“That’s not fair to you, though.” Kate went to the bed and sat down beside her.

“Remember Firefly Lane?” Tully said, lowering her voice. Over the years those words had become a catchall phrase, a kind of shorthand for their memories. It was their way of saying that a friendship begun at fourteen, back when David Cassidy was groovy and a song could make you cry, would last forever.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“But you don’t get it,” Tully said.

“Get what?”

“When my mom dumped me, who was there for me? When my gran died, who held my hand and took me in?” She turned to Kate. “You. That’s the answer. We’re a team, Kate. Forever friends, no matter what. Okay?” She bumped Kate, made her smile.

“You always get your way.”

Tully laughed. “Of course I do. It’s one of my more endearing traits. Now let’s figure out what we’re going to wear for the first day . . .”

________

The University of Washington was everything Tully had hoped it would be and more. Spread out over several miles and comprised of hundreds of gothic buildings, it was a world unto itself. The size daunted Kate, but not Tully; she figured if she could triumph here, she could triumph anywhere. From the moment they moved into their sorority, she began preparing for a reporting job at the networks. In addition to taking the core classes in communications, she made time to read at least four newspapers a day and watch as many newscasts as possible. When her big break came, she was going to be ready.

It had taken her most of the first few weeks of school to get her bearings and figure out what Phase One of the academic plan should be. She’d met with her School of Communications advisor so often that he sometimes avoided her in the hall when he saw her coming, but she didn’t care. When she had questions, she wanted answers.

The problem, once again, was her youth. She couldn’t get into the upper-level broadcasting or journalism classes; no amount of cajoling or prodding could move the behemoth bureaucracy of this huge state school. She simply had to wait her turn.

Not something she was good at.

She leaned sideways and whispered to Kate, “Why is there a science requirement? I won’t need geology to be a reporter.”

“Shhh.”

Tully frowned and sat back in her chair. They were in Kane Hall, one of the biggest auditoriums on campus. From her chair in the nose-bleed section, crammed in among almost five hundred other students, she could barely see the professor, who’d turned out not to be a professor at all, but rather his teaching assistant.

“We can buy lecture notes. Let’s go. The newspaper office opens at ten.”

Kate didn’t even glance at her, just kept scribbling notes on her paper.