Tuesday

7:24 a.m.

David: Not an english major, but I think your grammar could use a bit of work

David: And I think you should talk to Lucy about that

David: And also good morning lol

12:12 p.m.

Viola: hi

Viola: i’m so sorry

Viola: i may have been a little drunk

Viola: i’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to text you

 

David: It was a nice text to get, if that makes you feel better

 

Viola: a little

 

David: I’m just touched to get to interact with you sober

 

Viola: david i’m currently mortified can you please not add to that

 

David: Sorry

David: How’s the leg

 

Viola: currently less infected than it ought to be

 

David: That sounds good

 

Viola: it’s still a little painful

 

David: Worse than the headache?

David: I’m just guessing

 

Viola: it’s marginal

3:45 p.m.

David: How about now?

 

Viola: leg beating headache now

Viola: asprin and water are better on the head than the leg

 

David: I would think the water wouldn’t be helpful on the leg at all

 

Viola: you’re pretty snarky about the leg for the guy who injured me

Viola: i should send you my bill

 

David: I think you’re at least a little at fault

 

Viola: you’re a professional athlete who throws stuff

 

David: I’m not a professional athlete

David: I’m an amateur athlete

David: Technically

 

Viola: they don’t pay you?

 

David: It’s complicated

 

Viola: that makes you sound like a criminal

 

David: I’m not a criminal

 

Viola: if i called the police and told them this 

Viola: what then?

 

David: You’d be a narc

David: A pretty narc but a narc

Wednesday

12:41 a.m.

Viola: hey david guess what i am

7:11 a.m.

David: A narc?

11:11 a.m.

Viola: why are you awake so early

11:50 a.m.

David: I’m up at like 5 every day

David: For practice

David: Well lifting and then practice

 

Viola: that sounds awful

 

David: You get used to it

David: Or you get addicted to caffeine

 

Viola: which are you?

 

David: Used to being addicted to caffenine

 

Viola: haha

Viola: i’m not built for football

 

David: Don’t say that

David: You’d be an excellent kicker

 

Viola: is that a good position

 

David: Oh yeah

 

Viola: i just looked it up reddit says its a boring position

 

David: It’s the most prestigous position on the field I don’t know why reddit would say that

David: It’s right up there with long snapper

David: And ballboy

David: What subreddit is ranking positions based on interest

 

Viola: you’re such a liar

 

David: Is quarterback high

 

Viola: shut up

 

David: It’s number one isn’t it

 

Viola: go throw a ball

4:55 p.m.

David: We should hang out when you’re back from spring break

David: I’m assuming you went away for spring break because everyone went away for spring break

6:12 p.m.

David: I’m sorry that was too forward

David: I shouldn’t have assumed you were away on spring break

David: Extremely rude behavior

 

Viola: aren’t you busy throwing a ball

 

David: Sometimes they give me a break

David: Sometimes they let me have fun and everything

 

Viola: that’s so nice of them

Viola: i’m not on campus

 

David: That sucks

David: When are you back

 

Viola: its complicated

 

David: God where did you go?

David: Do they not have roads

 

Viola: you really think your funny don’t you

 

David: A little

 

Viola: they have roads

 

David: Right

 

Viola: it’s complicated

Viola: sorry

 

David: You’re good

 

Viola: sorry

 

David: It’s really okay lmao

11:22 p.m.

Viola: hi

Viola: see i texted you earlier so you’d still be awake

Viola: unless you went to sleep already

Viola: god do you go to sleep before 11? 

11:50 p.m.

Viola: god you’re such a loser if you go to sleep before 11

Thursday

1:22 a.m.

Viola: davvvid

Viola: david im sorry if i was weird things are wird and im sorry

Viola: my leg feels better btw they gave me antiboitcs at the student health center and we’re crusing

Viola: cruising

5:12 a.m.

David: Getting eight hours of sleep is very important

David: And since I need to wake up at five

David: That means I try to go to bed around nine

David: You’re going to have to start drinking at six to get me

10:58 a.m.

Viola: somehow that seems like a terrible idea

Viola: id have to start drinking in seven hours

12:03 p.m.

David: See I’m quite happy to text you sober

David: Perfectly capable

David: More than capable of texting sober

 

Viola: are you making fun of me

 

David: I would never

 

Viola: dont make fun of me david oliver its not a nice thing to do

Viola: and i can text you sober

Viola: in fact youre not going to believe this

 

David: Are you sober right now? 

David: Really changing the game by being sober at noon on a thursday

David: What’s it like to be so responsible?

 

Viola: now what did i just say about making fun of me

 

David: Sorry sorry

David: Thought I might try a joke out

 

Viola: you’re very lucky that you’re talented

 

David: Damn

David: No standup career?

 

Viola: don’t even bother looking for the podcast mic

 

David: Why would I have a podcast mic

David: Who do you think I am

 

Viola: a man

 

David: You’ve got me figured all wrong viola

David: I’m not that kind of man

 

Viola: sure maybe not right now

Viola: but one day i’ll wake up and i’ll stumble into the closet and i’ll find your podcasting mic, and then what? 

Viola: people change

 

David: And what would my podcasting mic being doing in your closet?

 

Viola: see that’s what i’m saying

 

David: Right

David: Well I’ll make sure that when I turn into an extremely successful podcaster I’ll keep the mic in my closet

David: Or under my side of the bed or whatever

 

Viola: im just now seeing what i did there

 

David: Go drink some water

 

Viola: go throw a ball

 

David: Right now I’m drinking water

 

Viola: does that mean i have to throw a ball

Viola: i’m not sure i’d be good at that

 

David: That’s why I’m putting you up for kicker

2:21 p.m.

Viola: if you’re so obsessed with going to bed early why were you at a frat party

Viola: famously a late night experience

Viola: also am i interrupting practice is that what’s going on

4:33 p.m.

David: I said bad influences, didn’t I?

David: Also yes

David: My phones in my locker but yes

 

Viola: wow lockers?

Viola: this school has everything

 

David: Only for the most talented podcasters

 

Viola: who are your bad influences

Viola: that’s such an avoidant answer

 

David: Big words

 

Viola: avoidant isn’t a big word you’re just being avoidant

 

David: My sister drags me

 

Viola: i didn’t know you had a sister!

Viola: can I meet her

 

David: You wouldn’t even agree to meet me and you want to meet my sister?

 

Viola: she seems cool

Viola: she doesn’t seem like she’d bully me into throwing a ball

 

David: Well she plays volleyball

David: So you’d be more likely to be bullied into setting a ball

David: Or spiking a ball

David: Or skinning a knee

David: Probably all three

 

Viola: you send a lot of texts in a row when you really only need to send one

 

David: Might I remind counsel of the text “davvvvvviiiid” 

 

Viola: counsel is so reminded

Viola: wait are you a law student

 

David: I’m going to play football for a living and you think I’m also going to law school?

