I looked up at Nia, Nia who had been at my side for over a decade now, who was practically glowing with the kind of hopeful giddiness that I hadn’t seen in her since Ulo. There was no way I was going to screw this up for her.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m so happy for you, Nia. Tell me if my insulting their friend freaks them out and I’ll apologize the next time I see him. Which is bound to happen, given my luck.”
Nia bit her lip.
“It won’t be luck.” She reached into her pocket and produced a flyer. In loud block letters, it announced, school’s out—clash of the classes—an improv competition that was this Saturday at 8:00 p.m. and featured performances by crews with names like the Maniacal Magikarp and the Lot Lizards.
“Ha,” I barked. And then I logged the event into my calendar.
Nine
“Girl, what are you doing in there?” Nia yelled from the living room. She’d settled on the couch twenty minutes ago, already dressed for her show in her loud teal team tee. I, on the other hand, was running late. Some of that was out of my control; weekend rounds* with Dr. Mallort had gone long this morning, and one of my patients had decompensated* in the early afternoon and had to be transferred to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. Still, I’d gotten back to the apartment with forty-five minutes to spare . . . and had squandered half of that time looking at myself mournfully in the mirror.
“I’m sorry!” I said. “I just . . . I can’t figure out what to wear.”
Over the course of my pediatrics rotation, my self-grooming had taken a nosedive—during my first week, I’d worn makeup every day, twisted my hair before bed every three. But those fifteen to twenty extra minutes of sleep I gained back by forgoing those habits had proven invaluable, and the kids didn’t especially care what I looked like. My self-neglect was normally totally worth it, except for today. Today, I looked busted, and none of my last-minute primping seemed capable of fixing that.
“I shouldn’t have donated all my fun clothes,” I complained, flipping through my closet with frustration. Work-appropriate dresses, work-appropriate blouses, work-appropriate blazers—nothing that delivered the message I’m not trying that hard but I look good anyway.
Groaning, Nia stomped into my room, gently pushed me out of the way, and yanked a sundress out of my closet.
“This dress is always cute,” she said. “Wear it with your brown sandals. And quick. We should be leaving in five minutes.” Before she could skulk back into the living room, she whipped around and gave me a smile that was all teeth. “I thought you didn’t care what Ricky thought of you?”
I sputtered with indignation.
“Excuse you,” I said. “I don’t care what he thinks! I care what I think! I’ve spent the last week looking like hot garbage, and I want to feel cute today.” I shimmied out of the shorts I’d selected and threw the sundress over my head. “So sue me!”
“I’ll do just that if you make me late,” Nia said. Her keys jangled: a two-minute warning. “Either way, you ready to face him today after your little stunt this week? Because there’s, like, a ninety-nine percent chance he’s going to be there tonight.”
I scoffed, slapping my legs with lotion.
“It’s not like I have to sit with him,” I said.
“Of course you don’t,” Nia said. “You just have to say hi and find a seat somewhere far away. Just don’t make it weird.”
But of course I ended up sitting next to Ricky. It had been unavoidable, the way everything between us seemed to be, and I’d known that from the moment we walked into the small campus auditorium and found Ricky and Shae coming through the opposite entrance. I clenched my fists as my stomach, already in knots over the concept of running into Ricky again, nearly leapt out of my throat at the reality. But then I looked up at Nia—my best friend in the whole world, my soul sister, and the expression on her face almost turned me into a puddle.
Nia looked . . . happy. Not that Nia didn’t always look happy, but these days she seemed to carry a load on her shoulders that I hadn’t been able to define （Stress from her job tutoring high school English? Typical millennial angst?） but looking at Shae seemed to lift that burden right off. It was as if she were about to float off into the sky.
No way was I going to screw this up for her.
“Nia!” Shae yelled, waving us over. They were just as striking in person, their features softened by a sunny smile.