No. No way.

Nat had been on her best behavior since the pasta incident. Surely, Mara couldn’t write her up for leaving a few dirty dishes on the counter. Or was this about Miguel’s naked, prebreakfast appearance? Were they really that offended by it? The guy was gorgeous, with his strong, lean body and smooth brown skin. They should be writing her a thank-you note! But, of course, she knew that this was not. With a sense of foreboding, she grabbed the ragged paper torn from a spiral notebook and opened it. She read the handwritten missive.

Natalie,

Your share of the electric bill is late. AGAIN. You still owe Toni money for the last two bills, and I covered the internet bill for you last month, too. We are both sick and tired of supporting you. Please pay the money you owe us IMMEDIATELY.

And consider this strike two.

Mara and Toni

Fuck.

5

The Test

Students trickled out of the classroom, chatting animatedly about the preceding midterm. The hum was generally positive. The exam had been easier than anticipated; multiple choice, with no trick questions. Even the negative comments were lighthearted.

“I totally blanked!” It was Nat’s pal Keltie, her face full of metal rings and studs. “I was like, who is Descartes again?”

Ivan, who bore a striking resemblance to a young George Michael, quipped, “I think I mixed up Martin Luther with Martin Luther King.”

Their complaints were expressed with a disingenuous giggle. But Nat stayed mute. She shuffled out behind them, a heavy black lump in the pit of her stomach.

She had studied hard: twice with Ava (once at the penthouse, once in the library); had pulled out her textbook whenever she found a seat on the subway; had reviewed her notes as she hid from her roommates in her mess of a bedroom. But her brain had been short-circuited by the written second warning, by the money she owed for the electric bill, by the rent that was due in a couple of weeks. She couldn’t retain information about the fucking Reformation when the specter of homelessness loomed before her.

Ava was waiting for her outside the classroom. “How did it go?” Her cheerful expression relayed her confidence in her performance.

“I failed it,” muttered Nat.

“No way. You knew everything at our last study session.”

“A lot has happened since then.” To her chagrin, Nat’s voice shook and her chin crinkled. Damn it. She couldn’t fall apart over a stupid exam. It would be weak, pathetic, melodramatic. But it wasn’t just the exam. The life she had worked so hard to build was crumbling before her very eyes. (This was obviously the wrong internal monologue to have when trying not to cry.)

Ava reached out and squeezed Nat’s upper arm. “It’s okay. It’s just one midterm.”

The touch and sympathy undid her. Tears filled Nat’s eyes, threatening to spill over. “It’s not just the exam. It—it’s everything.”

Ava knew enough not to embrace her forlorn friend and risk a complete collapse. Her eyes darted around at their carefree peers. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “We can get a drink somewhere.”