Me: *will always be on the other side of the door in the sky*

I set down my phone and open my window to let in a gust of chilly air, hoping it will bring me back to earth. Raindrops blow off a pine tree into my room, spattering the worn green cushion lining the bay window. I try to breathe like a normal person, but my head still swirls with stars.

Zoe

Late Sunday morning, Cammie, Syd, Erin, and I are on our way to our weekly “appointment” at Ace’s Famous Burritos.

Cammie has a Bach sonata playing on loop — a piece she’s trying to learn for college auditions, since she hopes to play in the symphony wherever she goes. She will, of course; I don’t know why she stresses about it. In senior superlatives, she’ll be our class’s Most Likely to Succeed, without a doubt. Erin will be Biggest Partier, which is funny, because when we became friends in middle school, she was even shyer than I was. Syd, I don’t know. If anything, probably Biggest Gossip — she always has her thumb on the pulse of what’s going on. Me, maybe Best Singer? But for Cammie, everything has always seemed clear and certain. If opposites attract, that would explain a lot about our friendship.

In the back seat, Syd is talking about who’s hooking up with whom in STOTS.

“How’s the play going, Syd?” I ask, craning around to look at her.

The briefest expression crosses her face before she responds. Guilt? Worry? I know she feels bad that I’m not in the show. She says, “It’s okay — you know how it is with STOTS. It’s a disaster until opening night, pretty much.”

“Right,” I say. It’s true. But that was part of the thrill of it. The drama around the drama.

“The play sounds bizarre,” Erin says, not looking up from her phone.

“Elliot is bizarre,” Syd says. “I’ve known him since kindergarten. He’s always been strange. Nice, but strange.”

“He is not,” I argue. “He just has his own style.” An understatement. He has had an incomprehensibly full beard since freshman year and is typically outfitted in some combination of graphic tees, resale shop blazers, and neon high-tops.

Cammie turns down the music. “What’s the play about?” she asks.