 

Viola: people are allowed to be lots of things

 

David: I do not have time for pre law stuff

 

Viola: what does that make you then

Viola: what do football players major in

 

David: Marketing

 

Viola: lol

 

David: It’s going to be very valuable when I need to market myself to the world

David: Or something

 

Viola: you should be a theater major

 

David: Right

David: The classes didn’t line up

David: And marketing is a good major

David: Very useful and stuff

 

Viola: uh huh

 

David: It’s how we’ll get that podcast off the ground

7:39p.m.

Viola: don’t rope me into this podcast

Viola: i want no part of that

 

David: It was your idea in the first place!

 

Viola: it so was not

Viola: at worst i accuded you of wanting one

Viola: that is not an endorsement

 

David: You brought up the idea of a podcast

David: I never said anything about that and you brought it up

 

Viola: yeah podcast (derogatory)

 

David: Now what will we put in the closet

10:33p.m.

Viola: are you sleeping yet

Viola: 10:30 so you must be

Viola: david oliver you go to bed so early

 

David: I stayed up

 

Viola: omg

Viola: you’re so bad

Viola: well im a little drunk

 

David: You know thats not all that surprising to me

David: Wherever you are seems very alcoholic

 

Viola: im at the beach with friends lol

 

David: Friends lol

David: Friends I know?

 

Viola: no

Viola: friends from high school

 

David: Did you go to high school around here

 

Viola: yes

Viola: im a sandlapper born and rasied

 

David: I’m sorry what did you just call yourself

David: Is that what people from south carolina are called???

David: I need you to be straight with me

 

Viola: im always straight with you

Viola: people from sc are sandlappers

 

David: What

David: Why lmfao

David: That’s such a crazy nickname

 

Viola: is it bad if i don’t know?

 

David: It seems like a mean thing to call someone

 

Viola: i like to think of it as an endearment

Viola: sandlapper

 

David: That’s so weird

 

Viola: okay well where are you from do they have a nickname

 

David: Well I come from the buckeye state

David: But that’s named after another college football mascot

David: So I just say ohio

 

Viola: what is a buckeye

 

David: It’s a big nut

 

Viola: david you can’t say things like that to me it’s uncouth

 

David: Uncouth?

 

Viola: stop pretending to be dumb i know you’re not dumb

Viola: buckeye is such a stupid state nickname

Viola: your state is named after a nut

 

David: You just embraced the term sandlapper?

 

Viola: yeah but that’s a good nickname

Viola: if you don’t want to be a buckeye, you can always be a sandlapper…

 

David: I think I’ll find a more normal nickname but thank you for the offer

 

Viola: your loss

Viola: us sandlappers will stick together

 

David: Sandlapper sounds way more uncouth than buckeye

David: It sounds dirty

 

Viola: how dare you

 

David: I’m just saying!

 

Viola: im going to go talk to my sandlapper friends now

Viola: have fun with your buckeye or whatever

 

David: Tell them I say hello

 

Viola: they said you sound like you hate people from south carolina

 

David: You didn’t actually tell them I said hello did you

 

Viola: goodnight david

 

David: Goodnight Viola

David: Don’t text me drunk

Friday

2:52 a.m.

Viola: you can’t tell me what to do

4:56 a.m.

David: Wow

David: I can’t believe you texted me drunk

9:22 a.m.

Viola: yeah

Viola: it boggles the mind

11:51 a.m.

David: What are you up to today? 

 

* * * * *

 

She was heading east today. She was heading back towards Garland State, and back towards the bus stop, back towards the end. Back for one last night before she hopped the bus and left South Carolina for good.

They had piled the car high early in the morning—Anna had managed to jigsaw in everything, a task laced with added difficulty after all the shopping they had managed over the week—and then set off. And now they were just a few miles from campus, and Britney was on again, and Viola was staring out the window, watching the week disappear. 

Texting David had been stupid. Drunk Viola. Drunk Viola digging a hole, nay, a grave, and Sober Viola having to figure out how to climb over the ever heightening walls. But, in the end, it would only be a blip. A little thing. Because, in the end, she wouldn’t be here long enough for something like toying with David to matter. She’d be on the bus in a day, in New York in two, and David would forget about her soon enough. There’d be a girl here; pretty, probably blonde, real, real in the way that Viola could not be, and he’d find her. 

Viola? The one he was texting? She couldn’t exist here, and she was pretty sure David wouldn’t like her all that much if he knew the rest. 

And so, when she left, she felt confident that the star quarterback, chiseled and gorgeous and certain to be rich, would be able to find that girl. He’d forget her. He could delete her number, the texts, all memory of this.

Viola wouldn’t. Viola would remember. Viola would keep the texts. Even the New York version of her. 

The highway ripped by.

The swelling, aching feeling in her belly, the one that begged her to tell the girls, to tell them that she was planning on going, had reached such a pitch that she had declined a final well-cooked breakfast by Lucy. She’d never had friends like them. She’d had friends, and they’d been nice, wonderful people. But she’d never had friends like them. She’d never had friends that felt right, that settled her, that loved her. And now she was going, leaving that, leaving that for nothing. For an empty shell of a city, far away, and she was turning her back on the three of them. 

No tears. She had promised herself no tears until she was on the bus. On the bus, after everything had settled, after there was nothing to do but move forward, she could cry. Would cry, certainly. But there was no use to it now. All it would do is make her feel worse and give the three of them a chance to catch on.

They’d proposed half a dozen things. That she stay and be Seb, just for now, while they tried to figure out how to get her records changed. She could move in with the two of them, leave Danny and that dorm behind and be Viola full time. She shared a major with Anna; Anna could keep her up to date on the lectures and the notes, and she could go back to class just as Seb for the tests. 

The place they had landed at breakfast yesterday, a plan Vi agreed to only because she knew there was no need to enact it, was to build on the status quo. More than that. To throw David off, Seb had to be, in class, the kind of guy that would never dress up as a woman and go to a party. Never mind that that was every guy, but she needed to play it up. Seb had to be masculine. Hair on the upper lip, muscles bulging in the shirt, whatever. She had to talk in the deeper voice and call David ‘bro’ and replace the version of Seb that they had all befriended with one who could convincingly, really, be a guy.

It made the bus more attractive.

It was their best plan. A bad one, still, but the idea that Viola could be masculine enough to ward off suspicion was a decent start. It just didn’t end anywhere near a full time life as a woman. 

He was on the scholarship. He was on the insurance. And he, under her name, had gone to the party and flirted with boys and pretended to be what she would never be: a regular girl. 

And none of that could be taken back. Viola would have to walk around this campus as trans, and she would have to walk around as a trans woman who had tried to deceive. 

It was nightmarish to even consider.

And it was that nightmare or be Seb, its own kind of nightmare, or go, and so there was the obvious thing, wasn’t there? 

Every time she ran it through her brain, she ended up in the same fucking place. Every time they brought it up, she hoped that, this time, they’d really solved it. But they never had. And now Viola was counting the hours til that Saturday bus, the one at 11a.m., and she was counting the days until she was out of Garland State.

She would welcome that. Even Emerald Point, touristy and upscale and entirely out of Viola’s comfort zone, had been a drastic improvement over Garland. Everything was. Whatever came next would be better than Garland, than this place. The school had only ever been an avenue for leaving, anyway. A vehicle.

