She laughs. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I put my pillow over my face and breathe in its dead goose-iness. “Sorry, I’m literally so sleep deprived and so caffeinated.”

Abigail sighs. “I’m worried, Cham. It feels like you’ve been so distant.”

“Yeah, things are just kinda weird.”

“Nicaragua might be good for you.” Silence. “Why are you so against it anyway?”

I’m so tired that I don’t care when the truth comes out. I remove the pillow from my face. “Because I can’t be out of reach if something happens with my dad. I can’t go off on this big adventure while his world is getting smaller and smaller.”

I hear her sharp intake of breath. “Oh, right, shit, I’m so sorry I didn’t put that together.”

I wipe my eyes, which are not tearing up but rather producing salt water for shits and giggles. “It’s okay,” I say. “I didn’t put a lot of things together.” Brendan’s words come to mind and I decide to latch onto his reasoning. It’s less painful than my personal one. “Besides, I don’t know why we have to go on a disguised-vacation just to ‘do good.’ There are enough people suffering right here. Everyone’s doing it so they have something to tell college people. It’s a little bit disgusting.”

“Isn’t it better to help someone for kinda shitty reasons than not to help someone at all?”

I pick up the straw I just rolled over, remove a piece of lint from it, and blow air into my hand. “I guess? But maybe if we didn’t go on these fancy trips and stuff, we’d be forced to help the people we know who need it the most. You know, the people we’re always turning away from who are right here.”

There’s a throat-clearing noise on her end. Then—

“Shit, Cham, I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes and rest my chin on my pillow.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that.” I sigh and itch my eyes. “I guess I’m kinda delirious. What time is it?”

She groans. “Three forty-five.”

More silence. “I’m gonna try to sleep for the next two hours. See you soon?” I say to Abigail. “And text me about coordinating outfits. I won’t be that idiot who actually wears her uniform on the last day.”

“Of course,” she says. “Next time I see you, we’ll be so close to the end!”

“So close,” I agree. “Night, Abigail.”

“Night, Cham.”

I hang up hoping that over the next few days I can train the fear in my voice to sound like excitement. It’s finally actually really happening. Graduation. Life. Every. Freaking. Thing.

Even after I hang up and brush my teeth and pet the objects in my senior year time capsule, I can’t sleep. I end up staying awake all night watching the stars move. Not that I can see them moving, but they are, and that’s reassuring.

Dear Universe,