Our dorm was cluttered with clothes, makeup, papers, books. Somehow our shared closet had exploded all over the sofa and two chairs that furnished our living room. I could lie and say that we were too busy studying to make time for cleaning up after ourselves, but the reality was that without parents dictating chores, we did what we wanted. And tidying up hadn’t made the list.

It should have, though. Maybe if it had, the accident wouldn’t have happened.

“You want some mac ’n’ cheese?” I offered while Mackenzie fell onto her bottom bunk. Her blond hair splayed around her head like a halo, and her arms flung open like an angel. Quite fitting, actually.

“Sure, I’ll eat some,” she replied. “I’m going to take a quick nap, though. I’m exhausted and my feet are killing me. Someone dragged me all over Pittsburgh today without telling me I should wear more comfortable walking shoes.”

“I didn’t expect to hit every store in the South Side! You have only yourself to blame for that.”

“Whatever. Wake me when the food’s ready.”

I shuffled to the kitchenette and grabbed the last box of Kraft mac ’n’ cheese in the cupboard. The countertop was littered with papers, so I moved them aside and grabbed the only pot we owned. After setting the water to boil, I opened the fridge to discover we were out of milk. I was pretty sure Sharon one floor down always had milk and butter on hand; the girl was a tireless baker and I loved her for it. Especially when she came around delivering homemade chocolate chip cookies to our dorms.

Slipping into flip-flops, I headed downstairs to see Sharon about the milk. Twenty minutes into bitching about our professors, the smoke alarm started screeching throughout the building.

It took a minute for my brain to process the events. Then I remembered.

“The stove!” I ran up the stairs just as the sprinklers activated throughout the dorm. I had forgotten all about the pot of boiling water that was likely now bone dry, the papers sitting next to it. Girls fled the building in hysterics and the shrill wail of a fire truck’s siren grew closer as I reached my suite.

“Mackenzie!” I yelled, choking on the smoke pouring out of the kitchen. I glimpsed her through the fumes, arms covering her face.

“Help!” she cried. “Robin, help!”

By now the fire had spread into the hallway, blocking Mackenzie in and me out. The heat was intense; I couldn’t get close enough to help her. Suddenly a flame burst high, licking the ceiling, and Mackenzie screamed.

The next few minutes blurred as the smoke suffocated and blinded me. A firefighter barked at me to get to safety, but I couldn’t leave my friend. The next thing I knew, a pair of strong arms dragged me away as I watched Mackenzie disappear behind the blaze.

SUNDAY EVENING