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43
willow hale
“Keep your door open,” Lo suggested. “It’ll be easier to make friends.”
That was my brother’s advice before I left Philly. Three weeks into the semester and I still haven’t taken it. Laughter grows outside my closed door as students walk down the hallway. The air always buzzes on Friday afternoons, classes ending for the week. Plans for parties springing up.
Not that I’ve been invited to any.
Pencil midair and textbook layered with scribbles and notes, I almost stand from my desk chair and open the door. Almost.
But the laughter grows even louder. What if I disturb the conversation outside? I could ruin someone’s joke, and then I’ll be known as the girl in room 301 who’s quiet and awkward and ruins fun. I’d be a literal buzzkill.
And what if they’re all friends anyway? My experience is that tight-knit friend groups rarely allow interlopers. And if they do, the interloper has to bulldoze their way in.
I am not a bulldozer.
I am more like a slow-moving turtle. The only friend groups that will allow me are the ones with clear vacancies.
Before I can settle on a decision—door open or closed—a bright green flyer zips underneath it and slides across my floor. Curiosity spikes and I abandon my textbook to grab the flyer.
Fall Into Film Bash
BYOB. Rooftop of Bishop Hall. There will be snacks and a screening of The Goonies.
Friday, 10PM
Okay…so I’ve officially been invited to a party.
But the party is tonight. I’d need a good week to work myself up to it, or at least have Garrison to go with. There are a lot of reasons I probably shouldn’t go. More reasons why I should. Maybe I just need a pep talk from my best friend. I check the clock and do the mental math to convert time zones. It’s not too early in Philly, so I dial her number.
Daisy answers on the second ring. “Hey, I was just about to text you. The last pic you sent looked beyond delicious. It literally made my stomach grumble. So either it was fantastic or your photo-taking skills have become extraordinary. Or both. Probably both, right?” I can hear the smile through her words.
My lips already lift. “Bangers and mash is really good.” Before moving here, I heard not-great things about the food in England, but so far I’m loving it.
I think it helps that Daisy and I made an agreement that I’d send pictures of each new meal, accompanied by a star-rating and review. Bangers and mash was a solid five-stars. Yummy yummy yummy was my official review. So it’s a good thing I’m a business student and not a professional food critic.
“Hey wait, let’s FaceTime.” She hangs up quickly and calls back just as fast. When I click into it, her bright green eyes hit mine. Blonde hair splayed across her shoulders and a wide grin. It looks like she’s sitting in her tree house, and her eight-month-old baby is curled up on her lap. Sullivan Meadows sleeps peacefully in a unicorn onesie, the hood complete with a glittery horn and all.
There’s something about babies that makes me melt. Maybe it was because I grew up with a sister who was eleven years younger than me. I have fond memories of Ellie, and the fondest were definitely when she was young enough to not completely hate me.
Our relationship has been fractured ever since I left Maine, and the more I try to sew it back together, the more it just rips at the seams.
It’s been months the last time my own sister even spoke to me, and her words were, you chose your famous family. Go be with them.
She won’t let me have a relationship with her without severing ties with Loren, and it’s unfair. I never felt like moving to Philadelphia was choosing Loren, my famous brother, over my little sister. I would have been gone in a year for college anyway. Moving to Philly, for me, was always about choosing to discover a part of my world that my mom kept secret from me.
Ellie never understood that. She still doesn’t. And even though Loren is related to her too—he’s her half-brother—I think there’s too much resentment there for it to matter to her. I know I’ll keep trying to rebuild what I broke, but I’m not sure if there’s even a foundation left.
My dad doesn’t speak to me. My mom will answer my texts weeks later, and my phone calls are always cut short on her end. I always think about the day I left Maine and the what ifs. What if I stayed? I would have never met Lo. Never would have had a relationship with my brother. But I would have kept one with my mom and little sister.
It’s a horrible trade-off. One I can’t dwell on because I’ve already chosen a path. This isn’t like a comic book. I can’t turn back time and see what the other universe has in store for me.