A bus, if you so desired.

And then they were pulling into the parking garage; upperclassmen got the surface lots, something Lucy never tired of complaining about, and the freshmen had to wind their way up to the top of a tower to park, searching to find an empty spot. The garages were nearly the tallest things on campus, after the dormitories on the south side. It took Lucy a minute to angle her car between an SUV and an oversized pickup, but she managed it in the end, and then they were back. 

Garland fucking State.

“We should all go out tomorrow,” said Anna, swinging open her car door and stepping out. 

“I think I’m through with drinking for a little,” said Lucy. Anna frowned.

“Boo,” she said. 

“Me too,” agreed Margot. They’d done enough of it. Basically a full month’s worth in a week, and Vi was pretty sure that she’d go stone cold sober when she got to New York. The drunk version of her had a certain penchant for texting impossible men. 

Vi let the dismissals speak for her. She wouldn’t go out tomorrow with them, either. 

They took the elevator down to the ground floor, Lucy still humming the chorus of ‘I’m a Slave 4 U’, and then started out onto the campus. Everything was further in bloom now. When they’d left, the trees had only started to flower. Now, the campus was beset by color, gardens poking out with things that had not been tightly tended. 

For five minutes they walked, the girls chatting amiably. They stopped, briefly, for Margot to talk to a couple of girls from her program. When she introduced the rest of them, she introduced Viola as Seb, and had described her as him. As asked. As promised. It had, at least, seemed to take her a minute to recover a normal cadence after she’d done so. 

And then it was time to separate, and Viola was consumed with an overwhelming urge to apologize to them for what she was about to do. To say sorry. To ask, one last time, if they had figured out some magical solution to all of this. Maybe there was a pill that could turn her into a girl, both in past and present. Maybe they were friends with a brilliant coder, one who could fix all her records and also somehow hypnotize everyone she’d ever met into remembering her as a girl. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But there was only goodbye. 

She made a mental note to buy a bus ticket back. At the bus stop, she’d buy a return ticket, date undetermined, and she’d come back one day. 

They gave her the brief, parting hugs that they always gave. Unladen with the expectations that they meant anything. 

And then she was alone. Alone, walking across the half buzzing campus, back towards her dorm, the heat of a spring day beating on her neck.

There were enough people that Viola could only assume David had been right about the campus emptying out. They’d come back a day before most. Maybe two. The people who were on campus were either quiet on the quad or hauling their own baggage down the paved paths, often in packs, everyone sporting the look of someone who had just spent a week on a beach, tired and frizzy haired. 

She walked in silence. 

Danny was spread out on his bed when she opened the door to her room, headphones in ears, laptop settled on his lap. She gave him as much of a smile as she could, and he gave her the head nod that had been pretty much the complete extent of their relationship after the first month of the year, and she flopped down onto her own bed. 

No one gave Viola that head nod. No one at the party, and no one at the boardwalk.

They smiled at her. 

 

* * * * *

 

Viola waited in bed until Danny found some kind of excuse to leave. He was always doing that. She was pretty sure it wasn’t about her being in the room, and was more about the fact that all of the dorms had this sort of horrific aura to them, one the girls had only managed to cover up with enough pastels and perfume to make tolerable, something neither she nor Danny had thought to do. He was probably down in the dining hall, or maybe the library. Somewhere where the walls were different. 

She’d been counting on that. It gave Vi the excuse she needed to start sorting all of her belongings into ‘keep’ and ‘sell’.

The keep pile was pretty small. They finally managed to get her some shoes, although hardly the kind he could wear anywhere; they were sneakers, trendier than the pair she’d had before, and were trimmed in a light pink. Margot had manipulated her into that over something gentler, something more androgynous. Vi had liked a light green. Margot had huffed. So those had gone in her suitcase rather than her feet on the way home. Now, they stayed there, along with some socks, underwear, the largely neutral clothing that she could muster, and her laptop. That, plus some toiletries, and she’d filled most of it to the zipper. 

Then, there was the donate pile, which she started piling into trash bags. So much clothing. So, so, so much clothing. It filled two whole bags. Astonishing, really, given how little she had always thought she owned. Jeans and t-shirts and whatever cargo shorts she’d somehow acquired four pairs of filled a lot of space, apparently. And there were the shoes, a dress pair that her father had given her ‘just in case’, and a couple of pairs of nicer pants, and by the time she was done, Viola had even found a suit jacket.

No idea where that came from. She’d never had any need for one.

Whatever. Into the donation bag it went.

She kept one of her ball caps, jammed it on her head, and then started out towards the bus stop. There was a charity shop in town. 

Jeans and t-shirts had their merits. She’d kept some of them. And wearing a pair now, plus the ball cap, meant she’d managed to cover most of her hairless body. Her arms were the only uncovered part, and she was pretty certain that no one was looking that closely at her arms. Honestly, if they did, they deserved to catch her out. 

Four p.m. meant the southbound bus hadn’t arrived yet, so it was just Vi at the stop, waiting for the local. She fiddled with her fingers. The bus came, mostly empty, and she boarded, flashing her student ID to the driver to signal that she wasn’t paying, and settled in one of the seats near the front. 

The town of Garland was alright. Tiny, of course, completely eclipsed by the campus that bordered it, and devoid of any identity of its own anymore, given that basically everything revolved around servicing the population of students and staff, but it was better than campus. Here, at least, the buildings didn’t have the horrific aura that they had on campus. Here, they were just buildings. 

Vi hopped off at the corner of Steyer and First, lugging the bags over her shoulder, and made her way into the little charity shop halfway down Steyer. 

Seb had come here once. The strap had fallen off his backpack after years of threatening to do so, dangling by the barest of threads since he was sixteen, and he’d hated the idea of being the kind of guy who slung a backpack over a single shoulder. The shop had a nice enough selection from what she could remember. And, if they were looking to stock the ‘very normal boy’ section back up, she had just the trash bags they needed.

The register sat in an island at the front, a woman typing away on a positively ancient computer. She looked up as Viola entered. 

“Donations in the back,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder. 

Viola followed the indication, weaving through a pair of overburdened aisles, and ended up at an open closet door with a paper sign reading ‘Donations’. She heft the bags one last time, took a couple steps in, then dropped them next to a pile of coats.

All the bits of him. She felt a little melancholic about it. Some of that stuff had been alright. And even the things that weren’t, the things she was all too happy to shed, had lived in her drawers for years. At least through high school. She had always opened the dresser to find the same batch of t-shirts, the same set of shorts, the same worn to the threadbare jeans. Being rid of them would be good, wouldn’t it?

Yes.

Yes, she was being sentimental. And if she was going to be sentimental, there were things she was leaving here that deserved that sentimentality far more than the shirt she’d been given at the county fair. She hadn’t even won it, for god’s sakes. 

There wasn’t enough space for this. Not for the shirts, and not for the feelings. There would be new shirts. New shirts, new jeans, skirts and dresses and she could find some bell bottoms and that would be the end of all of this. There wasn’t emotion to spare.

