And just like that, I find myself turning on the lights and joining her in the empty room. We both sit pretzel style on top of desks, across from each other, as I unpack the meeting with Mr. Vu in a single continuous vomit that she seems to follow completely, blinking at every new chunk I drop at her feet.

“Uh,” she asks when I finally exhale. “Okay: so that was just a long way of saying that Columbia is a long shot for you. How very dramatic. What are your safeties?”

For some reason, her matter-of-fact tone is easier to answer than Mr. Vu’s sympathetic one.

She fishes a bag of chips out of her bag, opens it, and tilts it my way. Kale chips, of course.

“Let’s see. Brown, Duke, U Penn, McGill, Oberlin, and City College here as my backup. NYU’s financial aid is horrible, so that wasn’t worth the application fee.”

She doesn’t make too much of the financial aid slip, thank God, and reaches into her bag again. “Well, if you hadn’t avoided me all week, I could have given this to you earlier. Here.” She hands me a heavy, purple three-ring binder. Every college worth the name seems to be indexed in here. “I’m tired of carrying it around school. It’s a loan, and I expect it returned in pristine condition.”

“T-thank you. Jeez. I thought Mr. Vu was prepared.”

“Oh, he’s a very good resource, but I went for a more comprehensive take. Websites, testimonies, studies, research, and FATE alum experiences,” she says, flicking the labeled sheet separators as she flips through the binder. “But what’s important here is that there are other colleges beyond the Ivies. They just don’t have the centuries of patriarchal branding.”

The founder and CEO of Uptown Updogs knows the value of good marketing.

“What about McGill?” she offers. “It’s very affordable.”

“Canada,” I answer flatly, which earns me a raised eyebrow.

“They have airports up there now, I hear,” she deadpans.

“Look, I only applied because Mr. Vu got me a waiver for the application fee. And they have a pretty cool design program,” I say, absentmindedly flipping through the binder.

“Design? What, like, architecture?”

“No, more like patterns and textiles and stuff. A bit of fashion.”

Corinne gives me a look meaning for me to go on.

I sigh and fish out my phone.

“Cute,” she comments, and I realize that she’s referring to my current wallpaper, which is, appropriately enough, a vintage newspaper ad scan of two rottweiler puppies pulling on the laces of a sleek, black-and-white Slam Jam x Nike Blazer sneaker, Class 1977. I always loved that photo.