Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

They were in the car on their way to a movie, and Clare had flicked her eyes away from the road to meet Stella’s, surprised. “Why do you say that?”


“Because,” Stella said, propping a foot on the dashboard, “it’s the truth. If it doesn’t happen at the end of the summer, it’ll happen a few weeks later, or at Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or next summer. It’s inevitable.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Stella said, sounding maddeningly confident. “And meanwhile, you’ll spend your whole freshman year sitting around watching your idiot roommate—”

“Beatrice,” Clare said, exasperated. The moment she’d received her new roommate’s contact information, Stella—who had herself requested a single room—immediately decided she didn’t like the sound of her. And once they started texting, it only got worse. Stella insisted on scrutinizing every message that popped up on Clare’s phone, rolling her eyes at the steady stream of band names and tour dates Beatrice was constantly mentioning.

“Fine,” Stella said. “You’ll be sitting around watching your idiot roommate, Beatrice, getting ready to go out to all those totally dope shows she likes so much while you’re stuck back at the dorm in your flannel pajamas reading a book because you don’t want to have any fun without Aidan, who—by the way—will be out in California getting convinced by his idiot roommate—”

“Rob.”

“—his idiot roommate, Rob the surfer—”

“Rob the swimmer.”

“Whatever,” she said, clearly impatient. “Rob the swimmer, whose only concern is apparently whether Aidan is cool with getting a mini-fridge for their room, which I’m guessing is not so they can keep their veggies crisp. You know he’ll definitely be dragging him out to meet girls. And even if he doesn’t, Aidan will meet them anyway. Trust me. That’s what college is all about.”

“Aside from the whole learning thing.”

“That’s a very distant second,” Stella said matter-of-factly. “The point is, do you really want to spend the next four years feeling guilty because you went out with your roommate one night and got all moony-eyed over some drummer with great hair and killer eyes?”

Clare laughed. “When have I ever gone moony-eyed over a drummer?”

“Well, you haven’t,” Stella admitted, giving her a sideways look. “But maybe that’s just because you haven’t let yourself imagine there are other possibilities out there.”

“You mean besides Aidan.”

“I mean,” Stella said, “besides high school.”

But all this was early in the summer, when Stella still cared enough to be honest. And when she had time to listen. Lately, she hasn’t been around to do either, and even though they’re both still here—at least for one more night—it sort of feels to Clare like her best friend has already left.

Maybe it’s that Stella has been trying to give Clare and Aidan time to figure things out on their own, or maybe she’s just been busy getting ready to leave herself. Or maybe it’s that everything is coming to an end, and it’s easier to pretend it’s not. Stella’s never exactly been great at this sort of thing, anyway; she’s allergic to sentiment and wary of emotion, so trying to get her to appreciate the significance of a milestone like this is a bit like trying to hug a skittish cat.

But still, after fourteen years of friendship, Clare refuses to let her slink off to college without some sort of meaningful goodbye.

Now Stella is leaning against the counter, absently pulling napkins from the dispenser, avoiding Clare’s question. Finally, she shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I’ve been around.”

“Not really,” Clare says, shaking her head. “You haven’t been returning calls, you’ve been showing up late—”

“Maybe she can’t tell time,” Scotty jokes.

“—you haven’t been returning texts—”

“Or type,” he chimes in again.