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  I nod; I see what he’s saying, but though his words are nice, they’re not making my struggle easier. I’m still confused. I’m still . . . lost.

  “I get it, I do, but I don’t know.”

  “So, wait, you’re worried about next year? College?”

  I wipe my face again. “I could change. I could want to change without realizing it. I mean, before this week, I never drank. And a few days in I woke up in a guy’s bed with a hangover,” I say. “I can change, and I might, and that terrifies me, because I don’t hate who I am now. I mean, look at Treena. She’s completely different. It’s not entirely bad, it’s just . . . new. How do we change so easily? And what do we do with the old versions of ourselves?”

  “Okay, I didn’t know Treena before, so I can’t comment on that. And sure, your mother’s DNA is in you, but you weren’t raised by her. You were raised by your parents, who taught you to not be like her.”

  “Their three rules before I left were no drinking, no boys, and no partying. I broke all three of their rules by the second day I was here.”

  “Oh come on. You could have done much worse. You hid during the first party, you didn’t go wild last night, and look at me, I’m harmless. That’s actually my middle name. Bennett Harmless Walker.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, realizing he’s trying to cheer me up.

  “Plus, it’s college! You’re supposed to loosen up and explore things. It’s part of the whole experience. You’re only here with me because Treena’s been preoccupied,” he says. I shake my head no. “Well, it’s not because I’m good company. I mean, I take you to bagel places—talk about fancy.”

  I smile a little and agree because he’s trying. “You’re right. You do make poor decisions.”

  “The worst. Like, not seeing the new Star Wars on opening night poor decision.”

  “Oh, that is bad,” I chuckle.

  “Why are you with me again? It’s the bike, isn’t it? Chicks dig the bike.”

  “Has to be.” I smile, and then look down.

  “You’re okay. This means nothing in the long run.”

  Maybe he’s right. But still, I can’t deny the fact that all of that happened, that it’s linked to me now, whether I like it or not. “Come on, let’s go back to the dorm,” he says.

  “I should talk to Treena,” I sigh, wondering what I’ll say. I’m still kind of upset she had me go to Bennett’s room last night. Not that that was bad, it’s just . . . she’s my friend. And I’m here to see her.

  “What are you going to say?” he asks, helping me up and walking me back around the building. He drops my hand and I do everything in my power to not grab his back.

  “I have no idea,” I admit. “But I want to tell her about today. I want to hear what she says.”

  When we get back to the dorm, Treena’s door is shut and we already know why, and it makes me want to cry. I follow Bennett up to his room.

  “Well, that’s . . . frustrating,” I sigh, sitting on his chair. “I guess I could knock, but . . .” I shake my head. “I feel like I’m in your room more than hers.”

  “Well, my room has one hundred percent less making out, so, you know, benefit.”

  I smile at him and blush, thinking of the not-making-out going on in here.

  “Oh, crap,” he says, looking at his clock. “I actually have to run to this class. I completely forgot.” He gets up and grabs some books on his desk. “I’m sorry. You can stay here, if you’d like.”

  “No, no, it’s okay, I can hang out outside.”

  “Seriously, it’s okay.”

  “I want to go take some photos, I think.”

  “Okay, well, give me your phone.” I reach into my bag and hand it over. He dials a number and then his phone rings. “Okay, I’ve got your number, you’ve got mine. If you need anything, just call. I’ll be done in a few hours, and then hopefully they’ll be, um, free,” he says, nodding in the direction of Treena’s door.

  We leave his room, then head downstairs. I stretch out on the green lawn just outside their building and look around at the people going to and from class. They all look like they have a purpose, a reason for walking. Even the girls giggling over something on a phone they’re passing back and forth between each other seem to be on their way somewhere. There are other people sitting around, like me, and they make me feel less lazy. Some are doing schoolwork, with laptops and books open. Some are just lying down and enjoying the sun.