“Sebastian?” 

Viola wheeled to face the voice.

Sure. Sure. Why not?
“Hi Cam,” said Viola. His name came out all stretched and squeaky. She coughed to try to cover it. Too much time in Viola voice, not enough time in Sebastian voice. 

It didn’t seem to bother Cam. He was holding a pair of the largest shoes she had ever seen, standing in the frame of the doorway, grinning at her. 

“Thought it was you,” he said. “Funny to keep running into each other at stores.” 

“Yeah,” agreed Viola. That came out cleaner, although she was pretty sure she’d still failed to record the low notes that Seb normally hit. Cam nodded at the trash bags now sitting behind Vi, stretched to the point of translucence. 

“That’s a lot of donations,” he said. Viola glanced behind her, towards the trash bags, and then, deciding the truth was cover enough, shrugged.

“I’m thinking about a wardrobe refresh,” said Viola. 

“Oh, man, yeah,” said Cam, nodding along, as if Viola had said something particularly interesting. There really wasn’t anyone Vi wanted to talk to less than Cam. Had met both Viola and Seb? Check. Asshole boyfriend of one of her best friends? Check. Personally responsible for her ending up at that party because he couldn’t follow simple instructions about where he was supposed to meet his girlfriend? Fucking check. But Cam was standing in the doorway of what was, quite literally, the only way out. Vi twisted her thumbs together.

“What are you doing here?” 

“Oh, it’s one of the only places that might have shoes my size,” he said, lifting the pair of sneakers in his hands. “All the places in town only carry up to like, a thirteen. So a lot of the guys shop here if they’re not ordering online.” 

“Sure,” said Viola. As if she found that remotely interesting.

“Hey, I ran into that girl Viola last weekend,” said Cam. He propped a hand against the doorway and smiled, his teeth yellowed by the dim lights. 

Viola blinked. 

He really was blocking the only doorway. 

“Oh,” she said. Oh. Well, maybe she wouldn’t make it out of Garland after all. “Yeah.”

“Dude, she is into you,” said Cam, grinning wider. Viola swallowed. God, thank god that Cam was the dumbest- “I mean, she was really into David too, from what I heard, but she was all flustered about you when we-”

“I’m sorry?” Had Margot told Cam about her and David? Because, well, if so, Viola had a bone to pick with that. Cam had to be near the top of the information embargo list. Cam grinned.

“Yeah man, she was all giggly and stuff when I started talking about running into you,” he said. Viola nodded. Too many balls in the air right now. She had entirely forgotten that she was supposed to have a crush on herself. But that wasn’t the bit that interested her.

“Right,” she said. “Right, but the thing about David?” 

“Dude,” said Cam, shaking his head, “you gotta hop on it! A bunch of people said she was all over David at the party. And, listen, I know you guys are friends-”

“Sorry,” interrupted Viola. “Sorry, when you say a bunch of people, who are you talking about?” Cam grinned. 

“Oh, a couple frat brothers I know,” said Cam, nodding. “Kinda spread onto the football team, talking about him and some hookup from a party. Fucking wild, honestly. Like, it’s not some miracle that a guy is hooking up with someone at a party.” Viola felt the heat rise in her face. It must’ve shown. Cam frowned. “Look, they didn’t leave together or anything. David was basically there all night. I’m just saying, I’d lock that girl down. David’s tough compatish, but she’s hot, dude. Like, seriously hot. No way-”

“Right,” said Viola, looking for fewer words to come out of Cam’s mouth. “Right, well, very cool.” 

“Can’t believe Margot’s been hiding her away,” said Cam. “Like, damn bro.” 

“She’s really shy,” said Viola, perhaps a little too defensively. She should be leaning into that reputation. Better for the campus to not expect to see Viola.

“That’s crazy,” said Cam. “I mean, god, a girl like that?” Cam pressed forward, and Viola tried her best to tune out exactly how much Margot’s boyfriend was currently telling her how hot she was. 

Honestly, the fact that he was Margot’s boyfriend was not the unsettling part. Wasn’t she supposed to be Seb’s friend, too? And here he was, telling… well, not Seb, but who he thought to be Seb, how much he ought to fuck his friend. 

It was time to go.

“Really good to run into you,” said Viola, not moving. Cam, still firmly planted in the doorway, paused mid-sentence. Somewhere along the line, he must have decided that forming brick walls in the door frame was the only way to get people to talk to him. God, Margot. Cam stepped back.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m trying to get them all out tomorrow. You should come! You know, head off David and get you some.” 

“I’ll think about it,” said Viola, turning sideways to squeeze through the gap he left her between his massive frame and the doorway. 

“I know the brothers at the party,” said Cam, nodding. “We can definitely get you in.” Viola had already taken four big, long strides before she called back over her shoulder.

“You’re the best!”

 

* * * * *

5:15 p.m.

Viola: word on the street is that youre getting teased about me

 

David: It’s less teasing and more incredulity

 

Viola: see i knew you knew big words

Viola: why would anyone be incredulous that you were talking to a girl

Viola: isn’t that what guys like you do

 

David: Guys like me?

 

Viola: you know

Viola: star football players

Viola: all around pretty boys

 

David: Is this a compliment?

David: I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me

 

Viola: sorry sorry

Viola: star football players (derogatory)

 

David: So you think I’m a star?

 

Viola: i think you’re avoiding the question

 

David: I just don’t really meet girls at parties all that often

David: Or at all

David: I don’t know if you heard, but it’s actually kind of a lot of work to be a professional amateur athlete and I sort of limit how much time I have socially

 

Viola: that’s kind of sad

 

David: I love football

David: And I’m going to make a lot of money doing it

David: It has it’s drawbacks tho

 

Viola: i guess i just expected that you were dating a lot

Viola: who’s talking about us by the way

Viola: not that there’s an us

 

David: Right

David: We’re just podcast cohosts

David: Everyone’s favorite mediocre wide receiver for one

 

Viola: were not podcast cohosts

 

David: And that spread around the team a bit

David: Plus my sister

 

Viola: i don’t know what a wide receiver is david

 

David: Remind me how you ended up at this school?

David: Cam lol

 

Viola: you know they have some things here that aren’t just about football

Viola: classes and stuff

 

David: I’m a very dillegent attendant of my lectures

 

Viola: why is cam talking about us

Viola: not that there’s an us!

 

David: I’m going to need you to type that one final time in front of a mirror

David: Three times in a row and a podcast mic appears

 

Viola: you need to let go of that bit

 

David: That seems unlikely

 

Viola: so annoying

Viola: also

Viola: sister?

 

David: It’s like a brother but a girl

 

Viola: david

 

David: Sorry

David: She was at the party so she got to see us together

 

Viola: hokay

Viola: listen maybe just keep that under wraps a bit

Viola: like don’t tell a bunch of people about me or whatever

 

David: I don’t want to make you feel bad but do you think I’m running around talking about you to everyone I know?

