I’ve done a few stop-motion films with our combined dolls. My favorite is the one where my Prince Naveen doll from The Princess and the Frog and Kristoff from Frozen get glammed in subtle frosty make-up and play husbands whose lives come apart when they both fall for the same gender-ambiguous Ken doll. Until they become a throuple. It was avant-garde. High fashion. Art. And very, very gay. It was kind of major when it went viral. I included it in my portfolio alongside another viral short, and I think it elevated my college application. Who said you can’t make your obsessions work for you?

I wonder if Taylor will still put on Barbie fashion shows without me.

“You’ll come home for my birthday, right?” she asks.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I have no idea if Mom will be able to afford a bus ticket home in October, so close to Thanksgiving break, but I’ll walk if I have to. I’ll just have to convince Rae, who has her car at Laurene, to come with me. Taylor is obsessed with her, and Rae has always thought of Taylor as a little sister, so it should be an easy ask. I kiss the top of her forehead. “Love you, sis.”

Taylor whispers, “Go find your adventure.”

Adventure is our code name for love. Because I’m that desperate that we had to find a way to talk about my love life all the time without me seeming like an obsessive mess. It might be super weak and cliché and cheesy, but all I want is to fall in love. Have an adventure. But I’m me, which means I’ll probably graduate a loveless virgin.

Taylor knows I daydream about falling in love, and she’s never judged me for it. Probably because she witnessed the dissolution of our parents’ marriage, too, so to us, nothing is more far-fetched and magical than finding actual love, the kind that doesn’t up and leave at the first sign of trouble, but instead holds your hand on the battlefield. It’s an adventure we know nothing about.

“Don’t become an asshole,” she says, peeling herself off me and slumping to the car.

“Don’t become a mean girl,” I say back.

“Boo, you whore,” she says in her best Regina George.

Mom clenches her jaw. “Language! My god, you kids!”

“What?” I say, “You showed us that movie.”

Mom opens the car door and leans on top of it, clearly not wanting to get in. Then she looks at Taylor and says, “Get in, loser, we’re going home.”

“Oh, burn,” I say. Mom always did love a good movie reference.

This is a good moment to walk away. End it on a funny, happy Mean Girls line. I blow an air kiss, suck in a breath, and make my way back toward the dorm.

I don’t turn back, nor do I stop walking, until I’m barreling down the hallway toward my suite. I can’t. If I stop, I’ll go back, and they’ll be gone.