On a chilly evening in early October, Rose walked back to the dorm alone. She’d left dinner early, overwhelmed by the feeling of being alone in a crowd. Emma had disappeared from the dining hall lately because she was rehearsing nonstop for the fall orchestra recital. That left Rose to navigate the Moreland sophomore table on her own. She knew she ought to try harder to make other friends, but she was too proud to put herself out there. So tonight, and too often lately, she’d ended up sitting quietly while conversation swirled around her, feeling left out.
The sharp chill in the air as she walked toward Moreland, the deep shadows cast by the setting sun, the empty paths, pressed on Rose’s heart. When she caught a glimpse of Bel in the distance, climbing the steps to Weston Library, suddenly that incident in the dining hall seemed frivolous. She couldn’t let it destroy her relationship with her only sister. If she and Bel could be friends again, Rose wouldn’t feel so lonely.
Rose hurried up the steps and onto the dramatic main floor of Weston Library, with its three-story atrium and enormous windows. Bel stood by the reference desk, talking to a boy named Zach who was in Rose’s biology class. As Rose approached, Bel actually smiled at her.
“Hey,” Bel said.
“Hey,” Rose replied, surprised at the warmth of her sister’s greeting. Bel had barely acknowledged her in weeks.
“Look, I have to go. I have plans with my sister,” Bel said to Zach.
“Rose is your sister?” he asked.
It made Rose stupid happy to realize that Zach Cuddy knew her name. He was worlds above your average Odell prepster dude, and the only boy she’d met so far who piqued her interest.
“That’s okay, I can wait,” Rose said. “Or maybe the three of us should—”
“No,” Bel said. “I need to talk to you. Now. Come on.”
She grabbed Rose by the arm and yanked her toward the front door. Rose glanced back at Zach helplessly as they exited the library.
“I’m so glad you want to talk,” Rose said, falling into step beside Bel out on the path. “I feel like we’ve been mad at each other long enough.”
The sky was nearly dark, and the yellow glow of the lampposts illuminated the paths. Bel sighed with irritation, her entire demeanor changed from how she’d been a moment earlier.
“So, you’re finally gonna forgive me? I apologized weeks ago, by the way,” Bel said, shaking her head irritably.
Her sister’s tone annoyed Rose. Bel still didn’t get how hurtful her action—or her inaction—had been.
“Put yourself in my shoes. Getting called fat on my first day of school in front of the entire dining hall. It was awful.”
“Come on, she didn’t call you fat, and practically nobody heard her.”
“Don’t minimize.”
“Look, I said I was sorry, and I am sorry. Tessa’s a bitch, but that’s not my fault.”
“If she’s such a bitch, why do you hang out with her?”
“Because she’s Darcy’s friend.”
“Why are you friends with Darcy?”
Bel whirled to face Rose. “If this is going to turn into a rant about my poor choice of friends, then we’re never gonna make up. I miss you, Rose. I want us to be closer. But you have to back off with the judgment stuff.”
“I miss you, too. I’m just worried about you. Those are, like, the most reckless kids in the school, and they’re bound to get you in trouble.”
“Maybe I don’t care.”
“How can that be? I don’t understand that.”
“We’re different, okay?” Bel said, her eyes in the lamplight sparkling with unshed tears. “You have everything figured out. I’m just trying to get through my days. Darcy makes me feel like there’s some fun left in the world, since Mom died. Can’t you understand that?”
Bel’s words hit home. Bel had been much closer to their mother than Rose had. Rose had resented their bond, and had felt left out. But Rose shouldn’t let that lingering resentment blind her to Bel’s real grief. Bel had taken their mother’s death much harder than Rose had. Rose reacted by trying to think about Mom as little as possible, and being grateful for her new life, where she could have a substitute mom like Mrs. Donovan. A better mom, really. Whereas Bel thought about their mother constantly. Rose had to admit, Bel’s reaction was the more normal one. It worried Rose sometimes, how little grief she felt. It was almost like there was something wrong with her.
“You’re right,” Rose said. “You and I experience Mom’s death differently. I take all my sadness and put it into succeeding here.”
“Is that the explanation? Because you seem so fine with everything that, sometimes, I wonder if you really loved Mom.”
Sometimes, Rose wondered that herself. But she would never admit to such a socially unacceptable emotion as not loving her own mother.
“God, what a mean thing to say,” Rose said. “That hurts. Don’t you get it? We can both feel grief, but show it differently. I’m doing my best to understand your way, and that you’re acting out—misbehaving—because of sadness. Meanwhile, instead of trying to understand me, you accuse me of not loving Mom? That’s low, Bel.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. I need to try harder to see your perspective.”
“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”
“Let’s be friends again, okay?” Bel said.
“Yes. That’s all I want. I’ll get off your back about Darcy, too, promise.”
Bel smiled tearily. “Okay. Deal,” she said, and held her arms out.
They hugged for a long time, right there in the middle of the path. Rose had to swallow hard in order not to cry, which made her feel relieved. At least when it came to Bel, Rose still had a heart.
“Hey,” Rose said, disentangling herself. “I have Oreos in my room. Want some?”
“You know I do.”
They linked arms, and walked back to Moreland together.
By mid-October, Bel’s schoolgirl crush on Heath Donovan had morphed into something more powerful, and more dangerous. After their iced-coffee date at the Art Café, she just couldn’t shake the memory of their embrace. She still felt his arms around her, and wanted to experience that again. But how? She’d sit in English class and stare, letting his voice wash over her. Bel worried that kids in her English class would notice, and tease her. Or worse, that Darcy and the Moreland seniors would find out. If the seniors realized she was mad for Heath, not only would they mock her relentlessly, but they’d force her to play their tawdry game, which she absolutely refused to do. She didn’t even like hearing about it anymore. What they were doing was childish and degrading. What Bel felt for Heath was real. Bel now understood that Heath knew how she felt, and was glad of it. This amazing realization dawned on her in English class, on a stormy afternoon in late October, as they discussed one of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Rain sluiced against the mullioned windows as Heath read aloud to the class from a poem about summer, and love.
“‘If