 

Viola: no im just saying

Viola: just be careful about it is all

 

Whatever David responded with, it buzzed only against her desk. Warning so given, it was now time to do something brainless. Why exactly she was so concerned with David relaying the existence of Viola further, she wasn’t totally sure. Plan B, maybe. If the bus didn’t come, and she was forced into class, or whatever, it was probably better that Viola remained a text log rather than a real girl. 

Clothes donated, bag packed and stuffed under her bed, although she thought it unlikely that Danny Evans would even bother to ask a question about anything in her life, she settled her laptop on her legs — the only thing she had removed from the suitcase — and booted it up. 

Okay, slide the brainlessness back.

She ought to look at New York a bit, make a plan.

First, she pulled the bus route. The bus dropped her either in Chinatown, which looked to be somewhere near the tip of Manhattan, or near Chelsea Park? The second also seemed to be close to Penn Station, and that felt a tiny bit poetic. Hoping off the bus in the middle of the big city, hair flowing, suitcase in hand, dress-

Margot had put on Sex and the City twice in Emerald Point, and Viola was just picturing the opening intro now.

She swapped over to apartment listings. 

Jesus. 

Jesus. 

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t going to be renting an apartment. Maybe she could afford the room in someone’s apartment, or the closet, or something, but it wasn’t going to be done on Apartments.com, because everything here was at least $1,400, and Viola had none of that. 

Reddit, then, and she’d try Craigslist next. She’d never been on Craigslist, but she’d heard enough about it to know that there would, probably, be something on there.

Down the rabbit hole on Reddit. First, there was the standard New York City housing subreddit. It wasn’t the most helpful, but it did sort of split the city into zones for her to try. Manhattan, at least the southern half, was totally out of the question. How anyone afforded that, she had no idea. Once she went towards the Bronx — another borough, apparently, which Vi had never known existed — there were more options. Brooklyn could be okay, too, as long as she was away from the crossings into Manhattan. She had the feeling that every foot closer to Manhattan would cost her a dollar. And Queens, if she was looking to stay in someone’s spare room.

Everyone hated Staten Island, apparently.

And then, she slipped further down into the subreddits. A New York rental offerings subreddit. That was mostly relists. Then, a New York roommates board, which proved to be significantly more helpful. Viola sent a couple of messages on there to people looking for a fourth in a two bedroom in the Bronx, which had the most moderately affordable listing, and a message to a pair of college students looking for a third in Red Hook. 

For good measure, she also pulled up the hostels by the bus stop. There would need to be a backstop. Something. A bed. If she got to New York and she couldn’t stay anywhere else for a night, she could at least rent a bed for the night. 

Good plan. Good plan. She was making good plans here. 

Her phone buzzed again. 

Oops, no, that was Seb’s phone. She flipped it over, saw her mother’s name, and closed her eyes. 

She hadn’t wanted to talk to her. It would be easier to go. She could send a letter or something, avoid it all together. 

Viola turned the phone back over. She was sure it would be about the bill from the clinic. Some sort of halfway scolding, unhappy that she needed to pay out to make sure her child wasn’t hurt. Carol Collins would mask it at first. The start of the call would be about something else, ostensibly, and then, somehow, someway, it would turn to that bill and the money and Viola would have to explain it all.

Okay, not all of it. But she’d have to explain the co-pay. 

And Viola couldn’t have that conversation. Having that conversation while knowing it could be the last conversation was a bitter pill. It had been a couple weeks since they spoke, and Viola wasn’t sure what the conversation before that had been, but it had been monotonous enough to forget. There hadn’t been any scolding. There hadn’t been anything resembling anger, at least not explicitly, and Viola wanted that to be the final one. If there had to be a final conversation, let it be that one. 

And she’d send a letter from New York. 

That’d be okay. 

And once the letter had gone, that would be more than enough reason for them to stop calling, to shut off the phone and let it be over. 

The call rang out, and Viola buried her face in her laptop again. A distraction might be nice. Something that wasn’t about running away, and wasn’t about David, and wasn’t about her parents. Maybe something that another nineteen year old might be doing on a night like this. 

Movie? No, they’d watched one every night in Emerald Point.

She’d never been much for video games. 

God, she could try her hand at watching sports?

No, no. Not even David fucking Oliver would be enough for that. Besides, he wasn’t playing right now. The team played in the fall. It was impossible to miss that knowledge here, even as she’d never attended a single game. 

She settled back on TV, flicking through the streaming sites, hoping to find something moderately distracting. It just had to get her to sleep. And then, in the morning, she’d be off to the bus stop, off and away from campus, away from all of this. Off towards being Viola for once and for all. No pretending to be Seb. No living with Danny Evans, or having to talk about girls with Cam, and no phone calls on his phone. Just Viola. 

In the morning, just Viola.

Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it.

 

* * * * *

5:23 p.m.

David: There could be an us you know

David: If you wanted

8:43 p.m.

Viola: david im not starting a podcast with you

 

David: I’m serious

David: Not about the podcast

David: It doesn’t have to be super serious but we could hangout or whatever

 

Viola: for a guy who likes shakespeare that was not very romantic of you

 

David: I’m more a fan of the tragedies

David: Or the comedies

 

Viola: yeah that makes sense

Viola: i do like you its just complicated right now

Viola: i can’t really do dating

 

David: See that’s why I added the ‘or whatever’

David: We can do ‘or whatever’

 

Viola: what does ‘or whatever’ look like

Viola: because im pretty sure thats off the table too

 

David: Well for starters

David: Seeing each other

David: You know all face to face

 

Viola: as crazy as it sounds im not sure thats on the table

 

David: Wow that’s tough

David: I have to be honest the looking at each other part is kind of important for ‘or whatever’

 

Vi closed her eyes and settled the phone on her chest. She’d resisted for two hours. Good for her. Good for fucking her. 

How stupid would it be to tell him now? She would be gone tomorrow, after all. If she told him, this would be left alone. David wouldn’t need to ask her to hang out, because David wouldn’t want to hang out. David would be, at best, mildly off put by the whole thing. At worst? 

Right, right that was why she couldn’t say anything.

It had been so easy to slip into talking to him. It was always so, so easy to slip into talking to him. He was a good texter, and of course he was, because he was good at fucking everything. He’d been pulled out of thin air to torment her specifically, too talented at everything in life, too perfect, too well put together. And so, when she’d started, it had just… happened. 

And then they were texting. 

And a little part of it was that he really, genuinely talked to her. And other than the girls, there was no one in the world she could talk to like that. David liked Viola. David wanted to talk to her, and he didn’t think about him. He just wanted to talk to Viola. 

Viola squeezed her eyes tighter. 

She was being so stupid. In her mind, she’d repeated the phrase ‘in for a penny’ all week as justification. As if repeating it, really sticking to it, would make it true. Talking to him was stupid. She knew it was stupid. She knew that the whole reason she was fleeing the fucking state was her dalliance with David, and that exacerbating that was a dumb thing to do, and that she really, really needed to put the phone down. 

But she was already fleeing the fucking state. 

In for a pound?

