eyes were set so deep, it made everything he said more intense.

“Deal,” Cath said, looking away.

“Goddamn,” Nick said, his hand already gone. “We are so fucking good.”

“I don’t think she has any A’s left after our paper,” Cath said, following him out of the room. “People will be getting B-pluses for the next eight years because of us.”

“We should do this again.” He turned, suddenly, in the doorway.

Cath hip-checked him before she could stop herself. “We already swore an oath,” she said, stepping back.

“Not what I mean. Not for an assignment. We should do it just because it was good. You know?”

It was good. It was the most fun Cath had had since … well, since she got here, for sure. “Yeah,” she said. “All right.”

“I work Tuesday and Thursday nights,” Nick said. “You want to do this again Tuesday? Same time?”

“Sure,” Cath said.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since then. She wondered what they’d write. She wanted to talk to Wren about it. Cath had tried calling Wren earlier, but she hadn’t picked up. It was almost eleven now.…

Cath picked up the phone and hit Wren’s number.

Wren answered. “Yes, sister-sister?”

“Hey, can you talk?”

“Yes, sister-sister,” Wren said, giggling.

“Are you out?”

“I am on the tenth floor of Schramm Hall. This is where … all the tourists come when they visit Schramm Hall. The observation deck. ‘See the world from Tyler’s room’—that’s what it says on the postcards.’”

Wren’s voice was warm and liquid. Their dad always said that Wren and Cath had the same voice, but Wren was 33 rpm and Cath was 45.… This was different.

“Are you drunk?”

“I was drunk,” Wren said. “Now I think I’m something else.”

“Are you alone? Where’s Courtney?”

“She’s here. I might be sitting on her leg.”

“Wren, are you okay?”

“Yes-yes-yes, sister-sister. That’s why I answered the phone. To tell you I’m okay. So you can leave me alone for a while. Okay-okay?”

Cath felt her face tense. More from hurt now than worry. “I was just calling to talk to you about Dad.” Cath wished she didn’t use the word “just” so much. It was her passive-aggressive tell, like someone who twitched when they were lying. “And other stuff. Boy … stuff.”

Wren giggled. “Boy stuff? Is Simon coming out to Agatha again? Did Baz make him a vampire? Again? Are their fingers helplessly caught in each other’s hair? Have you got to the part where Baz calls him ‘Simon’ for the first time, because that’s always a tough one.… That’s always a three-alarm fire.”

Cath pulled the phone away so that it wasn’t touching her ear. “Fuck off,” she whispered. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Okay-okay,” Wren said, her voice an edgy singsong. Then she hung up.

Cath set the phone on her desk and leaned back away from it. Like it was something that would bite.

Wren must be drunk. Or high.

Wren never … would never.

She never teased Cath about Simon and Baz. Simon and Baz were …

Cath got up to turn off the light. Her fingers felt cold. She kicked off her jeans and climbed into bed.

Then she got up again to check that the door was locked, and looked out the peephole into the empty hallway.

She sat back on her bed. She stood back up.

She opened her laptop, booted it up, closed it again.

Wren must be high. Wren would never.

She knew what Simon and Baz were. What they meant. Simon and Baz were …

Cath lay back down in bed and shook out her wrists over the comforter, then twisted her hands in the hair at her temples until she could feel the pull.

Simon and Baz were untouchable.

*   *   *

“This isn’t any fun today,” Reagan said, staring glumly at the dining hall door.

Reagan was always cranky on weekend mornings (when she was around). She drank too much and slept too little. She hadn’t washed off last night’s makeup yet this morning, and she still smelled like sweat and cigarette smoke. Day-old Reagan, Cath thought.