  I take my camera out and snap a few pictures to capture the moment—the isolation of being surrounded by people but not being part of any of them. The tranquility of being alone on an expansive grassy knoll. And the feeling of contentment from just sitting still after a day of movement.

  I needed this.

  I lie on my back and let the grass tickle my skin and dig into my exposed arms. The sun is bright overhead, the clouds not blocking its beams. I close my eyes and think about all I’ve done so far.

  I’ve always had this image of my mother in my head. The one from the photo hidden in my dresser, but also one I concocted late at night when I was trying to figure out who I was. Why I was me. She was a vague image, and, in my mind, she guided me out of my weariness and into more stability. All of my questions were answered by this idea of her, and part of me always felt I’d find something about her that would prove my vision to be real.

  But I found something now, and that idea I concocted isn’t who she was. The perfect mom/friend. It never could have been, really, because I just made it up. Now she’s a real person with hair and eyes and arms and a personality. Now she’s someone and not something.

  And in a way, I’m still a part of her. And she’s still a part of me. And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel now.

  I squint my eyes and groan in frustration. I’m not going to figure out anything here, lying alone on the grass.

  I sit up and grab my phone again, then realize that I haven’t checked my email in a while. I haven’t wanted to, not after the café with Jessica, but there are still answers out there, and it’s my job to finish this. I can’t back out now.

  But there’s nothing new, so I absentmindedly flip through the photos I’ve taken so far. Lots around campus; of the people we’ve encountered, both good and bad; of Bennett and Treena and Trey. Pictures from the party last night, from all of our destinations today. And as I flip, I’m starting to see a story unfold, my story. There isn’t an ending yet, but there’s a start and a middle. There are questions in these photos that have yet to be answered.

  I post another photo to my blog, one of Bennett riding his bike on campus. It’s just his back, but I like it. I then check my comments and see that there’s one on the “Unconquered” photo.

  It’s easy to give up, and hard to stay unconquered. Greatness didn’t come from giving up.

  It’s from my teacher, Ms. Webber. I knew she’d be looking, but I didn’t think she’d comment. I look at the photo, and then the ones I posted before. And though they’re only a fraction of the ones I’ve taken, the same story is unfolding in them. But I’m not showing defeat in them. Maybe she’s just guessing? Maybe she has a feeling. . . .

  I guess, in a way, it’s like me getting an impression of my mother. I don’t know all of the details, I don’t know what she was really like—just some stories from people who knew her—but I’m already assuming I know who she was.

  Maybe I need to keep an open mind.

  And maybe I need to find more people, maybe someone related.

  Like her mother. My grandmother. I’ve tried reaching out to her in the past, with no success. I wasn’t sure if I could handle another rejection, but I think it’s time.

  I need to find her, too.

  A few hours later I find myself pacing around the hallway, waiting for Bennett to come back. Treena was in class, and I forgot to get her key before leaving, so I stayed in the hall until I knew Bennett’s class was over.

  “Watson!” a voice shouts out, and I look down the hall to
see Bennett walking toward me. He’s smiling big, and he’s waving both hands in the air at me as if I can’t see him. On impulse I smile and walk toward him, closing the gap between us.

  “Got your text. What’s this new idea?” he asks.

  “We might not be able to find my mother, Sherlock, but what about my grandmother?”

  “Your grandmother . . . ?”

  “Claire’s mom. Jessica said Claire never knew her dad, but she lived with her mom. Who might still live in Tallahassee, possibly, maybe, right?”

  He analyzes me, then says, “Definitely. I’m surprised we didn’t think of this earlier.”

  “Yeah, well, like I told you, I’ve . . . tried before,” I say, “with not-great results, so I kind of avoided it.”

  “That’s right.” He nods, recognition in his face.

  “Yeah. I realize now how I approached it wasn’t really smart. But I think it’s time to try again.”

  Bennett looks at me and gives a half smile. “Definitely. It is definitely time to try again.”

