She's curled up in her bed, back to the wall. An unfinished lab report blinks on her screen, and Steffi's soft snuffles and snores fill the room. Lauren's not working, though. She's too busy remembering. How, later that night, after Howard and his goddam bullet hole of a story about Frank had stumbled into a taxi, Vanessa was crying and Lauren was fuming. How could Jeannie do that? To an animal?
Jeannie, drunk as a skunk, just laughed and started in on them, of course, calling Vanessa a baby and Lauren and ungrateful little bitch—her go-to insults in those days. The thing is, Vanessa was a baby, then. When Lauren tried to remind Jeannie how much Vanessa had loved that cat, Jeannie had just flapped a hand and said, "Oh, it was just some ugly street tom you were fixated on for a minute. Don't be ridiculous."
Frank had lived with them for a year. Long enough to have a blue china bowl in the corner of the kitchen for his food, and a collar with his name tag dangling from it that Lauren brought home from the drugstore.
They'd found Frank hanging out on the fire escape, where they sat sometimes in the summer night, out of range of their mother. He was a brutish looking ginger boy, with a ruff of thick fur around his neck and street battle-shredded ears. The kind of cat that looked mean until he was petted, and then he melted into a ginger puddle and a machine gun purr. They spent weeks trying to lure him inside, feeding him on the fire escape, then the windowsill, and then, months later, on the kitchen floor. Once he was in, he accepted apartment living as long he could come and go when he wanted, doing whatever cats do on the means streets at dawn and dusk, and then paw at the kitchen window or the balcony doors when he wanted back in.
Vanessa considered him her personal therapy cat. Every night she would take him to her room, spooning him like some teddy bear as she went to sleep. Frank mostly tolerated it long enough for her to drift off before he'd slink out to the fire escape
Later, though, when he returned, it was always Lauren's room he came to. It was almost embarrassing how much she liked being chosen by him. He'd curl up in a furry ball against her leg, and every now and then she'd reach down, combing her fingers through the soft fur on top of his thick head as she studied or watched TV, this reassuring lump of ginger grumpiness. He spent so many nights in that position that sometimes even when he wasn't there, Lauren would keep her leg perfectly still for ages, because she was sure she felt that warm body against her calf. That ghost limb cat haunted her for month after he was gone, too.
She closes her lab reports and hunts through her handful of photo files. There it is: her favourite. The one from when Vanessa pressed a dumb fake moustache to his face and he just sat there for a moment, purring away, his big teddy bear face scowling but tolerant. Finally he rolled over and it fell off, and they cackled like idiots. When Vanessa got old enough to go online herself, she made Frank her profile photo. Lauren took the picture of her sister lying on the floor in the living room, laughing, her face resting against his belly, his huge paw at rest on her head.
Lauren wishes she hadn't told Jay the story about Frank tonight. Because now she knows she won't sleep until she sees that picture again. But she deleted her profile the night before she left in the process of hacking away at her old life. So she uses the search function and finds her sister among all the other Vanessa Blooms on Facebook. Her thumbnail is different now, Vanessa and her best friend Lily, their hair long hair tied together in one ponytail, eyes coated in glitter shadow, their tongues out. There's this mutual surge of guilt and love and anger. Not only did she leave her sister with Jeannie, but she left her right on the precipice of something just as bad: adolescence. Now she has to hope that Vanessa is better at it than Lauren was.
She clicks on the thumbnail. Now, the only thing she is allowed to see is her profile photo and her 341 friends—probably the population of her entire school and everyone she's never met. Vanessa's not even legally even supposed to be on there yet, but it's not like their mother noticed or Lauren was going to stop her. All the kids at school faked their ages to get on social media. It's practically a rite of passage. Lauren stares at the photo and sighs, wishing she could watch find a way to watch her from afar, just so she could know she's okay.
