It should be easy to say. They’d been girls all those years ago when they’d chosen to embark on their tandem life. In the years between then and now, the world had changed so much. The war in Vietnam had been lost, Nixon had resigned, Mount St. Helens had blown up, and cocaine had become the Chex mix for a new generation of partygoers. The U.S. hockey team had pulled off a miracle win at the Olympics and a B-rate actor was president. Dreams could hardly remain static in such uncertain times.

She simply had to stand up to Tully, for once, and tell her the truth, say, Those are your dreams, Tully, and I’m proud of you, but I’m not fourteen anymore and I can’t follow you forever.

“Maybe today,” she said aloud, dragging her backpack along beside her as she walked through the gray, foggy campus.

If only she really had a dream of her own, something to replace the twin-TV news stars. Tully might accept that; Kate’s vague, I don’t know, wouldn’t hold much water with Tropical Storm Tully.

On the edge of campus, she merged into the stream of kids and crossed the street, smiling and waving at friends as she passed them. At the sorority house, she went right to the living room, where girls sat packed like hot dogs on the sofas and chairs and on every patch of the celery-green carpet.

She tossed her backpack to the floor and found a spot on the floor between Charlotte and Mary Kay. “Has it started?”

About thirty people shushed her as the General Hospital theme music started. Laura’s face filled the screen. She looked beautiful and dewy-eyed in a gorgeous white headdress. A collective sigh went around the room.

Then Luke appeared in his gray morning suit, smiling at his bride-to-be.

Just then, the sorority door banged open. “Kate!” Tully yelled, walking into the room.

“Ssshhh,” everyone said at once.

Tully squatted behind Kate. “We need to talk.”

“Shh. Luke and Laura are getting married. You can tell me about your interview—you got it: congratulations—when it’s over. Now be quiet.”

“But—”

“Shhh.”

Tully sank to her knees, mumbling, “How can you all be so gaga over some skinny white guy with a bad perm? And he’s a rapist. I think—”

“SHHH.”

Tully sighed dramatically and crossed her arms.