A couple of hours later, I’m drifting in and out of sleep when Ash sits up again. “Seesaw, you awake?”
“Yep.”
Rising to her feet, she says, “I can’t sleep on this prison-issue bed another minute. Wanna go to Boston?”
Pushing up onto my elbows, I look at her. “I have class at eleven.”
“Skip.”
Chewing on my lip, I consider. Literary Criticism is one of my toughest classes, and participation factors into the grade. I never blow it off… normally. “Should be okay this once.”
“This once?” Ash pauses as she drags clean clothes from her drawers. “You go to all your classes? In the actual lecture halls?”
Laughter bubbles out of me. “Yeah, I like our campus. Besides, it’s an upper level course, and the professor is really tough. Doesn’t want people thinking it’s an easy road.”
“Subject?”
“English.”
“Are you going to be a tortured writer when you grow up?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Lawyer.”
She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “DA or defense?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t think. Just answer.” She fires the words at me like we’re in a movie scene courtroom battle. It’s odd and strangely amusing.
“Politician.”
A slow smile forms. “Fair play to you,” she says in a mock Irish accent. Gathering her clothes, she gives me a pointed look. “Do you need a shower this morning? If so, haul butt, babes, cuz as soon as I’m ready to go, this train is leaving the station with or without you.”
“Maybe you should roll without me then,” I say, falling back onto the bed. “I’m tired.”
Without warning, she hits me in the face with her pillow. “Get your lazy bones up and come on.” Then, she stalks out.
My smile stretches wide. I like the way Ash does friendship. Things are never stilted and circumspect. Unlike at my prep school or the Briar Club, there’s no careful consideration of whether forming a relationship with someone would be an asset or a liability.
Ash’s ‘no holds barred’ manner is the way I imagine things would be between sisters.
* * *
When we’reon the expressway, Ash sings out of tune to every song blaring from the enormous speakers.
“Ash!”
She swivels the volume dial down. “Yes?”
“Can you stop splitting my eardrums? Seriously!”
“Music too loud? Or is it my bad singing?”
“Both,” I say.
