The bus turned off the highway and trundled through a village and kept going until they entered a college campus. Ivy gasped and pressed her nose against the glass.

She didn’t know another kid her age who was as obsessed with the idea of college as she was. Even Prairie thought she was crazy to spend so much time worrying about getting in and getting scholarships. “Don’t go nuts on me,” she’d say if Ivy went on about it too much. “We’re not even out of middle school yet.”

That was easy for Prairie to say. It was fine if you wanted to be a goat farmer and knew it already, fine if you came from a family like hers, or just a family, period, one without a crater blasted in the middle of it.

The passengers started moving and Ivy followed. It dawned on her now that they all looked like students: dreadlocks and a tie-dyed shirt on one, backpack with a laptop poking out of it on another, an enormous instrument case that had taken up a whole seat of its own with another. The boy with the instrument case grimaced at her. “Sorry to be so slow. Cello in motion. Hope I don’t make you late.”

The driver tapped her arm as she waited for the boy to maneuver the case down the steps. “Don’t forget your pass next time. Rules are rules.”

Ivy stared at him. He thought she was in college. That must be why he’d asked about her pass. It must be because of how tall she was, and the dress and the eye makeup. The driver began to frown and Ivy quickly smiled. “Okay,” she said. “But the thing is, I have to get back—”

“I’m on another two hours. Just make sure you don’t miss the six thirteen.”

“Six thirteen. Got it. Thanks.”

The driver winked. “Just like my granddaughter. She’d forget her own head if it wasn’t attached.”

“Right?” Ivy made her voice sound cheerful and—she hoped—carefree, but her legs were wobbly with relief.

• • •

Once she was off the bus, she wasn’t sure what to do. She followed a tall, skinny girl up a set of steps and past a fountain and a building full of windows. The girl’s steps were sure and quick and Ivy had to hurry to keep up. They jetted past more buildings and past a cart with a green-and-white-striped umbrella where a woman was selling sodas and juices. Ivy was thirsty but she didn’t want to lose the girl, so she hurried onward.

She faltered when the girl swung toward a building with a sign that said it was a library. The girl disappeared inside and Ivy gazed after her. She wanted to stride in like the girl had, but she was afraid to. You’d almost certainly need a pass. Alarms might even go off if you didn’t have one. Campus Security might come. She couldn’t risk it. She turned to gaze over the campus.

There were flowering trees and students sprawled on the grass. A boy in a felt hat played a guitar; a girl in a flowing skirt sat beside him, singing. Her voice was scratchy and bold, and Ivy listened through two whole songs, until they picked up their things and walked off.

“—hope Hinson takes it easy on us, I never finished that section on succulents,” Ivy heard the boy say.

“I know, it was crazy how long that was. Who knew there were so many kinds of cactus—wait, is it cactus or cacti when there’s more than one—”

“Cactuses? Cactum?”

They laughed as they walked and then they were too far away to hear anymore.

The leaves of the tree beside Ivy rustled and the sweet smell of its blossoms was shaken out, like crumbs from a tablecloth. Ivy breathed deep. A thought appeared in her head like a message written on a billboard. She could be one of these students. She could stride into the library or sit on the lawn someday, no matter what her mother did. She could.

Ivy stood up. She had nearly two hours. She was going to investigate. She’d find the campus café and buy herself a cup of tea or maybe even a fancy coffee with the five-dollar bill she’d shoved in her pocket that morning, a habit she’d inherited from Aunt Connie, who never went anywhere, not even out in the yard to play badminton with Ivy, without some folding money in her pocket. She always said you never knew when you might need a little something, and Ivy thought now how right she had been.

Ivy found the student center and used the restroom, then browsed through the bookstore and bought three blue pencils that said Ulster Senators on them. Next she got into line at the café. “One ninety-nine,” the girl at the register said when Ivy ordered tea.

Ivy paid and then stuffed her last dollar into a jar labeled Tips. The girl, who had shiny black hair and a silver ring in her eyebrow, grinned big.

Ivy pulled the tea toward herself. It was just the way she liked it, so hot that she had to be careful not to burn her lips or slosh it on her hands.

“Have a good day,” the girl said.

Ivy shot a blinding smile at her. “I will,” she said. “I am.”