wrong?” she asks in alarm.
“Where are you right now?”
“In my room. Why?”
“At Yale?” I hold my breath, praying. Please let her be here, please let her be here.
“Of course at Yale, silly. Where else would I be?” I experience a brief flash of relief. Caitlin’s here. Caitlin, who has an answer for everything. She’ll have an answer for this. Everything is going to be fine. “Abby?” Caitlin’s voice is tinged with worry. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath. “I know it sounds crazy,” I begin. “But . . . I think I’m here, too. At Yale.”
Caitlin laughs. “You had me worried there for a sec. I thought something was seriously wrong.” Her voice sounds breezy now. Light. “It is sorta surreal though, huh? Our being here together.”
“How long have I been here?” I whisper.
“What do you mean? We got here a week ago Friday. Hey, are you all right?” The worry is back.
I am reeling. Caitlin is acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world for me to be here. Caitlin, the most rational person I know. My panic quickly becomes dread. Something is very wrong. Either that, or:
“Is this some sort of joke?”
“Is what a joke?” Caitlin sounds genuinely confused now. “Abby, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
I am most definitely not okay. My mind charges forward, tearing through every imaginable possibility. The problem is, there aren’t very many. Either I’m dreaming or hallucinating or crazy. Or everyone else is.
“I’m coming over there,” Caitlin says. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“No!” I say quickly, louder than I intended. “I mean, no . . . that’s okay. I’m fine,” I lie. I want Caitlin’s help, but first I need some time to think.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I just had a really weird dream, that’s all.” One I can’t wake up from.
“Abby.”
“I’m fine!” I repeat, struggling to keep my voice as light as possible. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“We’re shopping Art History at eleven fifteen, right?” She still sounds unsure.
“Yep!” I say this with all the enthusiasm I can muster.
“Okay, cool.” Her voice returns to normal. “There’s a chem class I want to check out at ten thirty, so is it okay if I just meet you at McNeil?”
“Sure,” I say, already distracted. It’s ten fifteen now. That gives me an hour to figure out what the hell happened last night.
“’Kay, see you then.”
As soon as I press the end button, a text pops up on my screen.
Tyler: HAPPY BDAY BARNES. WELCOME TO THE BEST YEAR OF YOUR LIFE.
Ten minutes in, “best” is not the word I’d use.
I grab what looks like my laptop and shove it into the satchel hanging on the back of the desk chair, along with my wallet and phone. I’m about to leave the bedroom when I realize I should probably get dressed first. After surveying my closet, I go with the jeans I got for Christmas last year, my favorite white V-neck, and a snuggly brown cardigan I’ve never seen before. As I’m leaving the bedroom, my roomie returns from her shower.
“We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?” she asks. “I was thinking I’d invite a friend of Ben’s to come with.”
“Sure, sounds great.” I don’t have time to make birthday plans. Or figure out who Ben is.
“Eight o’clock at Samurai Sushi? Ben’s train gets in at seven thirty.”
I nod distractedly, checking around the room to make sure I have everything I need. My eyes land on a key card with my picture and a bar code on it. I grab it. “Okay, awesome,” the girl is saying. “I’ll make a reservation. Oh! Before you go . . .” She retrieves a tan envelope from her desk drawer and hands it to me. “This is for you.” I turn the envelope over in my hands. The words For Abby, Love, Marissa are handwritten in crisp black letters on the front. “Open it,” says Marissa, nudging me with her elbow. “And please don’t say I
“Where are you right now?”
“In my room. Why?”
“At Yale?” I hold my breath, praying. Please let her be here, please let her be here.
“Of course at Yale, silly. Where else would I be?” I experience a brief flash of relief. Caitlin’s here. Caitlin, who has an answer for everything. She’ll have an answer for this. Everything is going to be fine. “Abby?” Caitlin’s voice is tinged with worry. “What’s going on?”
I take a deep breath. “I know it sounds crazy,” I begin. “But . . . I think I’m here, too. At Yale.”
Caitlin laughs. “You had me worried there for a sec. I thought something was seriously wrong.” Her voice sounds breezy now. Light. “It is sorta surreal though, huh? Our being here together.”
“How long have I been here?” I whisper.
“What do you mean? We got here a week ago Friday. Hey, are you all right?” The worry is back.
I am reeling. Caitlin is acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world for me to be here. Caitlin, the most rational person I know. My panic quickly becomes dread. Something is very wrong. Either that, or:
“Is this some sort of joke?”
“Is what a joke?” Caitlin sounds genuinely confused now. “Abby, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
I am most definitely not okay. My mind charges forward, tearing through every imaginable possibility. The problem is, there aren’t very many. Either I’m dreaming or hallucinating or crazy. Or everyone else is.
“I’m coming over there,” Caitlin says. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“No!” I say quickly, louder than I intended. “I mean, no . . . that’s okay. I’m fine,” I lie. I want Caitlin’s help, but first I need some time to think.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “I just had a really weird dream, that’s all.” One I can’t wake up from.
“Abby.”
“I’m fine!” I repeat, struggling to keep my voice as light as possible. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”
“We’re shopping Art History at eleven fifteen, right?” She still sounds unsure.
“Yep!” I say this with all the enthusiasm I can muster.
“Okay, cool.” Her voice returns to normal. “There’s a chem class I want to check out at ten thirty, so is it okay if I just meet you at McNeil?”
“Sure,” I say, already distracted. It’s ten fifteen now. That gives me an hour to figure out what the hell happened last night.
“’Kay, see you then.”
As soon as I press the end button, a text pops up on my screen.
Tyler: HAPPY BDAY BARNES. WELCOME TO THE BEST YEAR OF YOUR LIFE.
Ten minutes in, “best” is not the word I’d use.
I grab what looks like my laptop and shove it into the satchel hanging on the back of the desk chair, along with my wallet and phone. I’m about to leave the bedroom when I realize I should probably get dressed first. After surveying my closet, I go with the jeans I got for Christmas last year, my favorite white V-neck, and a snuggly brown cardigan I’ve never seen before. As I’m leaving the bedroom, my roomie returns from her shower.
“We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?” she asks. “I was thinking I’d invite a friend of Ben’s to come with.”
“Sure, sounds great.” I don’t have time to make birthday plans. Or figure out who Ben is.
“Eight o’clock at Samurai Sushi? Ben’s train gets in at seven thirty.”
I nod distractedly, checking around the room to make sure I have everything I need. My eyes land on a key card with my picture and a bar code on it. I grab it. “Okay, awesome,” the girl is saying. “I’ll make a reservation. Oh! Before you go . . .” She retrieves a tan envelope from her desk drawer and hands it to me. “This is for you.” I turn the envelope over in my hands. The words For Abby, Love, Marissa are handwritten in crisp black letters on the front. “Open it,” says Marissa, nudging me with her elbow. “And please don’t say I
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