 

Viola: i don’t hate you

Viola: but i cant see you either

 

David: Right

David: Thats a relief

David: We can just keep doing this thing where you longingly text me drunk every night

 

Viola: im sober tonight

 

David: You’re saying I should try again tomorrow?

 

Viola bit her lip. Tomorrow. She would tell him tomorrow, after she’d boarded the bus, after it was all ready to come spilling out of her.

Viola: sure

Viola: you can try again tomorrow

 

* * * * *

 

Danny Evans slept late. Late enough that when Viola woke at nine, bags packed, Danny was still buried so deep in his comforter that Viola could have fired a pistol in the air and he wouldn’t have stirred. 

Which was fine. There would be no goodbye between them. Danny Evans had been a below average roommate at a below average college in a below average life, and Viola wasn’t keen on making the rounds to every person she’d ever met to say goodbye. And, even if she was, Danny Evans would have been at the bottom of the list. Somewhere below the woman who smiled at her when she swiped her into the dining hall and the guy in her orientation group who had taken her as his introductions partner.

She’d pulled the sheets off, too. One pillow, tucked under her arm, the sheets into the outside flap of the suitcase, and that was all. The rest of it, whatever couldn’t be tucked into her backpack, would just stay. Danny could have it. Maybe he would enjoy the calendar with pictures of migratory birds that her mother had bought her more than Viola had. It seemed likely; Vi hadn’t flipped past January. 

The dorm hall was buzzing, and Vi fit with the crowd. People coming in and out, suitcases dragging behind them, all frizzy haired, all returning. The difference between returning and leaving was marginal. She looked exactly the same as any of them. 

The quad was packed with people, too. Everyone who wasn’t dragging a suitcase was stretched out on the grass, welcoming the beating sun, basking in the last days of break. Viola had never seen so many people out on campus quite so early, especially not on a Saturday. She rolled her suitcase down the sidewalk.

This had always felt like an inevitability. Her, coming down to this bus stop, watching the buses go, imagining herself on them, whisked away to start a new life somewhere else. And here she was, finally fulfilling that promise to herself. Three years was a long time to pretend to be someone you were not, to live a life you didn’t want to live, even when you couldn’t quite figure out why. Three years was an entire lifetime. 

And so, the bus. 

She was a little early, because she was afraid that if she’d missed it, she’d find herself stuck. The hole was so deep now, and spending even slightly longer than necessary on campus made her head feel heavy. If she had to wait in the sun for a half hour, so be it. That was the price to be paid. The guarantee that this would all be finished. 

The suitcase granted her what she almost never got in all her time at the stop; a seat. She pressed it against the planter and settled herself nimbly on it, careful not to tip it over. 

Over her shoulder, the noises of a happy campus were still audible. If she strained, she could still hear the girls; if not the girls, then some girls. 

It was funny. Now, perhaps more than ever, she felt jealousy towards them. She always had, of course, but this was different. Before, it had been about their bodies, about the way they sprawled out on the quad, smooth legs stretched out in the grass, hips and waists and all of it. And now… now that jealousy had been supplanted. Oh, it was still there, lingering, but Viola was more jealous of the rest of it.

They would stay. They would stay on campus, and they would live their lives, and they would sleep and eat and go to parties without consequence, without the ever hanging sword hanging over their necks, and they would be. And Viola would be, too, probably, probably if everything worked out in this mystery city and she found the money and the insurance and the years. She would have to start over. Everything from scratch. No friends, no money, no job or purpose or scholarship. She could be, but only at the cost of everything else. 

And she was making that trade, because how could she not, but everyone else just lived their life. They just kept moving forward. 

It was profoundly unfair. Profoundly unfair. She could hear them now, the set of girls laughing behind her, and she could easily imagine herself there, feet tucked beneath her on a grass stained sheet, Lucy relaying some horrible anecdote about one of the boys from her acting classes, Anna and Margot chiming in to provide snark at all the right moments. 

And David was there, too, his hand pressing into her waist, because that’s what David wanted to do with Viola. And in a world with fairness and justice, all of those things wouldn’t just be dreams. They wouldn’t be as fictional as the girl on the ship. They were all so fucking achievable if it wasn’t for the one massive, huge thing that prevented it all. If it wasn’t for all this. If it wasn’t for her.

Promises of no tears only went so far. She did her best to keep it all to a minimum, to keep it all quiet, but soon they were streaming down her face. She rested her face in her palms, elbows pressed into her knees. 

She’d had it. For hours, maybe days, but she’d had it. That life had felt real, possible. It had felt like she could do both. It had felt like she could be Viola and still have a life, a world to live in. And now?

The tears came faster, and they gave way to sobs. 

And then there was someone kneeling in front of her, a hand on her forearm. Viola looked up, up at the woman whose sunglasses were sliding further down her nose, at the tired, gentle eyes.

“See, this is why the pond out by Williams Hall is better,” said Annabelle Bridges. “Fewer nosey professors.” Viola managed to sniff in lieu of a laugh. Annabelle smiled. “I’d ask if you were alright, but I have a feeling the answer is ‘no’.” 

“I’m okay,” whispered Viola, and it came out higher than she wanted it to. Annabelle raised an eyebrow. 

“Sebastian,” she started, and Viola flinched, and Annabelle stopped. She frowned, not so subtly reformulating a thought, and then proceeded. “What are you doing here?” Vi swallowed. She didn’t need an excuse to be here. But Annabelle was looking at her like she wanted one, like she had seen the suitcase and the tears and she was hoping there was some sort of explanation that didn’t involve the incoming northbound bus.

Viola didn’t have another explanation.

“I’m going to New York,” she said. 

“And what’s in New York?” asked Annabelle. A new life. A life untainted by Sebastian. Viola shook her head. 

“I’m just going,” she said. Annabelle bit her lip, considering her, and Viola did her best to look as put together as she could, given the circumstances. She stopped sniffing, and she pulled her hands away from her face. All the good it did her. Annabelle cocked an eyebrow and grinned.

“Come with me,” she said. Viola grimaced and looked towards the bus stop. Not long now. Annabelle rolled her eyes. “It’s Spring Break. The buses come once an hour. If you’re set on going to New York, I won’t stop you, but I’m going to feed you.” 

“Why?” asked Viola.

“Because,” said Annabelle, standing and holding out a hand to help Viola off the suitcase, “I’m hungry, and I’m a little hungover, and as much fun as it is to stand in the sun, I’d rather not.” She paused. “And I certainly can’t leave you here.” 

 

* * * * *

 

Viola’s suitcase had been banished to the far corner of Annabelle Bridges’ apartment, out of sight from the little wooden table set that the professor had forced her down at. That the apartment had enough space that anything could be put out of eyesight was a surprise to Vi. She’d known that professors lived on campus, and she’d known that those professors weren’t staying in carbon copies of the Freshmen dorms, but she hadn’t expected them to be genuine apartments. The school, too cheap to spring for elevators in six floor buildings, hadn’t seemed the type.

But Annabelle’s apartment, cozy as it was, had enough space to hide a full suitcase away, to put it in a corner out of sight lines. It even had a separate bedroom! Vastly superior to the  tiny thing that she had been shoved in, and way, way better decorated, although that was probably down to the occupants rather than the hosts.

