Page 3

He doesn’t seem convinced, and a crease forms between his eyebrows. For a moment I think he’s going to press the issue, but then he just nods and focuses on the road, turning on the radio. I take a deep breath and run my fingers under my eyes to remove the traces left by my mascara and reach for my carry-on. With trembling hands, I pull out the small mirror I always have with me and flinch when I see my tear-stained face. My eyes are puffy and red, and I look exhausted. Pretty much exactly how I feel.

But I have to clean myself up before anyone I know sees me like this. I put down the mirror and undo my braids, running both hands through my hair. Hair first, then makeup. Braiding is easier than applying makeup when the car has to brake every few yards because of Boston Monday evening traffic. My fingers still shaking, I grab the fine strands of hair around my face, laying one over the other and adding new strands, pulling them tight and continuing. Dutch braided, not French. It takes a long time—after all, it has to be tidy—but there’s always been something meditative about braiding my hair. My pulse slows as my hands work. Finally, I take my makeup out of my bag, and soon the dark shadows under my eyes disappear under the creamy texture of the concealer. Fortunately, the red splotches on my cheeks have already faded. I apply blush and lipstick, both in a delicate shade of pink, until the girl staring back at me in the mirror is almost familiar. It’s no longer possible to tell that she was crying a few minutes ago.

But her gaze is still empty.

With a quiet sigh, I snap the mirror shut and sink back in the taxi seat before leaning my head against the window. Boston flies past me, bright and inviting, like an old friend. But even though I’ve been homesick the past few weeks, now that I’m back here, the city isn’t really a comfort.

I’m so tired.

We’ve almost reached campus when my phone vibrates. For a split second, I have the absurd hope that it’s Mom checking to see if I’m okay. But it’s not. When I swipe across the screen, I see messages from Katie and Susannah in our group chat.

Susannah:

Have you landed yet? You’re really late!

Katie:

Your mom’s picking you up, right? If not, let us know and we’ll come get you!

As I read their messages, I immediately feel a lump in my throat again. I wish they had texted earlier. Or I wish I had texted them. Then they would have picked me up, and I wouldn’t feel so horrible now.

My hands shake as I type a quick reply.

Lia:

That’s sweet of you, but I’ll be there in a few minutes.

Susannah:

Okay, see you soon!

Katie:

Can’t wait!

I’m surprised when I catch myself smiling as my friends send a few heart emojis, but it still stings a little that they remembered that I’m coming back today and my mother didn’t. Why not?

Chapter 2

Lia

Katie greets me with a beaming smile and a big hug. “We’re so glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” I say, letting her hold me. I relax as the scent of her perfume envelops me, floral and sweet and so familiar.

“Summer was so strange without you,” Susannah adds, pulling me close as soon as Katie lets go of me. Her hug feels different than it did before vacation. It’s not as soft, and her shoulders feel bonier under my hands. I look at her closely after she lets go of me, but she looks the same as ever. Or does she? Am I wrong? No, she hasn’t changed a bit. She’s as delicate as she always was. I’m just incredibly tired.

“I know. It was weird for me to be without you guys in London too,” I say, pushing aside my worry about her narrow shoulders.

“You’re just saying that to make us feel better.” Katie laughs cheerfully and reaches for one of my suitcases as though it were the most natural thing in the world, and we make our way to the dorm. “I bet you had a great summer with all the hot British guys!”

“Yeah, please tell me you met someone!” Susannah sounds a little too enthusiastic.

“I spent the whole summer dancing. I didn’t have time to meet anyone,” I say. Actually, I did have time. I just didn’t want to.

“Wasn’t there anyone you liked at the Royal Academy of Dance? Didn’t you get assigned a regular dance partner?” Katie asks.

“Oh my God, yes! That would be so perfect!” Susannah squeals. “A hot summer fling with your dance partner.”