I’M WAITING IN FRONT of Michaels, the craft supply store, scrolling College Confidential. It’s nearly the end of March, which means my Harvard decision is right around the corner. In some years, Harvard has released their decisions a couple days early. I’m hunting for clues in other hopefuls’ posts, dropped hints from interviewers or admissions officers, anything.
The clock in the corner of my screen reads 2:58. Two minutes until Dylan’s meeting me here. Finding nothing on College Confidential, I click off my screen.
I’m here to pick up components for the DIY decorations I’m planning on making for the reunion. Dylan volunteered to help out. I’m guessing she’s feeling guilty for ditching the bonfire on Friday, though she didn’t mention it. It’ll be just me and her—I’m excluding Ethan as payback for him putting the DJ deposit down without consulting me.
With everything going on between him and me, the question of Harvard feels even more urgent. It’s more imperative than ever I get in over him. Because despite the doubts Hector left me with, I want Harvard, no matter whether Ethan’s there with me. I want to work on the number one college newspaper in the country. I want to learn in the oldest lecture halls, want to prove I’m worth my dream.
While I’m waiting in front of the store, I hear car doors closing. I look up and find Dylan.
And Olivia. Dylan’s ex is wearing casually cool high-waisted shorts and a vintage band tee, her expression flat. Her eyes scan the craft store parking lot, like she wishes there were, I don’t know, a music festival there or something.
“Surprise,” Dylan says eagerly. “Look who’s going to help us.”
Olivia waves, unsmiling.
I can’t say it’s a welcome surprise. My plans for the day didn’t involve forcing polite conversation with my friend’s ex or dealing with whatever hanging out with Olivia will mean for Dylan tomorrow. Not wanting to be unpleasant, I iron friendliness into my voice. “I didn’t know you were still in town,” I say to Olivia.
“I’m going back to Berkeley tonight,” she replies with an edge to her cheerfulness. “How’s everything with you, Straight-As?”
Hearing Olivia’s old nickname for me, I clench my jaw involuntarily. If it were a compliment instead of a joke, I wouldn’t mind. It’s definitely not a compliment, however. Olivia’s habit of turning people’s passions into pressure points, things to feel uncool for, is one of her worst qualities.
Frankly, with my studiousness putting me on the periphery of social status, I’m not popular enough for Olivia. I never went to enough parties or had enough romantic drama for her, and she made sure I knew it, referencing inside jokes of her and Dylan’s theater friends while I sat stupidly with nothing to say.
“Super,” I say flatly. “How’s Berkeley? I feel like you’re home a lot.”
Olivia shrugs. “My parents miss me.” Looking distracted, or like she’s working hard to project distraction, she pulls a cart from the line in front of the store. “Shall we?” she asks, then walks in past the automatic doors without waiting for a reply.
I start to follow, resetting my expectations for the day. It’ll be fine, I reassure myself. Hopefully, Olivia gets bored and leaves halfway into shopping. I’m nearly to the door when I feel Dylan grab my elbow, stopping me. “We’re back together.” Her voice is furtive and full of excitement.
“What?” I fight to control my expression. “How?”
If I fail to hide how flustered the news makes me, Dylan doesn’t notice or respond. She’s practically glowing. “She was going to the bonfire, and we just ran into each other in the parking lot. Like it was meant to be. We started talking, and then I went to her house and we hooked up. I kind of can’t believe it.”
In other circumstances, I would be happy to see Dylan this excited. She’s not exactly effusive. If this much joy is shining through her usual demeanor, she must be elated. I want to share her feelings, I do. It’s just, this is happening too fast to end well. I settle for forcing a smile. “Did she explain why she broke up with you in the first place?”
“College is an adjustment,” Dylan reassures me, no hint of uncertainty in her voice. “I understand she was just figuring herself out. Now she knows what she wants.”
Maybe it is as simple as college adjustment. But part of me wonders if Olivia was totally honest in her explanation, or if it was something else. The possibilities quickly present themselves in my head. Olivia said her parents missed her, but I’m convinced Olivia is just too cool to confess she’s homesick herself. If she is homesick, getting back together with Dylan might just be a facet of missing the familiar. When she gets enough of San Mateo, she’ll move on, leaving Dylan crushed. Or it’s possible Dylan’s just something to occupy Olivia whenever she’s here, for spring break, weekend visits, whenever, and she’ll just ignore Dylan when she’s enjoying her life at Berkeley.
I don’t know how to tell my friend she’s watching the clouds with her feet on shaky ground. “So you’re going to do long distance again?”
“It’s hardly long distance,” Dylan says easily. “Besides, maybe I’ll get into Berkeley.”