She had no idea how to read this situation, and even less idea how to read the woman running it. Annabelle didn’t exactly drag her here, but Viola was under the impression that if she had said no, Annabelle Bridges would have no qualms pulling her kicking and screaming across the quad.

Okay, well, maybe a couple of professional qualms, but she’d do it. 

And the whole time, she had acted like there was nothing out of the ordinary with what she was doing. Taking crying students back to her apartment? Why, that was just Saturday’s in Annabelle Bridges’s world? Her dorm? An open book! Come on in, girl who I’ve only spoken to about three times!

Fucking weirdo. 

“Do you drink tea?” asked Annabelle. The apartment’s kitchen was set right next to the table, a little galley, and Annabelle was posted in it.

“Like… sweet tea?” asked Viola. Annabelle frowned, her fingers combing through a set of little boxes.

“No, like tea,” she said. Viola shook her head. Tea tea?

“No,” she said. 

“That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t think I actually have tea. It’s just the thing people always drink when this stuff happens. How about coffee?” Viola nodded, and Annabelle started on a coffee maker that took up near half her available counter space.

“That’s ancient,” said Viola, nodding towards it. Annabelle smiled.

“Genuine diner stuff,” she said. “The old place I worked went out of business, and the owner let me have it.” She left the machine, now whirring to life, and leaned on frame of the galley kitchen. “I am going to make you tell me what the hell your plan is before I let you on that bus.”

“I’m fine,” said Viola. She could still feel the salt of her tears on her cheeks. Annabelle raised an entirely disbelieving eyebrow.

“Okay,” she said, twisting back towards the coffee machine. “It’s a little weird to come back with me if you’re fine, but okay.” Viola glared at the back of her skull. The last person in the world she needed a scolding from right now was her fucking Shakespeare professor. Really, she ought to submit some sort of complaint about the whole department before she left. ‘Pushed the first domino’. 

“I will be fine,” she amended. Annabelle returned, a pair of mugs in hand, and a jar of sugar to go with. 

“And you’re not fine now because…” she asked, sitting down in the chair across from Viola.

“Because I’m still in Garland,” said Viola, matter of factly. Annabelle grinned at her.

“I like you,” she said. “You know, that was quite the performance you gave the other week in class. Most people can’t get that into a scene.” Viola felt her cheeks go a little hot. It had been a week, and the memory of David standing with her at the front of the hall was still firmly planted in her mind. Not as planted as the memories of him at the party, but it definitely remained memorable.

“Thanks,” she said. 

“Have you ever considered being in any of the plays?” asked Annabelle. She blew on her coffee and looked up at Viola over it. 

“No,” said Viola, truthfully. “Are they all Shakespeare?” 

“God no,” said Annabelle. “No, they’re all modern stuff for the most part. Sometimes, of course, but it’s mostly a range.” 

“I really don’t know theatre,” admitted Viola. Annabelle waved a hand, as if the idea of needing to know anything about plays or musicals was ridiculous. Why would that be a prerequisite for being in a play?

“Nonsense,” she said. “Lot’s of actors don’t know anything about plays.”

“I don’t like being in front of people. Makes me all…” She wanted to say squirmy, but Annabelle Bridges was a serious woman, and no one said ‘squirmy’ out loud, so she swallowed that and found, “anxious.” 

“Well,” said Annabelle, swallowing a bit of coffee, grimacing, then carrying on, “you were a natural. It just took a little bit for you to get into the scene.” Annabelle smiled. “You worked well with David.” Viola’s cheeks burned again. 

“Yeah,” she said. Was it just common knowledge that she was completely, overwhelmingly, and hopelessly interested in David Oliver? Count Cam and the girls and Annabelle. 

God, she wondered if David had known. He knew about Viola, of course. They’d hemmed too close to danger on the lawn of that disgusting frat house not to. But, if it had been so obvious to Annabelle, who had known her for two ninety minute stretches, surely David might have a clue that Sebastian liked him. That seemed possible. Likely, maybe? 

That didn’t mean he’d put anything together as far as Viola went. David Oliver had enough suitors to fill a stadium. A girl and a boy liked him, and so what? That was probably Tuesday for him. And Wednesday. And Thursday. And in this very specific case, Friday.

“Sorry,” said Annabelle, blowing on her coffee again. Viola decided to smother her embarrassment with a sip of her own. She poured a bit of sugar, then swallowed. 

“About what?” asked Viola. Annabelle tapped her fingers on the table.

“They’re doing ‘Assassins’ this semester,” said Annabelle, completely breezing by the question. “But it’s too late for you to join that.”

“I’m really not an actor,” said Viola. Annabelle shrugged. 

“People aren’t born actors. If you wanted to be an actor, you could be an actor.” She smiled. “I’m not proposing you hop on a bus to Hollywood, mind you, I’m just saying it’s an option. Garland is a good place to try something.” 

“California is too hot,” said Viola, even though she’d never been west of Atlanta. “I’d never make it there.” 

“If California is too hot, then you must be dying here,” offered Annabelle. 

“And that’s why I’m going to New York,” said Viola. Annabelle raised an eyebrow.

“For the weather?” 

“Maybe.” 

“You know,” said Annabelle, pushing her chair back and moving back into the kitchen, “we can keep talking in circles around this, but I think I’d get fired if I found a sobbing student at the bus stop and let them run off to another city without at least getting some kind of explanation.” She clicked on the burner. “Or at least assurances that you have some kind of plan.” Viola shifted in her seat. 

She had a plan. The plan was called ‘don’t die in Garland’, and it was a pretty good plan, thank you very much! It involved no drowning and no burning and absolutely zero punches thrown at her, and that was the kind of plan that she could get behind. That it took her somewhere it might snow once and a while? Just an added bonus. She’d seen snow twice in her life, and it had melted before she had the chance to enjoy it each time. 

“There’s people who rent rooms up there,” she said. Annabelle paused, shook her head, and then grabbed a pan from above the stove.

“You don’t have friends in New York?” she asked. Viola shifted again. 

“I’ll make friends,” she said. 

“Family?” asked Annabelle. 

“No,” said Viola. She might have a cousin in New York? Or maybe that was Newark? She could never really be sure. But family didn’t exactly feel like a fallback at this point. Annabelle opened her fridge and pulled out a tupperware container. 

“So,” said Annabelle. “Just to be clear, because I want to make sure that I’m getting this great plan of yours: you don’t know anyone in a city very far away, and your plan is to get on a bus, sobbing, and go live there for… I’m sorry, was this a permanent thing?” She started pouring the contents of the tupperware into the pan, which sizzled. 

“Well, I’ll make friends,” said Viola. Annabelle didn’t look over, but shook her head. 

“Do you know how expensive New York is?” she asked. 

“Yes,” said Viola. That had become obvious last night. Even the hostel she’d picked was going to cost a healthy portion of her savings. 

“And you’ve got the money for that,” said Annabelle. “And not just for a couple months, but for longer than that, because that’s how you end up out on the street.” 

