“Need help?” I asked, seeking something, anything, to do. I was already bored and desperate for school to start—classes, dinners, parties with red cups: this new world I could dive into headfirst.

“I’ve got it,” she said halfway out the door. I was suddenly ashamed of how few things I’d brought—how few things I even owned to bring.

The door closed slowly and I stared at her colorful bag on the bed. I wondered what kind of exciting things were inside—did her mother take her on a shopping trip before dropping her off? Did her father send her with things to read? Did her best friend give her a charm bracelet? Poking out of the side pocket was a digital camera. Maybe she was studying photography or art.

Four trips later and I’d watched her haul a pink plastic cabinet, a mini fridge with a microwave affixed to the top, and three more suitcases, one of which she pointed to and said “shoes.” Meanwhile, I’d fit all my clothes comfortably into two of the three drawers, hung up my only four dresses, and attempted to make my bed with the yellowed twin XL sheets that had been sewn just for me. I had cried for two days when I learned that college mattresses weren’t traditionally sized. The plan had been for me to bring my brother’s childhood set—white-and-blue-striped sheets with a red comforter. But when Elizabeth’s College Checklist came in the mail from Covenant, detailing the excessive list of everything I could possibly need for my freshman year, including specialty twin XL sheets, I had my first of many realizations that this world was not built for people like me.

Ruthie walked over to the refrigerator/microwave combo I’d never seen before and leaned on it. Then, she surveyed the room, eventually pinching her lips together like she was struggling with something. “What do you think about feng shui-ing this shit?”

My eyes must have bulged out of my face, judging by the raised-eyebrow look she’d given me. I’d never heard anyone curse so casually before. My brother once yelled that word when he hammered his finger while fixing the janky porch steps. My parents made him sit with a green bar of Dial in his mouth for ten minutes before they’d give him any ice to soothe the swelling knuckle on his pointer.

“Sorry,” she said, with a shrug and a coy smile. “I forgot you can get in trouble for that here.”

Ruthie was exactly what I needed.