The next day, in study hall, it hits her. Of course. It's easy. She opens up Facebook and hits "create profile"
"Studying hard, I see." It's Helen. She drops her bag on the desk, sits down next to Lauren in a cloud of musk and flower scent, and pulls off her perfectly fitted jacket.
How does this girl manage to be so sophisticated, Lauren wonders, even in the boondocks?
"How do you not already have Facebook?" Helen asks, sipping her coffee.
"I did and now I don't," Lauren mutters. She hunches closer to the screen." Never mind."
Helen brandishes her textbook. "So, ready to study some fluid mosaic model?"
"Uh, sure. In one minute." She types in a random birthdate.
"Oh, and do you want to maybe go to a party tomorrow night? Some guy from my dorms just invited me."
"Maybe." Of course Helen's getting invited to parties already. "I have to work, though."
"After work?"
"Fine. What's a good girl's name?" she asks, drawing a blank as the cursor blinks in the tiny box.
"For your Facebook profile?" Helen frowns. "Um, your own?"
"I'm making a fake profile."
"Are you some creepy stalker person, Lauren Bloom? Please tell me now and I'll go find another new friend."
"It's nothing creepy, I promise." Lauren chews at her lip. "I just can't talk about it."
"There's an un-creepy reason for a fake profile?"
"Trust me. I know it sounds weird, but I'm stalking my little sister."
"Why can't she know it's you?"
"That's the bit I don't want to talk about."
"Okay then." Helen sits back and opens her textbook.
Lauren feels a rush of gratitude for her new friend. Most people would push.
Helen suddenly looks up. "Call her Penelope Winterbottom."
"What kind of name is that?"
"My old Physics teacher. Horrible woman."
"Penelope Winterbottom it is, then," Lauren says, laughing.
"So, do you want me to friend you, so at least you don't look like a total loser when you request her?"
"Sure." Not that it matters. Vanessa will just accept her without even looking at her profile. That's what Lauren and her friends always did. It was all about quantity, not quality.
She adds in the last few profile details, adds a generic picture of a kitten to her profile pic, and sends the request. Then she sits back in her seat and lets out a breath. "Okay, let's study."
"Good morning."
Lauren looks up. It's Leyla, of all people. She's hugging a stack of books, her hair wrapped into a messy bun, smiling down at Helen.
"Hi!" Helen turns to Lauren. "Lauren, this is Leyla."
"We've already had the pleasure," Lauren drawls. She flashes Leyla a tight half-smile.
Helen gives Lauren a questioning look and then turns back to Leyla. "We're in study mode. Test next week."
"Which topic?"
"Biochem. Fluid mosaic model."
Leyla nods, frowning. "Oh, that was pretty hard."
"Great," Lauren grumbles, and then looks up. "Wait, you're in this course?"
"Sophomore." She turns back to Helen. "I probably have my old flash cards if you want them?"
"That'd be great."
"Okay, I'll bring them in." Leyla waves at some kids in the corner. "I better go."
"How do you know her?" Lauren asks, watching her slide between tables making her way to the corner.
"Met her at an event for international students. She's nice."
"I beg to differ. She calls me ponytail."
"Ponytail?"
"Never mind. It's a whole thing."
"She's doing the whole course here, though."
"And you're not?"
Helen shakes her head. "I'm just on exchange."
"You're on exchange?"
"Pretty sure I told you that." Helen nods. "I'm back to Cambridge after the summer."
"Pretty sure you didn't tell me that." Lauren pulls a face. "And you're telling me you'd leave this incredible place for crappy old Cambridge?"
"I know. I'll really be coming down in the world, but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do. The queen calls."
"Now I'm beginning to wonder if I should invest in this friendship or whatever, if you're just going to leave in a few months?"
"Friendship or whatever?" Helen laughs. "How could I leave when you make it sounds so appealing?"
"True. Anyway, you're lucky I have no other options for now."
"I feel truly blessed. So, are you coming out with me tomorrow tonight?"
"Why not?" Lauren flips open her binder. "Especially now I need to shop for new friends."