“I’ll be fine,” said Viola. 

“Or,” said Annabelle, now gently pushing a spoon about the pan, “you won’t be.” 

“I’m very resourceful,” said Viola. Annabelle snorted. 

“I’m sure you are,” she said. Viola straightened her back.

“I am!” 

“Have you actually thought about this?” asked Annabelle. “I mean, not just imagined it, but thought about it? Whatever it is you’re running away from, you better be damn sure it’s worth it, because if you’re planning to completely start over, it’s a nightmare.” Viola blinked.

“Who said I’m running away from something?” she asked, a tad too quickly. Annabelle set the spoon on the counter, which didn’t look nearly clean enough for that, and popped a hand onto her hip. There weren’t any sunglasses anymore, but Viola could imagine her looking sternly over them well enough. 

“How good of a liar do you think you are?” she asked. “Because if you’re going to try to sell me something other than ‘running away from something’, you’d better be a damn good one.” Not that good. Definitely not that good. If she’d learned anything over the last month, it was ‘Viola Collins is not a good liar’. 

That and ‘Viola Collins is a girl’, but who was counting?

“It’s not… it’s not like, something I’m running away from,” said Viola, slowly. Taking care. She was taking care not to spill too much. Running away from Garland wasn’t that unbelievable. The hand didn’t move from Annabelle’s hip. Viola swallowed. “It’s just like… everything?” 

Oh yeah, that sounded like something a stable girl would say.

Annabelle lingered on her for a moment, then returned to the pan.

“And all of those problems, you know, everything, will go away in New York?” asked Annabelle. 

“Yes,” said Viola, again a tad too quickly. Bad liar bad liar bad liar bad-

“And it has to be New York?” asked Annabelle. 

“It just seemed as good a place as any,” said Viola. She’d picked New York because, well, New York? Duh? If you were going to run away, start over fresh, what better place to go than New York? Annabelle started pouring soy sauce into the pan.

“Okay,” said Annabelle, “okay, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to eat, and while we eat, you’re going to tell me everything. And I mean everything, Collins. You’re going to tell me every bit of it, and then, when you’re done, I’m going to give you an actual out if you want it.” She frowned. “And I’m going to suggest that you don’t, but I’m not going to let you on a bus to a strange city with no plan. So,” she clicked off the burner and tipped the pan’s contents into a plate. Then, she grabbed two forks and slid the plate to the center of the table, “start talking.” 

Viola took a breath. Then, she took a fork.

Better this than nothing, right? And, okay, she still wasn’t exactly sure how to treat this situation, given that Annabelle was some random professor, but here they were. 

To be honest, Viola was… tired. She was tired and she was scared, and she wanted an adult to sort everything out because she was not a fucking adult, no matter what her fake ID said. Or her real one. But all the adults she knew, the ones who were supposed to be able to help her, were pretty much entirely useless. Useless or worse. 

And with anything else, she would have gone to the girls. They were the people she was supposed to go to. Margot and Anna and Lucy. Between the four of them, they could normally come up with something. But she couldn’t even tell them. 

She’d been holding onto this, alone, for the better part of a week, and she was tired, and she was scared, and there was this woman here who wanted to help. And if it went wrong, and Annabelle Bridges freaked out the way most people ought to, she’d just get on that bus anyway. She’d just go. 

And if she could actually help?

“I honestly don’t know what you could do,” she said. Annabelle picked up the other fork and started poking at the little plate of stir fry between them. 

“Well, at the very least, I can get you a place to stay if you have to go,” she said. “You’d have to settle for Providence, but you wouldn’t be completely helpless.” 

“Really?” Viola immediately knew that the words sounded too desperate, but she couldn’t stop that. Providence? That was in Rhode Island, she was pretty sure. Whatever. It wasn’t here. Annabelle frowned.

“That’s a last resort,” she said. “A very last resort. First, I want you to tell me exactly what’s going on.” 

Viola stabbed at a bit of chicken. Annabelle hadn’t left in the pan near long enough for it to be entirely warm. Just the bottom. How wonderful that her savior didn’t even know how to reheat something.

God, her Shakespeare Professor. She was going to have to relay this to her fucking Shakespeare Professor. 

“Have you…” She started like Lucy had started. But Annabelle Bridges certainly knew plenty about Twelfth Night. That was the job, wasn’t it? To know Twelfth Night? “You know Twelfth Night.” 

Annabelle nearly choked on whatever improperly cooked bit was in her mouth, coughing heavily. Viola went wide eyed and pushed her chair back. 

“No,” said Annabelle, holding a hand out, still coughing. “No, no it’s fine.” She fumbled for her coffee, found it, and swallowed a gulp. Viola gave her a moment to settle. Then, she licked her lips.

“That’s a yes, then,” she said, gingerly. Annabelle, taking steadying breaths, nodded.

“Yes, yes, I know Twelfth Night,” she said. “I just… well, it’s quite the way to… start an explanation.” She raised an eyebrow at Viola. “And it implies… well, it implies something.” Viola nodded. She’d gathered that much lately.

“I know Twelfth Night, too,” she offered. “Um, sort of intimately?” She shook her head. “Well, I haven’t actually read the play, but I’ve been given the Sparknotes of it. And I’ve been given the themes, at least, and the names.” Both of Annabelle’s eyebrows went at that. 

“Because… because Sebastian,” started Annabelle. Viola nodded again. She closed her eyes, fidgeted with her fingers. Nodded again, and then opened them. 

“And,” she said, “because Viola.” She held up her hands, just a little, as if to say ‘Voila!’. She worried it was a little too subtle. Barely a coming out at all. Annabelle stared at her.

Then covered her mouth.

And then started laughing. 

Viola held her breath. 

Annabelle held out a hand, shaking her head. 

“Oh,” she said, recovering just a little, the noises still coming, “oh, please tell me you didn’t name yourself Viola. I mean, it’s a perfectly good name. It’s just… oh, you just cannot do that.” She was still giggling a little.

Viola let out her breath. Then, she giggled too.

Fuck. Fuck, god, was that her only question? The name? Viola had her issues with the poetry of the name, and if that was the only issue, then, god, fuck, maybe Annabelle Bridges… maybe she might help. Maybe she might actually help her.

But the name.

“I didn’t really come up with it,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “Um, do you know Lucy Oresco?” Annabelle snorted and the laughing renewed itself.

“Yes,” she said. “Yeah, that makes sense.” She shook her head. “God, well, that’s kind of perfect. Not the name, I mean.” Viola was still smiling, but her heart was racing a little.

“Why?” she asked. Annabelle Bridges leaned back in her chair, fork waving around in the air, grinning broadly. 

“Because, if you’re looking for someone to help you, I’m the most overqualified woman on campus.” 

“Why…” repeated Viola, her brow furrowing. Annabelle stabbed at a piece of undercooked pepper, held it up, and laughed. 

“Because, Viola, I’ve been you. I am you.” She shook her head. “Except I’ve got fifteen years to the good. That, and I know Shakespeare a bit better.”