“You did,” she says matter-of-factly. “You messed up huge. But so did Patrick. On top of which, I think virginity is kind of an antiquated concept, right? Like some boy sticking it in you changes who you are as a human being?”
“I don’t know if it was so much about the concept of my virginity as it was about me losing it to Gabe,” I point out.
“I mean, fair.” Imogen sighs. “Look, you know I never thought it was so bad, what you did with Gabe to begin with. I mean, it was bad, but it’s not like you killed anybody. But the point is that the moment it gets to be about doing messed-up stuff to other girls is the moment I get off the train.”
“I know,” I tell her honestly. She’s always been that way, Imogen, some combination of her own achingly compassionate temperament and seventeen years spent praying to the Goddess. “I want to get off the train, too. It’s done now; it’s over. I am officially off the train.”
“You promise?” Imogen asks me, and holds up her pinky for linking. I hook our fingers tight together, and I swear.
Day 77
You home? I text Gabe as soon as I’m back in Star Lake, jumping into my car and heading down the treelined road to the farmhouse; over the last decade I’ve traveled its winding curves on foot and by bike and once in a pair of vintage roller skates of Connie’s that Patrick and I found in the Donnellys’ attic.
Today, I speed.
Sure thing, Gabe texts back just as I’m pulling into the driveway. You coming over?
Already here.
He comes out the side door fresh from the shower, hair damp and curling down over his ears. “What’d you, miss me or someth—” he starts to ask me, then gets cut off as I jump up right into his arms.
“I did,” I tell him firmly, arms monkeyed tight around his broad back and the stamp of my lips against his. “But I’m back now.”
Day 78
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Penn asks when I get in the next morning, shutting the door to the office behind us. She’s wearing a pale pink blouse with three-quarter sleeves, a man’s watch around one wrist.
“Sure,” I tell her, with a little trepidation—we checked in over the phone about the club chairs while I was in Hudson, but other than that we haven’t really talked since she was sharp with me the other day. “What’s up?”
“I owe you an apology, I think.”
I blink at her. Penn’s office is basically the only room in the Lodge that didn’t benefit from the rustic-chic makeover: The chairs are all covered in pink flowered cushions, and there’s an ugly print of a cluster of sailboats along one wall. Fabian’s coloring stuff is heaped on the cheap pressboard bookshelf. “You do?”
Penn nods. “I was a weirdo to you about Des the other day,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. She perches on the edge of the cluttered desk instead of sitting behind it. “Before I sent you off like that. She’s attached to you, and it just tweaked me out a little, I’m sorry.”
“No, no.” I shake my head, surprised. “I mean, I’m attached to her, too, obviously. I’m really sorry if I overstepped.”
“You didn’t,” Penn says flatly. “Look, it was a bad divorce, me and the kids’ dad. I bought this place because I needed a fresh start, and I thought the kids needed one, too, but then we got here and Des just completely stopped talking.” She waves her hand like she’s trying to clear cigarette smoke away, like there’s something poison in the air keeping her from breathing it properly. “Maybe I was wrong, I don’t know. But I just wasn’t crazy about the idea of Des getting close to another person who’s leaving, and I was trying to protect her from that. And maybe I was trying to protect myself, too.” She rolls her eyes. “I rely on you for a lot here, you know? You help me run this place, and you’re not going to be here forever.” She drains the coffee, sets the empty mug back down on the desk. “Not the most emotionally intelligent moment of my life, maybe, but there you have it. That’s why I was short with you the other day.” Penn sighs. “Anyway. I hope I didn’t scare you off from hanging with Des. Ultimately, my kid needs as many people that care about her as possible, right?”
I smile at that, then step forward impulsively to hug her. “Yeah,” I say finally. “Yeah, I think she does.”
Day 79
I get an email from the housing office alerting me that my roommate is one Roisin O’Malley from Savannah, Georgia.
“Does that say Raisin?” Tess asks, peering over my shoulder at the computer in the office, her braid damp from the pool and dripping onto my back. “Raisin O’Malley?”
“Yes,” I tell her, laughing, closing down the browser. We’re almost done for the day, and have a plan to get dinner at Bunchie’s. “That’s exactly what it says. My roommate is a sun-dried grape.”
Day 80
The next morning when I get into the office, there’s a giant package of California Raisins sitting on my desk chair.
“You girls are very strange,” Penn says.
Day 81
After dinner I bring a cup of coffee up to my bedroom, sit down at the desk beneath the bulletin board and the cheerful Golly, Molly. I log into my incoming student account, click through the pages until I find the drop-down menu full of majors: Architecture and Art History, Education and Engineering. I scroll through the list until I get to Business, my fingers hovering over the track pad on the laptop.
I take a deep breath, and declare.
Day 82