I hang up and swipe my thumb, scrolling until I get to Fern’s name.
She answers on the first ring.
“Ellis! Tell me everything!”
My heart lurches at the sound of her voice.
“It’s awful,” I tell her.
“You haven’t even been there twelve hours yet.”
“I know, so that says something.”
She huffs. “What’s so bad about it? Other than the fact that you aren’t here with me, obviously.”
On the other end of the line, something scrapes across the floor. I picture my best friend pulling a chair out from her small white kitchen table and folding herself into it like a pretzel, the way she always does when she talks on the phone. It makes me homesick.
“They don’t have PSLs here for starters.” Fern gasps. She might be a foodie, but we both lean into our most basic instincts when it comes to fall. “Exactly. And I’m pretty sure the guy who works at the coffee shop hates me.”
“You’ve already made an enemy? I’m impressed.”
“My mom got me registered for school, but they don’t have a large enough student body to offer AP classes here. And they don’t have a school newspaper.”
“This is, like, your worst nightmare.”
“It gets worse,” I tell her. “I’m staying in the attic.”
“Ellis, no. Hop on a bus out of there right now. You can live with me,” Fern says. And I know she means it.
“If only. At least then I wouldn’t keep fighting with my mom.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Worse than bad.” I sigh. “Tell me something about home. How was your housewarming? I can’t believe I missed it.”
As real estate investors, Fern’s wealthy parents got her an apartment for her eighteenth birthday. We have plans to live together while I attend Columbia.
“Oh my god, I wish you would have come. It was wild.”
Fern proceeds to tell me about her night of boys and drinking and karaoke and her encounter with the NYPD and her old, grumpy neighbor. She lists every New York City influencer whoattended and all the plans they made to collaborate.
I met Fern when we were both on the school newspaper two years ago. At the time, she dreamed of having her own advice column, but ultimately—and accidentally—she made a name for herself as a restaurant reviewer on social media. With untamable red curls, fair skin, and bright green eyes, she’s undeniably gorgeous. She’s also inarguably hilarious. And in the last year, she’s risen to fame, traveling the country and finishing school online while making tons of money in endorsements as a teen food critic—both because her videos are entertaining and because she’s always right about the food. We’ve barely been able to keep up our weekly Thursday night dinners at Nom Wah, our favorite dim sum place in Chinatown, thanks to her heightened profile.
Her name and career are taking off, and opportunities are presenting themselves left and right. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here in a stalemate.
“Jordan kept asking about you,” she says before I hear her take a sip of what I’d guess is her green smoothie. I roll my eyes. “Stop rolling your eyes.”
“How do you know I rolled my eyes?” I laugh—a sound foreign to me at this point. Between working constantly and listening to my parents’ endless fighting these last few months, it’s been hard to muster a sincere smile, much less an actual laugh.
“I know you. Look, I know you say boys are a distraction—”
“Because they are,” I shoot back.
“But they don’t have to be. He knows you’re busy, and he’s okay with it. Give him a chance.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”
Relationships are time-sucking obstacles on the way to a destination.