  “I was also thinking . . . Jessica said Chad was a mechanic in town.”

  “You didn’t mention that—okay, we can work with that. If you want to meet him, we can probably find his shop by looking it up.”

  “Right, it’s a long shot . . .” I muse, “but I think it’s also doable.”

  “Didn’t you message him, too?”

  “Yeah, but I haven’t heard back from him. So, we should use our detective powers, or whatever.”

  He laughs, then looks thoughtfully at me. “Are you okay finding him? I mean, what if he does turn out to be your father?”

  “Do you think he’d even know?” I ask. If what Jessica said was true, my mother was secretive. It’s entirely possible that even my father doesn’t know he’s my father.

  “I have no idea. I mean, it’s just a chance, but it is a chance.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It is.” But for some reason, that doesn’t scare me. In fact, it makes me more eager. “I mean, I always knew my biological father was out here somewhere,” I say, gesturing around, “but he’s never felt so, I don’t know, so tangible.”

  “And now he might be.”

  “Yeah. Wow, this is weird,” I say, my world feeling bigger and smaller all in one. My heart starts to race, but I don’t let it. I can’t, not yet.

  “With Bee, too, I think we have a full schedule ahead of us,” he says, swinging his keys around his finger. They drop to the floor with a clunk. We both lean down to pick them up, and when he grabs them first, my hand brushes his. I pull mine back and straighten up, feeling my face redden. He busies his hands and leans against his door. “Right, well, it looks like we have plans for tomorrow.”

  “I was hoping you’d come along.”

  The stairwell door suddenly opens, and Trey walks out, his shirt a bit twisted. “Oh, hey.” He balks at us standing there in the hall, then nods.

  “What’s up?”

  I still can’t figure Trey out. One night he terrifies us in some sort of initiation, and the next he takes care of my drunk best friend—at least, I hope he took care of her. It seems like he cares, but I can’t help but get frustrated with the sight of Treena trying to impress him, with her getting irritated about his other girls around. I want to like him, for her, but it’s hard separating him from how I feel about her leaving me repeatedly. They’re woven together, and I need to at least figure part of it out.

  “Just hanging out,” Bennett answers for me. “What’s up with you?” he asks.

  “Actually, I was looking for you. Homework question,” he says, and Bennett gives me a look.

  “I guess that’s my cue,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

  “Good luck,” he says, then in a taunting voice he adds, “You’re gonna need it.”

  I nod, turn around, and then turn back. “Wait, did you just quote Star Wars to me?”

  He shrugs and I shake my head, smiling to myself as I head down the stairs, and inhale deep as I open the door.

  “Hey!” Treena says, sitting on her bed with a book in her lap. “What’s up? I haven’t seen you all day! Sorry I’ve been gone. I had this huge test in chem and, oh god, I think I did okay, but you know how I feel about chem right now. I hate that it’s just tests over and over again right now.”

  Okay, she’s acting normal. So I guess everything went okay last night. I guess she’s not thinking about what happened.

  “Cool. Hope you did okay,” I say, because I’m not sure what to say.

  “What about you? What have you been up to?”

  “Um, not much, just . . . more investigation,” I say, realizing that, aside from her being with Trey, the main reason I’m upset is because she hasn’t been there for me, throughout this whole thing. She was supposed to be the one going to all the places with me, not Bennett.

  “Cool! Go well? Get some more fascinating tidbits?” she asks, which I find funny because if she really understood what I was going through, what I was learning, she wouldn’t be calling it “fascinating tidbits.” It’s so much more than that.

  It makes me think that maybe there was something more in Bee and my mother’s ex-friendship. Maybe Bee wasn’t just pissed off at her because of the whole Chad thing; maybe she was feeling betrayed by a friend. Left behind by a friend. Maybe that feeling is still around because they were great friends, best friends, and you never really get over losing someone that close.

  “Yeah, a lot. My mother was . . . quite the person,” I say.

