the door like he was watching an approaching cloud of locusts. He was also feeling the strain of parents meeting parents. Ellie was now scratching her exposed butt. (Well, not the butt-butt, but the upper-leg part where it meets the butt zone. Technically thigh, but butt for all legal intents and purposes.)
Stevie gripped the chair and braced for impact.
“Did you see a moose?” she said to Nate, in an attempt to make some kind of conversation.
“What?” he said. Which was fair enough.
All of the parents arrived at the door in a knot and trickled through into the common room.
“. . . just avoiding the toll roads.” Stevie heard her dad say. The conversation had been about the trip, most likely. That was probably very dull but safe. Then eight parental eyes turned to the exposed butt on the floor. Ellie rolled into a seated position, just a few seconds too late. Her matted, baby-socked hair stood on end for a moment.
Nate’s parents showed no outward sign, but Stevie saw her parents take it in. Her father looked away. Her mom’s mouth twisted into a small, confused grin.
“Let me show you what I did to my room,” she said, hooking one parent by each arm and hustling them down the hall.
“What in God’s name was that girl wearing?” her mother asked, a little too loudly, as Stevie shut the door of her room behind them.
“I’ve never seen anything like that getup before,” her dad added.
Stevie’s parents labored under the belief that what a person was wearing had a direct correlation to their worth as a human being. There were normal clothes (good), and there were nice clothes (very good), and there was everything else. Ellie had just reset the limits on this last category.
“Did you like the campus?” Stevie said, smiling. “Isn’t it amazing?”
That the campus was amazing was undeniable, and her parents made a clear effort not to dwell on Ellie and instead focus on this mountain paradise of mansions and fountains and art and natural beauty.
“We’re going to have to head back soon,” her dad said. “Are you . . . set?”
On that, Stevie had an entirely unexpected emotional pang. Her parents were about to leave, which was something she had known about and frankly wanted, but now in the moment, there was a hot rush of feeling. She gulped hard.
“Okay,” her mother said. “You have your pills? Let’s just put eyes on the pills.”
Stevie’s plastic bag of medications was produced and examined.
“You have a hundred and twenty Lexapro and thirty Ativan, but only take the Ativan if you need it.”
“I know.”
“But if you need it, make sure . . .”
“Mom, I know . . .”
“I know you know. And you call us every day.”
“You be good,” her dad said, hugging her hard. “You need us, you call. Doesn’t matter the time.”
Her father looked genuinely on the verge of tears. This was the worst. Bells did not cry. Bells did not show feeling. This had to stop.
“Remember,” her mother said into her ear, “you can always come home. We’ll come up and get you.”
Her mother’s final little squeeze said, This isn’t the kind of place you belong. You’ll see. You’ll be back.
5
AFTER A FEW MOMENTS OF NOT CRYING (BUT A LOT OF BLINKING) AND staring at her medications before stashing them in a drawer, Stevie emerged from her room to find that Janelle Franklin had arrived, and Nate was nowhere to be seen. Janelle was shorter than Stevie had pictured. She wore a red floral romper and her braided hair was wrapped in a scarf of yellows and golds. She wore a light, summery perfume that trailed in the air behind her as she hurried over to wrap Stevie in a hug.
“We’re here!” she said, clasping Stevie’s arms. “We’re here! Are your parents here?”
“They left a few minutes ago. Are yours . . . ?”
“No,” Janelle said. “They’re both on call today, so we did all my good-byes this week—family dinners and friends, we had a picnic . . .” Janelle happily chatted about the many events that had led up to her departure. She came from a big family in Chicago and around Illinois. She had three brothers, two in MIT and one at Stanford. Her parents were both doctors.
“Come see my room!” She grabbed Stevie by the wrist and led her next door, to a very similar room, but with everything flipped around. Their fireplaces were back to back.
“I’m probably going to need more space to build