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  “No, it’s not. We shouldn’t have gone. It was stupid, and Trey was being such a jerk . . . I swear he’s normally not like that.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, not really convinced, especially after talking to Bennett.

  “No, I swear. I’ve never seen him act that way, like, so cruel. I talked to him about it this morning, and he’s sorry.”

  “Well, maybe he’ll tell me that later,” I say, and it comes out mean, and I honestly don’t care. I know it’s Trey I’m angry at, and not Treena entirely—stuff like this happens; people can be jerks. But, I don’t know. The fact that she’s not upset with him bothers me.

  “Maude . . . I don’t want you to be mad at me . . . I don’t like this . . .” she starts.

  “I’m not mad at you,” I say. “I can never be mad at you, Tree. I’m just, I don’t know, worried.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine. And it was just a practical joke. I mean, stuff like that happens all the time here—we get bored and stuff. If he does something really bad, you know I won’t stand for it.”

  I nod, somewhat convinced. She’s small and shy, but she’s also strong. She stood up when we championed for the school to get vegetarian lunch options. Not the same thing, but she raised her voice. She can raise her voice again. “I know,” I say, seeing cracks of the old Treena slip out in her pleading eyes, her twisting hands.

  “Okay . . . well, anyway, I want to make it up to you. Come on,” she says, nodding toward the building.

  “What’s there?”

  “Come see,” she says, with a lift of her eyes, and I push forward, trusting her once again. It’s only then that I see the giant garnet sign that says FINE ARTS BUILDING. Oh, FAB.

  “Tree—” I start.

  She just gives me a taunting smile and walks past the sign, around the front of the building.

  Inside it’s garnet as well, with a few doors leading in different directions.

  “In an effort to convince you that FSU isn’t all that bad, I thought we’d come here . . . so you can see the art and photography department.”

  Immediately I grin because, yes, this is exactly what I wanted. Time with my friend. Time to see the school. Together. I grab her arm excitedly.

  “A girl on my hall is majoring in photography. She said we can look around if we’d like. There are no classes right now, so you can hang out,” she says with a smile. “Plus there’s a real darkroom, too.”

  I gasp. Though I have a DSLR, I’ve always been fascinated with actual manual photography. My school got rid of its darkroom years ago, but a summer camp I went to had one, and it’s where I learned the process of mixing chemicals and watching a photo appear. It’s magical in a way. The process of developing.

  “This is amazing,” I say in awe. “I’m so excited.” I shake my head. “Thank you.”

  “Anything for you,” she says, bumping me with her hip. “So, okay, I’ve been here only once, but over there’s the theater,” she says, pointing to double doors near a ticket booth, “and that way is toward classes,” gesturing toward another door straight ahead, “and art is that way.” We head through a door on our left, down a blank, windowless hallway, and then she opens another door and we step into the blackness of a darkroom. It’s similar to the one I learned in, only larger, with much newer equipment. I walk along the room, waiting for my eyes to adjust, and taking in the bottles of chemicals, the photos hanging up to dry, the beds waiting to be filled, undeveloped paper, the piles of film. “This is amazing.”

  “I thought you’d like to walk around and then see the editing labs and gallery,” she says, rocking back and forth on her feet. She never did photography in high school, but she got how important it was to me.

  I go over everything, and envelop myself in the sights, the sounds, and the smell of the chemicals. Metallic, like how nickels taste. I look up and see the photos being developed under the red light, see pieces of Tallahassee coming to life. And this would be a perfect photo for today, but I can’t do that. I can’t disturb a darkroom. Instead, I run my fingers along the tables and continue to take in the developing pictures.

  “Cool, right?” Treena whispers.

  “So cool. I want to do this again,” I say, pointing to everything.

  “You can.” She grins, and I believe her; I really do. “I think the editing room is next door,” she says, and I follow her out. She shows me the computer lab with computers much newer than the ones I’m used to. There are a few students working who don’t look up, and I wonder if I can be one of them. If I can do this every day next year. The thought fills me with hope.

