“I’m sorry,” I said to Kate, “I’ll stop, I’m stopping.” Deep breath, throat clear. Wobbling smile. “Okay. I’m better.”

When we got back from France I took a medical leave of absence and applied to another university. By some devastating miracle—miracle because I’d dropped out twice in three years, devastating because I’d be leaving her—I got in. I would transfer right before what should’ve been my senior year, and I’d need to spend two more years in college to get my degree.

As for Kate, I filled out applications so she could study abroad, and waited until she’d committed to spending the coming fall in Florence before telling her that I was transferring schools. It was my way of saying sorry. Her apology came more directly. “I’m sorry I ruined your life,” she said before leaving, her condescension excused only when imagining the guilt that must’ve spawned it.

“You didn’t,” I said. You couldn’t, I thought, though I may’ve wanted it to seem that way at the time. I may’ve wanted to believe it was all her fault.

As Kate left for Florence, I headed to a new college town, one that was even more preppy, Greek, and white. A junior again with two years to go, I soon began obliterating my mind with rum and cocaine, and by Homecoming weekend I’d landed my first night in jail. At around four a.m. the warden tossed some brown bag lunches into the women’s cell. Mine was stolen by a stringy-haired inmate who spent most of her time on the cell’s toilet or yelling at me to stop crying and wipe the blood from my nose. I ended up confiding to the entire cell about Kate. “She sounds like a fucking bitch,” the sandwich thief said, biting off a fingernail to chew. “You should find yourself a new broad.” When I was released the next morning I begged them to keep me.

Eventually I got a job at a restaurant, in the hope that serving subpar pizza and watered-down beers might keep me from thinking of her. “Aren’t you in my ethics class?” a customer asked as I refilled her fountain Dr Pepper.

“I am,” I said, her acknowledgment of my existence a lifesaver.

“I’m Renata,” she said. “A group of us are meeting at the library tonight, to study for that test. You should come.”