“Unique,” Meredith said. “They’refun, Katie. Just like you.”
Katie?I thought.Fun?
My interest was piqued about these dresses, though.
“Let’s pack up our stuff and grab lunch,” Amanda saidwith maid-of-honor confidence. “I’ll email everyone their dress tonight and run any aftermath interference with Mom.”
I watched Katie give her older sister a side hug, and suddenly felt a pang of something in my chest. What was it? It was a type of bittersweetness, but before I could dig deeper, my phone pinged in my pocket.
It was an email from Lizzy Hart.
My hand shook. Lizzy Hart was Penn’s head field hockey coach.
And her email’s subject line read:Visit to campus.
***
I texted Marco before bed that night.Penn invited me to visit!I wrote, unsurprised when he didn’t respond. It was a Saturday night. He was probably at a party or, as Austin had once upon a time, used a fake ID to get into Princeton’s bars.
My parents and Samira had been so happy when I’d gotten home from the bridal salon. On the one hand, it was only a visit, but on the other, you had to work so fucking hard for a visit. “My girl!” Da had swept me into a hug and spun me around before Dad squeezed me so tightly that my back cracked. Then, the McCallisters came over for an impromptu cookout. Connor brought me a six-pack of bottled Cokes, the perfect congratulatory gift.
Although, I wasn’t sure how “impromptu” it was becauseAustin arrived just as the hot dogs and burgers hit the grill, equipped with a trunk full of s’more supplies. “Where’s Katie?” Connor asked, to which my brother responded, “Probably falling asleep to a true crime documentary. She’s wiped from the day.” He turned to me. “But she says congrats again, Mads.”
“Thanks,” I said. All the bridesmaids, along with Mrs. Gallant, had cheered when I announced the news at lunch…but not Katie. She simply smiled and said, “That’s amazing!”
In, like, a totally fake voice.
You loved field hockey once!I’d wanted to shake her.Why can’t you actually celebrate?!
Ironically, I was scrolling through Netflix when Marco did respond.Congrats!he’d written.But nevertheless: puck Fenn.
Brows furrowing, I sent him a question mark.
Puck Fenn, he said.Campus store even sells bumper stickers!
“Okay,” I said aloud, “but what does that—”
It clicked.
Puck Fenntranslated toFuck Penn.
Because Penn and Princeton?
Bitter rivals.
Puck Frinceton, I wrote.
Eh, doesn’t have the same ring to it, Marco wrote back.
I smirked, shook my head, and typed:How are you?
Good, he said, and that was it. I stared at my phone screen until my eyes watered, desperate to blink.
He’s busy, I told myself, so I gave the message a thumbs-upand then refocused on Netflix. A new text popped onto my screen five minutes later, when I’d finally settled on a show.
How are you?
I hesitated, extremely tempted to typeG-O-O-Dand hit send, but instead I recapped the day’s unsuccessful bridesmaid dress search.Also, I said,they want to set me up with Connor!!!