  “I’d say you can use the computers, but I don’t have access . . .” she whispers.

  “It’s okay.” I shake my head. “No worries.”

  “But there is an exhibit going on.” She gestures toward another door in this maze of a building, and I follow her through.

  There’s a giant sign that says FALL SHOWCASE, and I excitedly walk around, losing myself to the art. Each piece is done by a different artist, and you can tell by how the photos are taken. Some macro, some landscapes. Some portraits, some extremely abstract. There’s no theme. There’s no rhyme or reason, but somehow all of the photos connect. As if the exhibit is showing small pieces of a whole. I slowly go from piece to piece, in awe of the talent surrounding me.

  There’s one picture of a girl sitting alone by the fountain, her hair blocking her face, and though I can’t see her expression, she seems lonely. Like she wishes someone was there with her. She wishes for things to change. I think of Treena, and what she said about not having many friends when she came up here, not fitting in. And I get that feeling of wanting someone. It’s how I was at home after she left. It’s how I found Celine, and though she’s nice and great, she’s not Treena. She never can be.

  I go back to my friend and give her a hug, silently thanking her for taking me here. She sighs and links arms with mine as I surround myself with the silence of the room, the beauty of the work, the hope for the future, and the pressure of today, and just . . . lose myself.

  FOURTEEN

  After visiting the FAB, we walk through campus, back toward Treena’s dorm room.

  “Oh! Let me show you some cool spots,” she says as we make our way down the sidewalk. The campus is so green, with trees everywhere shadowing the redbrick buildings. It feels like college, like this is what it’s supposed to look like. We pass a half-circle-shaped building with a statue outside.

  “There are a lot of statues, aren’t there?” I ask.

  “Tons. That’s, um,” she says, looking at the plaque, “Claude, it seems. The building’s named after him.”

  “He looks very stone-faced,” I say, and she laughs. “Buddy Shot?” She nods and we run over and pose behind him, our faces on either side of his. I reach my camera out and we take a picture with Claude the Statue.

  “Buddy Shots are better than selfies,” Treena says factually.

  “Definitely. I think we need more of them,” I say, and she agrees. We get back onto the sidewalk and I ask, “So which buildings are yours?”

  “I’m all around right now, since I’m still doing general classes, but mostly down on the opposite end. That’s where the science classes are.” She points to her left. “Over there, where you went yesterday, that’s where the English classes are. That’s where I think I’m heading.”

  “That building seemed really nice,” I say. “Comforting, I guess.”

  “Yeah, I like it.” We take a left and head off the main strip. More statues are around us, but not of people. As if reading my mind, she says, “Art installations,” and points to a metal one that looks kind of like a giant asterisk. “That one’s supposed to be a sumo wrestler or something.”

  “Ohhhh,” I say. “I guess I see it. Hey, remember that abstract art show I made you go to with me?”

  “You were so excited about it! And, oh man, that was the worst. I mean, how is an empty bucket on the floor art?”

  “Yeah,
I didn’t get it, either,” I say. We get back to her building and it’s nice out, so we sit outside like we did my first day here. I get out my camera and show her some of the photos I took throughout the day.

  “That’s really good,” Treena says, looking at the picture of the fountain behind her building. I overexposed it a little, to make it darker, more haunting. I like it, too. Then I show her the yearbook pages I photographed. “Who’s that?” she asks, and I tell her about the pictures I found of my mother.

  “That’s insane,” Tree says, shaking her head. “God, you would have killed for this when you were first looking everything up a few years ago.”

  “I know, right? I mean, I still can’t believe I saw it . . . I felt like I had to get a picture of the picture,” I say, trying to explain myself, and she agrees, looking at the others I took of my mother, and then the one I took of Bennett. It’s him riding away from the high school, fully content in his bike ride. His hair is blowing in the wind, and he’s looking ahead, unaware of me.

  Treena gives me a questioning glance, and I am suddenly embarrassed that I took it. “Uh-huh,” she says, grinning. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, thinking not go to an abandoned hospital. “Hang out? What do you usually do at night? I want to do that. I want to get the full Treena-in-college experience.”

