If looks could kill, Professor McPherson’s would laser the shit out of Leila. “No.”

“I was just wondering because some of us are extremely busy. I, myself, am double-majoring.” Leila looks around, expecting a round of applause or some shit. “And—”

“Ms. Casablanca, this is important. One day, you could be the freshly graduated CIA student putting their entire heart and soul into an exhibit on this very campus that nurtured your talents, so being engaged and supportive members of the art and CIA communities is not just expected. It’s good karma. Of course, I can’t force your attendance, but …”

She leaves it there, dismissing us.

Leila and I are the last to clean up our spaces. She’s lingering and stealing quick glances my way. This time she seems different. Hesitant.

I mirror the slow pace of her movements to see what she does next.

She takes a deep breath and whisper-counts to ten, psyching herself up to talk to me. I haven’t seen her do that in a long, long time. Leila is always so fearless.

Suddenly I’m struck by a longing for the way things used to be between us back when we used to laugh and cry together, for a Leila-Chase dance party to bad 2000s pop music together. When our friendship was good, it was amazing. But our breakup destroyed me.

A part of me wants to talk first, but I always spoke up and apologized first.

“How’s the short coming?” My voice shakes. Old habits die hard.

She bites the inside of her cheeks. “It’s coming.”

Typical Leila answer. She wouldn’t tell me if she were struggling, not really, not after everything that’s happened. The real fears, the stuff that spreads like mold in the dark, she’ll keep to herself, locked in a vault I no longer have the code to.

“Chloe and Sofía seem really great,” she adds. “I’m not so sure my junior partners get what I’m trying to do.”

“What are you trying to do?” I wince because I know that sounded bitchy as hell.

Her body stiffens. I steady my voice, put on my Concerned Former Friend hat. “I mean, like, what do you want them to see?”

“You know, the rejection of our capitalistic society and how anyone who dreams they can escape the predetermined plans will always fail and end up a victim of that society,” she says, and I half expect her to add something petty and patronizing, but all she says is, “I don’t know,” and rummages through her overflowing backpack.