Fangirl

she said.
    Nick looked down at her, his eyebrows pulled together in one thick stripe. His eyes were that color you can’t see in the rainbow. Indigo.
    “Nope,” he said. “I never feel like that.”
    She laughed and shook her head.
    “The words come out of me like Spider-Man’s webbing.” Nick held out his hands and touched his middle fingers to his palms. “Fffffssh.”
    Cath tried to laugh, but yawned instead.
    “Come on,” he said, “it’s midnight.”
    She gathered up her books. Nick always took the notebook. It was his notebook after all, and he worked on the story between library dates. (Or meetings or whatever these were.)
    When they got outside, it was much colder than Cath was expecting. “See you tomorrow,” Nick said as he walked away. “Maybe Piper’ll have our papers done.”
    Cath nodded and got out her phone to call her room.
    “Hey,” someone said softly.
    She jumped back. It was just Levi—leaning against the lamppost like the archetypical “man leaning against lamppost.”
    “You’re always done at midnight.” He smiled. “I thought I’d beat you to the punch. Too cold out here to stand around waiting.”
    “Thanks,” she said, walking past him toward the dorms.
    Levi was uncharacteristically quiet. “So that’s your study partner?” he asked once they were halfway back to Pound.
    “Yeah,” Cath said into her scarf. She felt her breath, wet and freezing in the wool. “Do you know him?”
    “Seen him around.”
    Cath was quiet. It was too cold to talk, and she was more tired than usual.
    “He ever offer to walk you home?”
    “I’ve never asked,” Cath said quickly. “I’ve never asked you either.”
    “That’s true,” Levi said.
    More quiet. More cold.
    The air stung Cath’s throat when she finally spoke again. “So maybe you shouldn’t.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Levi said. “That wasn’t my point.”
    *   *   *
    The first time she saw Wren that week, at lunch with Courtney, all Cath could think was, So this is what you look like when you’re keeping a giant secret from me—exactly the same as usual.
    Cath wondered if Wren was ever planning to talk to her about … what their dad had brought up. She wondered how many other important things Wren wasn’t telling her. And when had this started? When had Wren started filtering what she told Cath?
    I can do that, too, Cath thought, I can keep secrets. But Cath didn’t have any secrets, and she didn’t want to keep anything from Wren. Not when it felt so good, so easy, to know that when she was with Wren, she didn’t have to worry about a filter.
    She kept waiting for a chance to talk to Wren without Courtney, but Courtney was always around. (And always talking about the most inane things possible. Like her life was an audition for an MTV reality show.)
    Finally, after a few days, Cath decided to walk to class with Wren after lunch, even though it might make her late.
    “What’s up?” Wren asked as soon as Courtney was on her merry way to Economics. It had started snowing—a wet snow.
    “You know I went home last weekend…,” Cath said.
    “Yeah. How’s Dad?”
    “Fine … good, actually. He’s pitching Gravioli.”
    “Gravioli? That’s huge.”
    “I know. And he seemed into it. And there was nothing else—I mean, everything seemed fine.”
    “I told you he didn’t need us,” Wren said.
    Cath snorted. “He obviously needs us. If he had a cat, the man would be one bad day away from Grey Gardens. I think he eats all of his meals at QuikTrip, and he’s sleeping on the couch.”
    “I thought you said he was doing good.”
    “Well. For Dad. You should come home with me next time.”
    “Next time is Thanksgiving. I think I’ll be there.”
    Cath stopped. They were almost to Wren’s next class, and Cath hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet. “Dad told me … that he’d already told you…”
    Wren exhaled like she knew what was coming. “Yeah.”
    “He said you were thinking about it.”
    “I am.”
    “Why?” Cath tried really hard to say it without whining.
    “Because.” Wren hitched up her backpack. “Because she’s our mom. And I’m thinking about it.”
    “But…” It wasn’t that Cath couldn’t think of an argument. It was that there were so many. The arguments in her brain were like a swarm of people running from a burning building and getting stuck in the door. “But she’ll just mess everything up.”
    “She already messed everything