ARIELLE

CHAPTER 2

“My mom doesn’t do that,” I said, and I wasn’t sure why I volunteered that information.

Possibly because Star seemed like the kind of person who created space for honesty without judgment.

“Does she cook at all?” Star asked. It did sound a little bit nosy, but I don’t think that was her intention. She just seemed to care. Genuinely.

And I was the one who willingly gave room for that in the first place.

“She used to, before my dad died. After that, she kind of... stopped doing a lot of things.”

The words hung in the air between us, heavy and honest, and I immediately regretted saying them.

But Star didn’t offer sympathy, which was somehow worse and also infinitely better. Weird combo, I know.

She just nodded and sat on her still unmade bed. It was its own kind of comfort in a weird ‘I’m not the only one still figuring things out’ way.

“My parents are divorced,” she offered instead, and I saw it as her sharing a fact about herself to make me feel less alone. “My mom’s great, my dad’s... around. But they’re definitely not in my life in ways I’d choose if I were making active decisions about it. So, I get the complex family thing, even if mine’s a bit different.”

“I’m sorry,” I said automatically, but she waved it away.

“Don’t be sorry, chica. Be my brownie accomplice instead. I’ve been keeping score of my snack consumption, and I need a witness to ensure I don’t eat like nine of them today.”

I chuckled, then carefully took one and bit into it. The taste was so overwhelmingly good—chocolate, butter and heavenly goodness—that I had to close my eyes.

“Right?” Star said triumphantly. “My mom has won baking competitions; she’s unhinged about it.”

“This is really good,” I managed between chews.

“I know. And she knows that too, which is why she sent like fifty of them. I’m going to be everyone’s favorite buddy by carbohydrate provision alone.”

She took a brownie for herself and flopped backward on her bed, staring at the ceiling. “So, real talk. Are you freaking out about orientation tomorrow? Because I totally am. Like, I’m masking it with baked goods and aggressive enthusiasm, but the signs are still there.”

“Somewhat,” I admitted. “I didn’t initially think much about it, but the fact that I’m going to be separated from the only person I’ve interacted with so far and share a space with other people makes me uncomfortable.”

“We’re definitely going to be separated,” Star confirmed gloomily. “Different majors, different orientation groups. There’s nothing crueler than freshman bonding through forced separation. But here’s what we’re going to do—”

She sat up with new energy. “We’re going to meet for lunch by noon, in the dining hall.” She said, with such finality that it was non-negotiable. “I will leave whatever activity is happening, climb through windows, if necessary, and cross the seven seas if I have to. Only to be with you, my lady.”

She finished with a look that said she was trying hard to hold in her laughter.

I, on the other hand, burst out laughing in a typical Arielle fashion. Unladylike. “I’ve never met anyone as dramatic as you, Star,” I managed to wheeze out in between fits of laughter.

“You’re the one to talk; what’s that laughter, girl?” Star responded, already laughing alongside me.

“But seriously, you don’t even really know me,” I pointed out after like two minutes. “I could be a terrible person.”

“Yeah, no,” Star retorted with absolute certainty. “I’m like, ninety-five percent sure you’re not. It might not look like it, but I have good instincts about people. My therapist once said I can read people the way other people read books, which sounds more impressive than it actually is. In reality, I’m just really good at noticing things.”

“Like what?” I asked, genuinely curious. I’d spent so long observing other people that the idea of being observed in return was terrifying and oddly appealing.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Star said, mock-thinking.

“You’re smart, but don’t want people to know because smart girls tend to be threatening or boring or both, depending on who’s doing the judging. You’re trying very hard to come off as someone who has everything figured out when, for real, you’re just winging it like everyone else. You’ve also had to be okay with being alone for so long that the idea of being near people feels weird.”

She paused, took a bite out of her brownie, before continuing. “Oh, and one last thing, you’re here because you had to leave something behind, and you’re not yet entirely sure if you made the right choice.”

I just stared at her.

“What?” she asked innocently. “Too much? Well, I’m not a bit surprised. My therapist also diagnosed me with a condition called ‘over-sharing what I’m perceiving.’ But I’m mostly right about it.”

“That’s unsettling,” I told her, quite impressed.

“I’d take that as a compliment,” she said, then changed the subject. “So, here’s what I’m proposing. We go to our separate orientation groups, survive the forced activities and the meet-and-greets, and then reconvene for lunch….” She continued.

Over the next few hours, Star became a force of nature in the small dorm room. She talked constantly, and in a way that didn’t require me to contribute much.

She shared things about herself: her childhood in California, her obsession with writing, and the complicated relationship with her father that, in her own words, has become ‘comedic material.’ She made opening up look easy.

Effortless.

I got asked a few questions, of course, but not in an interrogative way. Rather, in a way that suggested she was trying to understand how my brain worked and get to know the real me.

The things I cared about. My beverage preference. Whether I was an early riser or a night owl. The little things that felt like they mattered. Spending time with her was so easy and comfortable.

“You’re very observant,” she noted when she caught me watching her movements and mannerisms. “Like, in a way that’s a little intense? But good intense. Not creepy intense.”

“I’ve always been good at noticing things,” I said carefully. “Less good, however, at knowing what to do with the information.”

“Maybe you don’t have to do anything with it, just notice and let them exist. Not everything needs to be analyzed and explained.”

“That sounds inefficient,” I countered.

“Welcome to college,” she responded without missing a beat, “where inefficiency is basically the entire point.”

By the time we headed out for lunch, I’d eaten three brownies, Star had reorganized my half of the room to make it feel more like mine, and I’d learned more about a person in a few hours than most people in years.

As the day wrapped up and night came crawling in, I felt more settled than the day before.

Star fell asleep mid-sentence while describing an article she read about Halebridge’s history. Her words just trailed off, her eyes fluttering close, and she was gone, still half-sitting up against her pillows.

I looked at her then, like really looked at her. The girl I had met no more than twenty-four hours ago, who had the superpowers to disarm my defenses through a combination of brownies and genuine kindness. I gently lowered her back onto her bed and adjusted her pillow before pulling the blanket over her.

Then I turned back to my window, something that soon became a habit, and looked out at the campus. The buildings looked softer in the darkness, the Gothic architecture less intimidating, and somewhere out there, that ominous tower stood guard over secrets I wasn’t aware of.