She has no fewer than five sharpened No. 2 pencils for the Scantron, plus her favorite pen for the written portion of the test. Her marine biology final was online, which was slightly anticlimactic, so she’s grateful Behavior and the Brain is doing it old-school.
“You know this,” she murmurs to herself before Nick gives the instructions to flip over their test sheets and begin.
And as soon as her eyes flick over the exam, pencil poised, she realizes…she does.
She knows this, and as she bubbles in the letters, marveling at the pattern they make on her answer sheet, she can’t remember the last time she felt this proud of herself.
—
When Nick picks her upfor their drive to Mammoth, Ramona refuses to apologize for how much she packed in her luggage set with thousands of glowing five-star reviews, only giveshim a sheepish shrug as she stows it in his trunk. Shoves her whole body weight against it to make it fit.
“Where’s the rest?” Nick jokes as she slides into the passenger seat, and she just rolls her eyes. There’s a giant bottle of sparkling water waiting for her in the cup holder.
“I hope you’re ready to stop for me to pee about twelve times,” she says as she picks up the bottle, waving it in his face like a warning, even though little gestures like this make her heart stop every time.
“I don’t mind.” His face turns grave as he passes her his phone. “As long as you don’t abuse DJ duties.”
Sure, there’s some humor to it: taking her final and going on vacation with the professor the next day. But there’s a sense of freedom, too. An exhale that they finally made it to the end of the quarter, seemingly unscathed.
In the hazy stretch ofwhat happens now?, she keeps thinking about their conversation at Lake Hollywood. Telling him it had been ages since she’d had anything serious, and almost wanting…
What? For him to make some grand display of commitment?
They’ve barely been together a month. Unserious is the only thing that makes sense. So it’s a good thing, then, that they’re in agreement: they’re having fun. There’s no need to put another label on it. To push him to admit something he may not even want.
End-of-quarter Nick seems lighter too, in worn jeans and a merino sweater, the kind she can imagine peeling over his head while they sit in front of a fireplace. She leans in, gives his woolen shoulder a kiss.
“You trust me too much,” she says, right before he backs outof her neighborhood and she very unseriously hits play on “Life Is a Highway.”
Ramona hasn’t been on a true vacation in a long, long time. Sure, she’s traveled, but none of the touring ever felt like leisure. She has the radical privilege of having seen the world without having truly experienced it. Brazil and Switzerland and Australia and Singapore and a hundred places in between, and all she has to show for it is her collection of salt and pepper shakers.
This, going on a weeklong cabin trip with Nick, where she’ll be meeting his family, who she naturally pictures wearing matching Christmas sweaters and drinking eggnog in front of a roaring fireplace, and all that other domestic shit she used to dream of? This is different. The kind of normal she’s always craved.
Something about the way he invited her—Do you even need to ask?—made her think her presence would make all the difference in the world. Made her think she was capable of doing silly, spontaneous things for him.
They hit traffic on the 101, and while she sips her seltzer and debates which song to play next, the one person with the ability to crush every good thing comes into view.
Calamityville, USA, screams the font on the billboard.Population: ???
Zander Parrish gives the camera his back, head twisted to stare out of frame, his visible features artfully dusted with grime.
The most anticipated new show of the year, apparently.
Ramona urges traffic to move forward, but that doesn’t soothe the tension in her chest. She’s been trying her best to forget about him, to leave him in the past. After all—he was part of her old life.
But suddenly she’s gripped by a terrible thought. That hecould hurt someone again with no consequences, the same way he did almost ten years ago.
He already has.
Because isn’t it always “believe victims,” unless the perpetrator is someone people really, really like? That’s how it works in their industry.
Victimhas never been part of Ramona’s narrative. She’s been the charming sidekick, the hot young pop star, the angry girl. Only the last one really stuck.
“Everything okay?” Nick asks her, and she swallows back the truth.
She’s never wanted to tell anyone, but she wants to tell him.
Andthatcertainly feels too serious.