She tugs me toward the store, which feels indicative, like she’s cuing the end of the conversation. I don’t press the point. We rejoin Olivia in the crafts section, and I redirect my thoughts to what we’ll need for the reunion. We ended up booking the Millard Fillmore, Ethan having failed to find anything available and comparable. I envision the event in the hotel’s ballroom. Avery’s DJ booth will occupy one corner, and we’ll find a place for guest sign-in. Cocktail tables on the worn carpet near the dance floor. We’ll need centerpieces, ribbons in Fairview colors for the white hotel walls, and other decorations around the room.
I walk the aisles with Dylan and Olivia, picking out mason jars, candles, ribbons—whatever’s within the budget. Which is not much, following our other expenses. Adam Elliot explained this when we exchanged emails yesterday, like he didn’t think I could subtract 6,450 from 7,855.66 and figure out what’s left.
Unable to help myself, I watch Dylan with Olivia while we walk. When Dylan proposes we make photo collages for the tables, Olivia rolls her eyes. I catch hurt flicker on Dylan’s features. She’s no longer into the idea when I try to tell her I like it.
The rest of the shopping turns into Dylan doing her best to please Olivia, who barely pays attention. I hate seeing Dylan like this. “Maybe we could bring the yearbook theme from their senior year into the décor,” I say, inspired by Dylan’s collage idea. “Dylan, do you think you can find old copies in the yearbook room?”
“Oh my god,” Olivia interjects. “So cheesy.”
I feel my temper flare. Fortunately, I’m experienced in restraining my resentment. “It’s a reunion,” I reply lightly. “It’s going to be cheesy.” I indicatively face Dylan.
“If you want, I’m sure I can hunt it up, Straight-As,” she says.
Hearing the use of her nickname for me, Olivia looks satisfied. Then her phone rings. “It’s my roommate,” she says, reading the screen. “Give me a minute.” She walks off and promptly starts FaceTiming, leaving Dylan and me standing in an aisle of chalkboard signs.
Dylan inspects the shelves like nothing’s wrong. Like I’m not stung. While I felt Olivia’s scorn for my social remove constantly, Dylan’s never judged me for focusing on schoolwork or for having no close friends except for her. I watch her, formulating the question I’ve wanted to ask for the past hour. “Do you really think getting back together is a good idea?” I keep my voice gentle, hiding my hurt. “I mean, remember how you felt when things ended before?”
Dylan’s expression closes off. Her reply comes out harsh. “Of course you assume this won’t work out. I knew you wouldn’t be supportive.”
“Dylan, it’s not about that.” I fight to keep my expression sympathetic. Dylan doesn’t look over. Her eyes remain fixed on the small chalkboards, their unfinished wooden edges ready for decoration. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I won’t,” she replies. Her gaze finds mine, her whole demeanor confrontational. “You just don’t think we can last. But I love her.”
I can’t help my growing irritation. Doesn’t Dylan remember their petty fights? The whipsawing of crying over the phone one night and then having a “perfect date” the next day? I don’t think their relationship can last. It’s immature—it just is. I cross my arms reflexively. “You guys met in high school. Come on, the odds are—”
“God, Alison.” Dylan cuts me off, her voice rising. “Could you just not act like you know more about relationships than me? You’ve barely even been in one.”
It’s a low blow, and one I can’t object to, but it still doesn’t feel great. This has turned into more of a fight than I expected, and I don’t want to fight with Dylan. I soften my voice. “All I’m saying is take things slow. Especially if you really do want to go to Berkeley, you guys will have so much time to be serious.” Hesitantly, I smile. Mentioning her and Olivia going to Berkeley together was an olive branch.
Dylan looks only half convinced. “Yeah. I guess.”
It’s obvious she’s still upset, and honestly, so am I. Neither of us says anything. The music on in the store, some outdated radio hit, underscores the emptiness of the moment. In the midst of our silence, Olivia walks up, oblivious. Stowing her phone in her bag, she eyes the chalkboards disdainfully. “This place is so boring,” she says. “I have a friend who’s an amazing artist. You should hire her.”
Dylan laughs, which I ignore. “I don’t have the budget to hire anyone, Olivia. But thanks for the idea.” I grab a couple chalkboards for the sign-in table and walk to the checkout, pointedly not watching how Dylan drapes herself over Olivia, giggling in her ear.
I feel like I don’t know my best friend. Or really, I feel like she’s returning to the version of herself I remember from months ago. The thought presses painfully on the walls of my chest while I go through the motions of handing cash over to the clerk.
We’re graduating in less than three months. We’re supposed to be moving on, moving out of our homes and our high school selves. It’s what I know waits on the horizon for me. With every mention I hear of Olivia, every rebound like this one, I worry Dylan won’t graduate the same way I will. If she doesn’t, I don’t know what happens next. Maybe we’ll end up like Hector and AJ, wondering in ten years if we’ll reconnect.
Maybe we won’t even have that.