That was true. Bridgette had researched Edith Head and learned that the famous designer had begun her working life as a French teacher in Hollywood, but Bridgette hoped to be offered an internship based on more than the language they shared. Feeling another jab of irritation with Gladys, she said, “Let’s go get some lunch,” and took a final look at her creation before drawing a protective muslin sack over the form, one of many such shrouded dress stands about the room. Beneath their protective hoods were the formal evening entries of the other competitors. They looked like ranks of headless ghosts, each standing apart from the others, silent, wary, and threatening. Bridgette was the last exhibitor to check her design, and they were alone in the room but for the student assistant who would sit guard until two o’clock, when the door would be locked until it was time for the staff and student designers to prepare for the style show that Saturday evening.

“All set?” the assistant asked as Bridgette and Gladys gathered their purses to leave.

“All set,” Bridgette said. “We’re going to the dining hall.”

The assistant snapped her book shut. “Great. You girls are the last, so I’ll lock up the shop and go get some lunch myself after I drop off the room keys in the chairman’s door box.”

“We’ll wait for you if you care to join us,” Gladys said, the invitation surprising Bridgette. Whenever possible, she liked to keep Bridgette to herself.

On the way across the parklike campus, crowded today with groups of family members and friends arrived for graduation week and commencement on Sunday, Bridgette looked around at her alma mater. She would be forever grateful for the all-inclusive scholarship that had made it possible to pursue her dream of a degree in fashion illustration and design, but she wondered if she would ever return to Stephens. She’d always concentrated on the here and now with an eye to the future. She had made friends at Stephens, but she expected time to break those college ties as roads led on to other roads, new places, new faces. She was one to be grateful for the memories of the old but was eager for opportunities to make new ones. Gladys, on the other hand, never missed a school reunion. She clung to every person, place, and thing that had ever been a part of her life, possibly because they represented safety and security and familiarity and spared her the risks of the unknown. Bridgette realized, sadly, that perhaps her childhood friend was right to wonder if they’d remain as close as they were.

Gladys asked as if she’d read her thoughts, “We’ll always be best friends, right, Bridge?”

A trace of irritation with her friend still lingered. “If time and distance allow it,” she said.