Someone was knocking on Ayanna’s door. It was evening. On the other side of the door, Jane was waiting for her. After a mix of are you okays, incredulousness that it wasn’t Ayanna who had been struck by the bike despite all the gossip, and why hadn’t Ayanna answered her phone for days, why had she ignored emails and texts, everyone was asking about her and worrying, you’re not alone, Ayanna, and that was pretty fucked up, why didn’t you come to class, they almost had a fight, Jane’s voice getting slower and louder with each sentence, then they laughed.

“I was being a pretty uptight mom there,” Jane said.

“Make that into a shirt,” Ayanna said, “Uptight Mom.”

They walked together in the chilly October air to get late-night food. Jane was wearing a pink leather jacket and a T-shirt that read What Would Prince Do in purple Sharpie. Ayanna felt the pleasure of walking with Jane, a female friend who, finally, was taller than her. They talked briefly about how much money Jane spent on her T-shirts and Sharpies—she could find a six-pack of men’s shirts for eighteen dollars, sometimes eight dollars on clearance—and Ayanna watched her breath in the chill night air, the waft of it, and it reminded her of the dead. Maybe souls and breath are connected, she thought, then refocused on her friend.

“Are you okay?” Ayanna asked Jane. “You’ve seemed so down lately.”

“I’ve just been processing. And besides, I should ask you the same thing.”

“I’m fine,” Ayanna said, and it was almost true.

At the diner, they both drank decaf coffee and split a mountain of Tater Tots.

“I’ve been mourning not having a faith anymore,” Jane said. “I’ve known I was queer for so long. And even if I wasn’t queer, you’ve met me. I’m outspoken and bossy and weird. I’m not the right kind of lady.”

“I like you.” Ayanna forked three Tater Tots, felt pleased by how they looked like a line on her fork.

“Yeah, and I wish we had met ten years ago when I was ten and could’ve used a best friend.”

Ayanna waited for Jane to change the subject or to get embarrassed by how earnestly they were talking to each other, but instead they met each other’s eyes and smiled.

“Faith gave me someone who would love and always like me,” Jane said. “I used to talk to Jesus every night, tell him about my day, tell him about my big crush on Gina Simmons and what her hair looked like that day. She had a mom who was always mixing it up—braids, beads, curls.”