  “Ah, but see, that would be boring. It’s me reading On the Road in my pajamas.”

  “That sounds like the Treena I knew. How many times have you read that book?”

  “Right?! I think that’s why I like my beatnik class so much. We talk about it a lot, but also all these other amazing authors who just want to live and experience everything. You know?” I nod my head, because that’s kind of how I feel right now, searching for my mother. I’m experiencing it all. “There’s a part of me that wants to Sal Paradise it out of here—just go do something crazy.”

  “You never do anything crazy,” I say.

  “I know, and I think that’s why . . .” she says, and I look at her, taking in her stretch for freedom.

  “LADIES,” a guy’s voice says, interrupting us, and I look up to see Trey. My heart sinks because I was enjoying this moment with Treena, with seeing the old Treena.

  “Hey,” she squeals, jumping up to give him a kiss.

  “Hey, baby,” he says, throwing his arm around her. “Maude,” he says down to me as I stand up. “Party at Jason’s apartment tonight. You’re coming, right?”

  “Oh,” she says, looking from him, to me, back at him, and then back to me. She wants to go, I know she does, but do I? I really don’t want to spend another night with Trey; I really don’t want to find myself in another position where I’m angry at Treena. But the look on her face, full of interest and hope, kind of sways me.

  “Maude, what do you think?” she asks me.

  “I, um,” I say, knowing she wants to go, and knowing she’ll be disappointed if we don’t. “Sure, sounds great.” I don’t want to let her down. We don’t have to stay long or anything. . . .

  “YES,” Trey says, giving me a high five. “I knew you were the cool friend. Be there by, like, ten. We’ll get that thing started.”

  “Okay,” Treena says sweetly, and kisses him before he turns to leave. Then she turns back to me. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

  “Sure,” I say. Our friendship means more to me than our plans. Plus, it might be fun. I should at least try. And maybe Bennett will be there. “Let’s go,” I finally say, watching the smile spread across her face.

  At ten, we’re in Jason’s apartment—me, Tree, Trey, Bennett, and about fifteen other people. It’s a small two-bedroom apartment a block off campus and we’re all crammed in the living room area. How we’re all fitting is a mystery to me, especially considering there’s a long table in the middle of the room taking up a ton of space.

  “Ladies,” Trey says, handing both Treena and me a drink. I think back to last night and how horrible it tasted, but then I think about what Treena said earlier about doing something crazy. I want to try. I want to experience this; maybe testing the waters now will make my leap to college all the easier. I take a sip, and though it still burns, it’s not as bad. So I take a second sip, and then a third.

  I lean against the back wall, and Bennett comes up next to me. “Hey,” he whispers. “Your boyfriend is here.” He nods toward the door and in walks Film Guy, wearing all black yet again. I snort with laughter, then turn my head toward Bennett.

  “Not my boyfriend.”

  “What, you don’t like Scarface? It’s, like, the Best. Movie. Ever.”

  “Actually, I prefer Toy Story,” I say, taking another sip and meeting his eyes. He smiles, then looks away.

  “Hey, Curls!” a voice calls out, and Bennett waves. I look over and it’s a cute girl with a short pink pixie cut. She flits over.

  “Curls?” I ask him.

  He points to his mop of hair and I nod in understanding. “I see.”

  “It’s like a poodle up there,” he says, then turns to Pixie Cut. “Hey, Liz.”

  “Hey! Didn’t know you were coming tonight,” she says in a higher voice, all cute and bubbles. A surge of jealousy hits me, but I remind myself that I’m here for only a few more days. He can talk to Pixie Cut. He can like Pixie Cut. He’s not mine or anything; he’s just a guy doing a nice thing who happens to be kind of cute.

  “Yeah,” he says, brushing his hair back. “Have you met Maude? She’s in town for a little bit.” I smile and say hi.

  “Oh, hey!” She looks back and forth between the two of us. I move a step closer to him. “Where are you in town from?”

