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“Aww…you didn’t say that last week when I wore your white sweater without asking.”
“Well, you should have asked me. Are you going to at least do a college bucket list?”
“Um…aren’t those for old people?”
“No, look.” Nina pulled out her phone and opened a new screen. “There’s this guy on campus, Beau Anderson, who has this super funny blog and he just posted the Carolina Bucket List for this year’s seniors.”
“Let me see that list.” I grabbed the phone and scrolled through the blog while reading aloud a sampling of the tasks each senior should complete before graduation. “Nina, there are a hundred things on this list. Take an exam drunk. Go to a paint party. Take a spur of the moment trip. Get tickets to the Duke game. Climb the Bell Tower on Senior Day. Dance in a library flash mob. Have a picnic in the arboretum. Go stargazing in Kenan Stadium. Steal a kiss in Davis Library. This list is silly. No one actually does all of these things.”
“Yes, they do. I’m going to do as many things on there as I can before we graduate.” She said it with such undisputed assertiveness that I knew she was serious.
“Well, let me know when you get to number fifty-five, ‘feed a squirrel in the quad.’ I want to be there for that one.”
Nina punched me in the arm. “I have lab in a few minutes. Speaking of which, would you want to pick out a few of these costumes for me while I’m in class? I would really appreciate it. I can’t take trying to match another skirt and sweater set for this play.” I watched as she gathered her backpack and marched toward the stairs.
“Isn’t Candace supposed to be working on this? She’s the designer for Spoiled Hearts.”
“Ugh. I know, but she hasn’t been around and I don’t want to let Derek down.”
“Oh, so this if for Derek?” It was my turn to give her a hard time.
“Just do it, London. You’re so good at set and costume design. Please?”
Knowing Nina needed to get to class, I gave in like I always did to her last minute pleas for help. “Sure. What else do I have to do?” I sighed, realizing for the first time that having all of this free time on my hands might be more of a challenge than I anticipated.
“Awesome! You’re the best. See you tonight at the house?”
“Ok. We can rent that new zombie tonight. Is Candace going to be there?”
“Oh yeah, the one where they try to find a way to survive without eating brains. Sounds gross, but good. Not sure about Candace. She hasn’t returned my texts all day. Why don’t you try to call her? Bye, roomie.” Hugging her coat tightly to her chest, Nina darted up the staircase.
Candace could wait. Ever since we returned to Chapel Hill after Christmas break, she had been so wrapped up in Pearce it was as if she didn’t even live in the house anymore. I didn’t really understand why dating a football player was such a demanding job, but according to Candace, it wasn’t like everyone else’s boring relationships. Pearce needed her. Yeah, he needed her for his personal entertainment. Nina and I had probably been too vocal about the guy, and things with our third amigo were at best awkward when we did see her at the house on the rare occasion she resurfaced to repack and grab a change of clothes.
I repressed an inner sigh. Guys were always the root of drama. If it wasn’t a wide receiver breaking up our trio, it was Nina pining after Derek and his brilliant playwright mind. How many nights had we stayed up until two coming up with ways for Nina to tell Derek how she really felt? If he couldn’t see how she gushed over his every brilliant idea and volunteered for all of his projects, then he didn’t deserve my best friend. She had too much to offer to waste her time on a guy clearly more interested in what was happening downstage than right in front of his face.
Although, deep down I understood Derek’s passion for the theater, I wasn’t about to tell Nina. I loved being on stage more than anything. It was where I felt completely alive and calm all at the same time. Something happened every time I walked in front of an audience—I didn’t care if I was only part of the ensemble, or if I was the lead. Being on stage felt as natural to me as breathing.
Alone in the basement, I turned off thoughts of my friends and their distorted love lives and focused on the pictures in my lap. It looked like Nina was going scene by scene, pulling out potential costume options for each act in the script. It was time to divide the costume assignment among the characters to round out each one’s style in the play, rather than the scene itself.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Awesome. I had at least two hours before the next group invaded the Encore Theater in the basement of Graham Memorial Hall. I tucked earbuds in each ear, hit play on my phone, and started styling for the production.
The blanket of snow cast a soft white glow throughout campus. It was after five, and except for the illumination from the street lamps, the quad was dark. I watched as my breath turned to a frosty cloud. Tugging on the edges of my collar, I pulled the coat closer to my neck. It was freakin’ cold.
Something about the way the fluffy snowflakes drifted through the sky reminded me of magic. When I was twelve, I played Clara in the Nutcracker and the snow on stage looked just like this. With one palm turned toward the clouds, I couldn’t help but reach forward to catch one of the heavy flakes. My eyes followed the quiet dissent as the cluster of flakes made their way to rest in the bowl of my hand. I was glad Nina wasn’t here to witness the smile and giddiness forming. This place was beautiful—freezing snowy wonderland and all.
“Watch out!” A voice cut through the serene stillness.
Before I could shake my momentary snow trance and sidestep the oncoming biker, I hit the cold pavement under my feet.
“Ouch.” I rubbed just below my right hip, which had taken the brunt of the fall.
“Oh, man, I’m so sorry.” The frantic biker dismounted, propped his two-wheeled ride against a lamppost, and crouched next to me. “Did you break anything?” He eyed my heavy coat and scarf.
“No. I’m fine. Just a little banged up.” Startled and embarrassed, I looked at the assailant. Was I really that absorbed in a snowflake that I walked into an oncoming bike? Maybe the handlebars clipped the side of my backpack just enough to send me spiraling to the sidewalk.
His hand was outstretched and his face worried.
“My fault. Let me help you up.”
