Fangirl

“It’s Cath,” she said.

“Are you sure?” He ran a hand through his hair. Like he was confirming that it was still messy. “Because I really like Cather.”

“I’m sure,” she said flatly. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”

He stood there, waiting for her to open the door.

“Is Reagan here?” Cath asked.

“If Reagan were here”—he smiled—“I’d already be inside.”

Cath pinched her key but didn’t open the door. She wasn’t up for this. She was already overdosing on new and other today. Right now she just wanted to curl up on her strange, squeaky bed and inhale three protein bars. She looked over the boy’s shoulder. “When is she getting here?”

He shrugged.

Cath’s stomach clenched. “Well, I can’t just let you in,” she blurted.

“Why not?”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “We met yesterday. I was in the room when you met me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know you. I don’t even know Reagan.”

“Are you going to make her wait outside, too?”

“Look…” Cath said. “I can’t just let strange guys into my room. I don’t even know your name. This whole situation is too rapey.”

“Rapey?”

“You understand,” she said, “right?”

He dropped an eyebrow and shook his head, still smiling. “Not really. But now I don’t want to come in with you. The word ‘rapey’ makes me uncomfortable.”

“Me, too,” she said gratefully.

He leaned against the wall and slid back onto the floor, looking up at her. Then he held up his hand. “I’m Levi, by the way.”

Cath frowned and took his hand lightly, still holding her keys. “Okay,” she said, then opened the door and closed it as quickly as possible behind her.

She grabbed her laptop and her protein bars, and crawled into the corner of her bed.

*   *   *

Cath was trying to pace her side of the room, but there wasn’t enough floor. It already felt like a prison in here, especially now that Reagan’s boyfriend, Levi, was standing guard—or sitting guard, whatever—out in the hall. Cath would feel better if she could just talk to somebody. She wondered if it was too soon to call Wren.…

She called her dad instead. And left a voice mail.

She texted Abel. “hey. one down. what up?”

She opened her sociology book. Then opened her laptop. Then got up to open a window. It was warm out. People were chasing each other with Nerf guns outside a fraternity house across the street. Pi-Kappa-Weird-Looking O.

Cath pulled out her phone and dialed.

“Hey,” Wren answered, “how was your first day?”

“Fine. How was yours?”

“Good,” Wren said. Wren always managed to sound breezy and nonchalant. “I mean, nerve-racking, I guess. I went to the wrong building for Statistics.”

“That sucks.”

The door opened, and Reagan and Levi walked in. Reagan gave Cath an odd look, but Levi just smiled.

“Yeah,” Wren said. “It only made me a few minutes late, but I still felt so stupid—Hey, Courtney and I are on our way to di

“I’ll find it,” Cath said.

“Okay, cool. See you then.”

“Cool,” Cath said, pressing End and putting her phone in her pocket.

Levi had already unfurled himself across Reagan’s bed.

“Make yourself useful,” Reagan said, throwing a crumpled-up sheet at him. “Hey,” she said to Cath.

“Hey,” Cath said. She stood there for a minute, waiting for some sort of conversation to happen, but Reagan didn’t seem interested. She was going through all her boxes, like she was looking for something.

“How was your first day?” Levi asked.

It took a second for Cath to realize he was talking to her. “Fine,” she said.

“You’re a freshman, right?” He was making Reagan’s bed. Cath wondered if he was pla

He was still looking at her, smiling at her, so she nodded.

“Did you find all your classes?”

“Yeah…”

“Are you meeting people?”

Yeah, she thought, you people.

“Not intentionally,” she said.

She heard Reagan snort.

“Where are your pillowcases?” Levi asked the closet.

“Boxes,” Reagan said.

He started emptying a box, setting things on Reagan’s desk as if he knew where they went. His head hung forward like it was only loosely co

“So, what are you studying?” he asked Cath.

“English,” she said, then waited too long to say, “What are you studying?”

He seemed delighted to be asked the question. Or any question. “Range management.”

Cath didn’t know what that meant, but she didn’t want to ask.

“Please don’t start talking about range management,” Reagan groaned. “Let’s just make that a rule, for the rest of the year. No talking about range management in my room.”

“It’s Cather’s room, too,” Levi said.

“Cath,” Reagan corrected him.

“What about when you’re not here?” he asked Reagan. “Can we talk about range management when you’re not actually in the room?”

“When I’m not actually in the room…,” she said, “I think you’re going to be waiting out in the hall.”

Cath smiled at the back of Reagan’s head. Then she saw Levi watching her and stopped.

*   *   *

Everyone in the classroom looked like this was what they’d been waiting for all week. It was like they were all waiting for a concert to start. Or a midnight movie premiere.

When Professor Piper walked in, a few minutes late, the first thing Cath noticed was that she was smaller than she looked in the photos on her book jackets.

Maybe that was stupid. They were just head shots, after all. But Professor Piper really filled them up—with her high cheekbones; her wide, watered-down blue eyes; and a spectacular head of long brown hair.

In person, the professor’s hair was just as spectacular, but streaked with gray and a little bushier than in the pictures. She was so small, she had to do a little hop to sit on top of her desk.

“So,” she said instead of “hello.” “Welcome to Fiction-Writing. I recognize a few of you—” She smiled around the room at people who weren’t Cath.

Cath was clearly the only freshman in the room. She was just starting to figure out what marked the freshmen.… The too-new backpacks. Makeup on the girls. Jokey Hot Topic T-shirts on the boys.

Everything on Cath, from her new red Vans to the dark purple eyeglasses she’d picked out at Target. All the upperclassmen wore heavy black Ray-Ban frames. All the professors, too. If Cath got a pair of black Ray-Bans, she could probably order a gin and tonic around here without getting carded.

“Well,” Professor Piper said. “I’m glad you’re all here.” Her voice was warm and breathy—you could say “she purred” without reaching too far—and she talked just softly enough that everyone had to sit really still to hear her.

“We have a lot to do this semester,” she said, “so let’s not waste another minute of it. Let’s dive right in.” She leaned forward on the desk, holding on to the lip. “Are you ready? Will you dive with me?”

Most people nodded. Cath looked down at her notebook.

“Okay. Let’s start with a question that doesn’t really have an answer.… Why do we write fiction?”

One of the older students, a guy, decided he was game. “To express ourselves,” he offered.

“Sure,” Professor Piper said. “Is that why you write?”

The guy nodded.

“Okay … why else?”

“Because we like the sound of our own voices,” a girl said. She had hair like Wren’s, but maybe even cooler. She looked like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby (wearing a pair of Ray-Bans).