“Thanks.” I take it from her and examine its cover. The pretty cursive font fills most of the navy-blue background. “For giving a shit,” I add.

“One more thing before I forget…” She wipes a bit of condensation off the fancy water container. “The whole reason I came over here was to say I enjoyed reading your essay scraps.” What essay—? I start, then shut my fat mouth before I even open it. “For that, combined with your presentation, you’ll be getting a passing grade from me, which means you’re good to go on Senior Volunteer Trip.” She smiles at me and pats me on the back. “I wanted to tell you in person before you get the e-mail from Mr. Garcia.”

“Well, thank you,” I say as my tiny brain tries to process its future. I turn the book over in my hands.

“Just wondering, though: You had so much there. Why didn’t you finish it?”

I help myself to another glass of water, even though it probably doesn’t come as a shock that vegetable water tastes like garden runoff. “Same reason I couldn’t start it for so long, I guess. I’m not ready yet.” I study the painted wall behind Evelyn’s head. There’s something soothing about the repeating pattern of flowers, so pretty and unspecific. I tear my eyes away to look at her, then down at the book, which is the less intimidating of the two. “Finishing the essay means finishing high school, preparing to move on to something else, literally applying to the next thing. I don’t know what that is yet, and it feels fake to pretend.”

“Fair enough,” she says, studying me. I imagine I’m quite a sight in the lobby of this country club, with my nesty hair, white dress, and orange sneakers. We’re quiet for a moment, and at first she looks like she’s going to say something, but then she salutes me. “I’m gonna go back inside and make sure no one’s launching spitballs through their soda straws. Or fornicating under the table.”

“Ew,” I laugh. “I’m gonna examine the bathroom wallpaper until dinner is over.”

“Enjoy the night, Cham.”

“Thanks, you too.” As she walks away toward the regal doors that separate us from the dance floor and the dinner tables and the rest of the night, I have a tiny feeling I might miss her. Might.

Safely inside the heavily Febrezed bathroom stall, I gather my dress up, put the toilet seat down, and make myself comfortable. I address the ceiling with the fiercest face my eyebrows can muster.

“Universe, help me. I’m freaking terrified.” I sink into the toilet and wait for lightning to strike. “I have not applied to college. I don’t even know if I can go to college. And now that I can go to Nicaragua, I have to decide about it, which is just like shitfuckgoddamn. Just tell me what to do. Please?” I push the door of the tampon receptacle in and out, making a squeaky, clanking song of impatience. “Universe?” I whisper tentatively. “Don’t be a mega-asshole.”