The frog’s cool, damp skin feels alien against my palms. I giggle as it shifts, its webbed toes tickling my fingers.
“Did you know,” Emma continues, her voice taking on the tone she uses when she’s about to share something important, “that frogs are like nature’s alarm system? They’re super sensitive to changes in the environment. If something’s wrong with the water or air, they’re often the first to show it.”
I look up at her, curious. “Is that why they’re here?”
Emma nods, her curls bouncing in the sunlight. “Partly. But also because they’re amazing creatures. They start as eggs, then become tadpoles, then grow legs and lose their tails. It’s like magic!”
She kneels beside me, gently cupping her hands around mine. “But they need our help, Ally-cat. People are destroying their homes, polluting their water. We have to protect them.”
“How?” I ask, feeling small in the face of such a big problem.
Emma’s smile is warm and encouraging. “We start small. We keep this creek clean. We learn about the animals that live here and what they need. And we tell others why it’s important.”
She helps me lower the frog back into the water, and we watch as it swims away with powerful kicks of its legs.
“Remember, Ally,” Emma says, her arm around my shoulders, “everything in nature is connected. When we protect one thing, we’re protecting everything.”
I nod solemnly, feeling the weight of this knowledge. “I want to help,” I declare. “I want to protect them like you do.”
Emma’s laugh is like sunshine, warm and bright. “That’s my girl!”
“Oh!” She pulls something from her pocket. “I forgot, I wanted to give you this.” She fastens the silver leaf pendant around my neck, the metal cool against my skin. “For the hearts that burn for justice,” she said. “That’s what this reminds me of. That’s you, Ally. You’ve got a heart that burns brighter than anyone I know.”
As we wade back to shore, Emma pointing out different plants and insects along the way, I feel a sense of purpose blooming inside me. I want to be just like her when I grow up—smart, passionate, and dedicated to making the world a better place.
The memory fades, and I’m back in my dorm room. It feels colder than before.
I blink away the memory, feeling a familiar ache in my chest. Emma’s absence is still a gaping hole, even after all these years. I glance at my phone, Freddie’s text still waiting for a response.
My fingers hover over the keyboard as I try to compose a reply that doesn’t sound too eager or too disinterested. Why is this so hard?
Yeah, we’re heading out soon. I’ll send you the notes when I get back. Might see u on frat row. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do
I cringe as soon as I hit send. A winking face? Seriously? I groan, tossing my phone onto the bed.
The thought of a night out on frat row makes my stomach churn. All those people, the noise, the expectation to be social and outgoing… it’s overwhelming. Part of me hopes I can convince Tara to ditch out early and curl up with a documentary about endangered species instead.
But the idea of sitting alone in my room, drowning in memories and GSRI application anxiety, isn’t appealing either. Turns out, existential dread isn’t great company.
I stand up, rifling through my closet for something appropriate for a night out. Most of my wardrobe consists of oversized sweaters, jeans, and leggings. My cozy UMS sweater, covered in pins, is my trusty favorite. It’s insanely comfy and warm. Not exactly frat row material.
Maybe Tara’s right.
Her voice echoes in my head from last week.
“I think we need to get you a new wardrobe,” she’d said, eyeing my clothes like they’d personally offended her.
“Why?” I’d asked, hugging my favorite sweater protectively.
“Because clothes are important. They can work for you or against you. You have to dress for who you are. And no offense, babe, but these outfits are giving me high school you. I think you’d probably choose different things now.”
As much as it pains me to admit it, Tara might be right. She always dresses in brilliantly put-together outfits. They’re sometimes outrageous with lots of pink and frills, but somehow she pulls it off.
And I do feel more confident now, less like I need to hide beneath oversized things. Maybe it’s time to let my wardrobe evolve along with me.
I finally settle on a simple black top and my least-worn pair of jeans. And I make the decision that I’ll start to buy some new pieces that I love. There’s an app where you can buy and sell used clothing, so I decide to spend some time on there this weekend.
As I’m pulling my hair into a messy bun, my phone buzzes again. It’s Tara.