  “Oh yeah? How so?” she asks, putting her book down and looking at me with expectant eyes. She wants to bond, after all this time. And I can do one of two things: 1) tell her how she’s been. Or 2) just talk to her.

  So I sit down with a sigh and tell her a bit of what I’ve learned. Not everything, but enough to get her up to speed, ending with my next few steps.

  “Wow. Really? Oh my god. You have . . . wow.” She looks down. “I can’t believe it. I wish I could have been there with you,” she says morosely.

  “You could have. Or, at least, you still can be,” I continue, giving her the option to stay with me, try again. “Tree, I really need you with me. This has been hard.”

  “I know, I know. I can only imagine what you’re going through. . . .”

  “I know you want this year to be different, and I know you want to change, but this whole thing is changing me, and I’m not sure how. It’s crazy how much it’s affecting me.”

  She looks at me and nods. There’s emotion behind her eyes, and it’s like she’s conflicted, but I don’t know why.

  “You’re really brave, you know?” she says. “Doing all of this. It’s, like, it’s amazing and you’re doing it. And I’m so scared for you, that you’ll learn something bad. . . .”

  “I’ve already learned some things that didn’t make me exactly thrilled . . . I have no idea who my mother is. I’m still trying to figure her out.”

  “I know, I know.” She looks down. “It’s just . . . I’ve seen you do this before, and I’ve seen you hurt over this before, and I don’t want to see that again. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

  So that’s why she hasn’t been around? She’d rather get the condensed version of the events, after I’ve had time to process, than actually be there for me? “Tree, I’m older now, I can handle this. You don’t have to be worried.”

  “I know, I know,” she says. “It’s stupid, but I am.”

  “Then I’d rather you worried with me, than worried elsewhere,” I say, and she gives me a half smile. I think maybe my journey here has forced her to figure herself out, too, and that’s scary in general.

  “Okay, okay,” she says decidedly. “I’m in. I’m with you on your next step.”

  “Tree, you can help at any step,” I say, smiling, then add, “Oh! I didn’t tell you. My mother was an artist.”

  “Wait, really?” I tell her about the art, and her eyes light up like mine probably did. “I can’t believe that! You totally inheri
ted it from her!”

  “Maybe!” I say excitedly. At least that—that I can hold on to when everything else doesn’t make sense. That is something real.

  She smiles sadly, then says, “I hate that I missed that. I’m sorry I’ve been busy with school and . . . I’m still trying to figure that whole thing out, if I want to change majors, or . . .”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say.

  “And Trey . . . is new,” she says.

  “Yeah, about that,” I say, and she jerks her head up expectantly. I can’t ignore last night; I have to address it. “He was okay last night, right? After he brought you home?”

  “Oh god,” she says. “Last night. Yes. Oh, I’m so embarrassed.” She buries her face in her hands. “I kind of hoped we’d pass over it.”

  “There’s no way I’m passing over a very drunk Treena.”

  “Ha,” she says. “It was not my finest moment.”

  “You weren’t awful. You were a happy, flirty drunk,” I say, thinking of Bennett’s descriptions.

  “Well, at least I wasn’t an angry drunk. We have that on the hall. It’s not pretty.”

  “But really, everything okay?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Despite my efforts of having him come back to my dorm with me . . . ugh . . . Trey was a gentleman. I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I kicked you out of our room. What was I thinking?”

  “I don’t think you were,” I say. “It’s okay, I bunked with Bennett.”

  “I’m still not convinced nothing is going on there. I saw you two at the party, acting all cute and stuff.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, waving my hand. “We’re just friends.”

  “Uh-huh. The more you deny—”

  “Anyway,” I say, wondering how this conversation turned onto me so quickly. “Let’s do something fun tonight.”

  “Oh!” she exclaims. “There’s a carnival in the union—we can get cotton candy and play games. It’ll be like the Orlando fair we went to last year after graduation.”