Madeline rarely cared what others thought of her. She tried her best to stay out of the kind of drama her fellow students seemed to be absorbed in. She hated the way her mother judged her own worth based on how a man felt about her. And yet . . . Sophia brought out something different in Madeline. When Madeline talked to her, she wanted to believe Sophia thought the best of her, that she looked at Madeline as more than a dumb kid or a hanger-on. She wanted to do and say things that impressed Sophia. Madeline wondered if that’s what it was like to have a big sister, someone you emulated and tried to impress. Someone who laid down tracks you could put your own feet in.

“I would never think that,” Sophia said. “But I will light another while we’re out here. You sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m good.”

“See. You’re smarter than me.” She shook another cigarette out of the crumpled pack and struck a match. “Go on. Tell me your freakiest shit.”

Madeline crossed her arms in front of her chest. Her face flushed again. “You know how I’m writing my thesis?”

“Yeah.”

Madeline shivered as the wind blew. “I’m kind of basing the main character on you.”

“You are?” Sophia’s eyebrows went up, and her big green eyes opened wide, catching the floodlights on the side of the club.

“Is that too weird?” Madeline asked.

“Really? Why me?”

“Writers sometimes draw on something true from their own lives. That’s the way I understand it. There’s a character based on me too. It’s about the friendship between the two women. Honestly, I’m having trouble getting the story going. There’s not much happening yet.”

“They could rob a bank. Go on a crime spree. Or maybe they become spies.”

Madeline laughed. “I need some ideas like that. Something dramatic. Are you sure it isn’t weird?”

“No,” Sophia said. “I’m flattered. Seriously. I dated this guy my freshman year who wanted to photograph me. At first I thought it was cool. Then I found out he was photographing a lot of girls. It was a way to get us to take our tops off.” She stuck out her tongue. “No, I’m flattered. Seriously. What’s this woman like? Is she smart? And pretty? And sensitive?”

“All of the above.”

“Then all I care about is getting to read it when you’re done.”

“Okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish it. It’s just kind of me writing and writing without getting anywhere. A lot of character stuff.”

“You’re warming up,” Sophia said.

“And you have to be honest when you do read it. If you don’t like it . . .”

“I’ll like it.”