  “Orlando,” I say. “Just visiting until the weekend.”

  “Oh! I was just there for a show. Much better bands go there than Tallahassee.” She says the city’s name in a low, lame voice and I laugh. I take another sip and everything starts to feel brighter, louder.

  “Maude, come here!” I look over, and see Treena waving at me, so I excuse myself and head over, feeling slightly heavy as I walk away.

  “What’s up?” I ask. She’s sitting on the couch, snuggled next to Trey. He has his arm around her and they’re both holding empty cups.

  “I missed you,” she says, pulling me down with her. I laugh, falling in place, and she puts her arms around my waist. Her vanilla scent is gone, replaced by the fruity scent of the drinks we’re currently consuming.

  “Someone’s been drinking,” I say, patting her hair.

  “Trey’s fault,” she says. “He’s too generous when he pours.”

  I glance over at him, and he shrugs happily. “Don’t get my friend too drunk, okay?” I warn him.

  “I don’t promise anything,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and I roll my eyes. “You want anything? Treena’s best friend is a best friend of mine.” The sentiment feels forced, especially after we haven’t really been that friendly, but still, I shake my head no and thank him. He’s trying, so I will, too.

  “Be right back, babe,” he says, kissing her head, then getting up. He goes over and talks to a few other guys who look strikingly like him. All sports shirts, khaki shorts, and flip-flops. As if it’s a uniform.

  “Having fun?” Treena asks.

  “Yeah, you?”

  “Of course! Buddy Shot?” she asks. I take out my phone, and we smile, cheek to cheek. I check out the picture, and it’s cute. We look happy. As I flip through a few photos, she says, “I think we’re going to play beer pong next. You have to play! I’m bad at it; you’ll totally win.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  She points to the two desks in the middle of the room and I watch some people play as she explains. “Four people play, two on each side. You throw Ping-Pong balls into the cups. If one team gets it into the cup, the other team has to drink.”

  I hold up my cup, “I don’t know if I can handle one drink,” I laugh.

  “Come on, you have to! It’ll be super fun,” she says. “Trey wi
ll be on my team, and you can get Bennett. Where is he, by the way?”

  I look back and he’s still against the wall talking to Pixie Cut. He’s smiling and laughing and drinking and I feel my heart drop a little. I finish my drink, gulping it down, and throw the cup in the trash.

  The door opens and three girls come in. I vaguely remember one of them from the haunted asylum last night. Treena sits up quickly and mumbles an “I’ll be right back.” But it’s not because she’s happy to see the girls, it seems.

  Alone, I fiddle with my phone to look busy and not like a high school girl with no one to talk to. I flip through my photos again, and then realize that I should document this for my project. Maybe not put up photos of us drinking, but the apartment, the people, the feeling. I snap one of Treena leading Trey away, a worried look on her face. I turn back and take a picture of Bennett, all curly hair and lanky arms effortlessly leaning. I take a picture of the room, of the strangers milling about and becoming new versions of themselves with every sip. And I observe, because here I am at another college party. It feels like an important moment, but also . . . not.

  I feel my phone buzz and see that it’s Celine calling. I look over at Treena, who’s talking to Trey, and Bennett, who’s still in conversation, and get up and head outside so I can hear over the music.

  “Hey!” I say, feeling this immense need to talk to her for some reason. I feel like she’d be proud of where I am, what I’m doing.

  “There you are,” she says eagerly. “I’m having a bet with Mitch right now.”

  “Mitch?” I ask.

  “The guy from Starbucks? Yeah, he’s here. Say hi, Mitch.”

  “Hi, Mitch,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

  “Anyway, of all people, I knew you’d remember this. What’s the name of that guy in our class who always falls asleep and snores?”

  “Jace?” I ask, wondering why she’s calling me about this. I walk away from the apartment door and lean against the railing. I’m on the second floor, so I look down at the parking lot, at Trey’s car, which we all came in.

  “JACE, YES! Oh my god, Mitch, the funniest thing happened . . .” she says, going back to talk to him.