“Sure,” Cath said.
She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since then. She wondered what they’d write. She wanted to talk to Wren about it. Cath had tried calling Wren earlier, but she hadn’t picked up. It was almost eleven now.…
Cath picked up the phone and hit Wren’s number.
Wren answered. “Yes, sister-sister?”
“Hey, can you talk?”
“Yes, sister-sister,” Wren said, giggling.
“Are you out?”
“I am on the tenth floor of Schramm Hall. This is where … all the tourists come when they visit Schramm Hall. The observation deck. ‘See the world from Tyler’s room’—that’s what it says on the postcards.’”
Wren’s voice was warm and liquid. Their dad always said that Wren and Cath had the same voice, but Wren was 33 rpm and Cath was 45.… This was different.
“Are you drunk?”
“I was drunk,” Wren said. “Now I think I’m something else.”
“Are you alone? Where’s Courtney?”
“She’s here. I might be sitting on her leg.”
“Wren, are you okay?”
“Yes-yes-yes, sister-sister. That’s why I answered the phone. To tell you I’m okay. So you can leave me alone for a while. Okay-okay?”
Cath felt her face tense. More from hurt now than worry. “I was just calling to talk to you about Dad.” Cath wished she didn’t use the word “just” so much. It was her passive-aggressive tell, like someone who twitched when they were lying. “And other stuff. Boy … stuff.”
Wren giggled. “Boy stuff? Is Simon coming out to Agatha again? Did Baz make him a vampire? Again? Are their fingers helplessly caught in each other’s hair? Have you got to the part where Baz calls him ‘Simon’ for the first time, because that’s always a tough one.… That’s always a three-alarm fire.”
Cath pulled the phone away so that it wasn’t touching her ear. “Fuck off,” she whispered. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Okay-okay,” Wren said, her voice an edgy singsong. Then she hung up.
Cath set the phone on her desk and leaned back away from it. Like it was something that would bite.
Wren must be drunk. Or high.
Wren never … would never.
She never teased Cath about Simon and Baz. Simon and Baz were …
Cath got up to turn off the light. Her fingers felt cold. She kicked off her jeans and climbed into bed.
Then she got up again to check that the door was locked, and looked out the peephole into the empty hallway.
She sat back on her bed. She stood back up.
She opened her laptop, booted it up, closed it again.
Wren must be high. Wren would never.
She knew what Simon and Baz were. What they meant. Simon and Baz were …
Cath lay back down in bed and shook out her wrists over the comforter, then twisted her hands in the hair at her temples until she could feel the pull.
Simon and Baz were untouchable.
*
“This isn’t any fun today,” Reagan said, staring glumly at the dining hall door.
Reagan was always cranky on weekend mornings (when she was around). She drank too much and slept too little. She hadn’t washed off last night’s makeup yet this morning, and she still smelled like sweat and cigarette smoke. Day-old Reagan, Cath thought.
But Cath didn’t worry about Reagan, not like she worried about Wren. Maybe because Reagan looked like the Big Bad Wolf—and Wren just looked like Cath with a better haircut.
A girl walked through the door wearing a red HUSKER FOOTBALL sweatshirt and skinny jeans. Reagan sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Cath asked.
“They all look alike on game days,” Reagan said. “I can’t see their ugly, deformed true selves.…” She turned to Cath. “What are you doing today?”
“Hiding in our room.”
“You look like you need some fresh air.”
“Me?” Cath gagged on her pot roast sandwich. “You look like you need fresh DNA.”
“I look like this because I’m alive,” Reagan said. “Because I’ve had experiences. Do you understand?”
Cath looked back up at Reagan and couldn’t help but smile.
Reagan wore eyeliner all the way around her eyes. Like a hard-ass Kate Middleton. And even though she was bigger than most girls—big hips, big chest, wide shoulders—she carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be. And everyone else went along with it—including Levi, and all the other guys who hung out in their room while Reagan finished getting ready.
“You don’t get to look like this,” Reagan said, pointing at her gray day-after face, “hiding in your room all weekend.”
“So noted,” Cath said.
“Let’s do something today.”
“Game day. The only smart thing to do is stay in our room and barricade the door.”
“Do you have anything red?” Reagan asked. “If we put on some red, we could just walk around campus and get free drinks.”
Cath’s phone rang. She looked down at it. Wren. She pushed Ignore.
“I have to write today,” she said.