“It worked!”
I am practically flying across the green like some kind of ghost myself. Nothing is getting me there fast enough, because I am dying to tell Remy and I am still not there yet.
Flying into the dorm and up the stairs and into Remy’s room, which is open, I am brimming with tales and quips about my magnificent performance and the ensuing room and let’s go see it right now. But Remy’s not there. Not a signal, not a sign. Nothing doing. Unmade bed. Check. Clothes all over the floor. Check. Remy. No check.
But the door is open, so that’s weird.
“Remy?”
Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I walk down the hall and see a serious-looking girl with a furrowed brow furrowing at me.
“Hi. Sorry. Have you seen Remy?”
She shakes her head and retreats back into her lair.
The bathroom smells like chlorine and more chlorine, but there is no Remy here.
Maybe she’s in the study room. The study room in this dorm is unusually beat-up compared to my old study room. It’s as if they put all the other study rooms together with a calculated, magnificent plan and then realized they forgot one. This one. This one with furniture in it from the sixties. Put it this way, this study room will not be going in the brochure.
There’s a redheaded student who is possibly a descendant of Strawberry Shortcake cuddled up in the reading nook. She looks up at me with annoyance. Then something registers, and she changes completely. Now she is a smile. A redheaded strawberry smile.
“Hi, um, have you seen Remy? Remy Taft?”
“Yeah, I know. I mean, I know her. I mean, not like you, but I know her.”
This is getting awkward. She’s sort of falling all over herself and now she’s turning red but her hair is red, too, so everything is red over there in the reading nook.
“Oh, um. Okay, well, if you see her could you tell her Willa is looking for her. That’s me. I’m Willa.”
“I know.”
I don’t understand what is happening right now. No one is supposed to know who I am. That’s Remy’s job. I am just the sidekick. The trusty sidekick who is not the star of the show but can be counted on to laugh at jokes, attend activities, and generally make everyone else feel better about themselves. I am the frozen yogurt, not the sprinkles.
“I’ll tell her. No problem.”
Strawberry goes back to her book after an assuring smile. I decide I like her. She reads books in the reading nook in the worst study room on campus. That’s a girl after my own heart. Maybe she’s like me. Lone wolf. Not good enough for the fancy study room.
Sauntering out of the dorm, into the late-afternoon light, I have the feeling that maybe everything is possibly gonna be okay. Not just okay—maybe even better than okay. Maybe perfect. The sun is turning the sky dusty pink and orange and that means there is infinite possibility in a place where you can cry and get dorm rooms with fireplaces and a view. Where you get to be friends with Remy Taft. Where people know your name is Willa.