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I don’t have psych until tomorrow, I want to say.
Instead I give in, forcing a smile onto my face while a strange, lonely sadness grips me. “You got me. Psych experiment.”
“Well, you know you’re welcome here anytime,” my mom says. “Even if you’re going to try to break my brain.”
“Right. Thank you.” I drag my fingertips along the paisley bedspread, trying to sound casual, as though I am not at all concerned about getting my timeline moving at the right frequency again. “Is it okay if I sleep here tonight?”
“On one condition.”
“Hmm?”
She pats my knee. “I say this with all the kindness in the world: you have to throw away those leggings.”
DAY FOUR
Chapter 11
WHEN I WAKE UP BACK in Olmsted with Lucie and Paige and my illicit pasta bowls, I have to fight the urge to hurl one of them against the wall.
After my mom and Jocelyn went to bed, I crept downstairs to the fridge and plucked out a few cans of the oat-milk lattes my mom’s obsessed with. I downed them all, then alternated between peeing, reading a profile of an ex-con who opened a gluten-free bakery, and wondering what was happening back at UW without me. If Zeta Kappa was still standing. If Miles went to the party alone.
Every time I felt myself getting drowsy, I’d pinch my arm or splash my face with cold water or turn up the music in my headphones. I made it to at least two in the morning, but I must have nodded off at some point after that. Because here I am, no closer to a solution.
If I can’t make it to September 22—or the part of September 22 on the other side of those early morning hours—then Jocelyn won’t propose to my mom. The thought fills me with a raw determination, sparking through my veins and turning me electric.
What I tried last night may not have worked, but I tried something. And today I’ll try something else.
I keep my eyes squeezed shut, my breaths even, while Lucie complains to Paige about me. Once they’re gone, I set my plan in motion: I am going to be the best fucking person this campus has ever seen. Proving to Miles that we can’t library our way out of this will be an added bonus.
I give my phone’s AI another chance. “How do I become a good person?”
“I found something that might help. Here is a list of Nobel Peace Prize winners—”
Exiting out of the search, I type how to be a good person into Google, because that seems like a solid, if not extremely obvious, way to start. The first result is a simple fifteen-step plan with gems like compliment yourself every day and find a role model and listen. I need something instant. Something I can accomplish in a single day.
I head down the hall and knock on Paige’s door. Meet your sweet new RA, says the poster next to her room, designed to look like a gumball machine. Inside construction-paper gumballs are fun facts about her. I’m from Milwaukee! I’m an art history / Italian language double major. I’m allergic to celery!
“Oh—hi,” she says when she opens it, chewing quickly and then swallowing. I’ve interrupted her breakfast. “Barrett?”
Point for Paige. I flash her a smile. “I was wondering if I could get your help. I was thinking about collecting some clothing donations for a local shelter?”
Paige is quiet for a moment. “On your own? You know, there are a lot of service-focused clubs you can get involved with. I know there’s one that meets in the third-floor lounge every Thursday.”
“I was sort of hoping to do something today.”
“On the first day of classes?”
“Light schedule.”
“Hmm.” Paige goes silent again, twisting a hand through her short dark hair, as though weighing the kindest way to express her disapproval. “I’m not sure if that’s the best course of action this early in the quarter. Everyone just moved in, and people probably aren’t thinking about what they want to give away. Plus”—she gestures to a formidable book tower on her desk—“a lot of them are going to be distracted by classes.”
My shoulders slump. She has a point.
That new resolve fizzles just slightly.
“But as far as other service activities,” she continues, “I donate blood every other quarter down at UWMC.”
“That’s perfect!” My mom does it regularly, and I’ve always considered her a Good Person. I don’t love needles, but as long as I don’t look, I should be okay. “Thank you so much!”
