JENNIE

"Turn it off," Lisa groans as the alarm rings throughout the dark bedroom.

My fingers fumble for my phone, and finally, with a swipe of my thumb across the screen, the unwelcome sound stops. My shoulders feel heavy as I sit up in bed, the weight of today's tensions threatening to pull me back down: the university's decision whether to expel Lisa, the possibility of Rosé pressing charges against her, and lastly, Lisa's potential reactions to my telling her I'm planning to follow Vance Publishing to Seattle, and that I want her to come even though she's professed to hate the city.

I can't decide which of these terrifies me the most. By the time I turn the bathroom light on and splash cool water against my face, I realize that the assault charges are the worst. If Lisa is sent to jail, I honestly have no idea what I would do, or what she would do. The thought alone makes me nauseous. Rosé's request to meet with me this morning resurfaces, and my mind reels with all the possibilities of what she could want to talk about, especially since she said something about having fallen "in love" with me the last time I saw her.

I inhale and exhale into the soft towel hanging on the wall. Should I reply to Rosé and at least see what she has to say? Maybe she can offer an explanation for why she told Bambam one thing and me another about pressing charges. I feel guilty for asking her not to, especially considering how badly Lisa hurt her, but I love Lisa, and Rosé had the same intentions as Lisa did, to win a bet, in the beginning. Neither of them is purely innocent here.

Before I can overthink the possible repercussions, I text Rosé. I'm only trying to help Lisa. I remind myself of that over and over after I hit send and obsess over my hair and makeup.

WHEN I SEE that the blanket is folded neatly on the arm of the couch, my heart sinks. He left? How will I get hold of him—

The soft sound of a cabinet opening in the kitchen picks my heart up from the floor. Going into the dark room, I switch the light on and see my father startle and drop a spoon onto the concrete floor with a clatter.

"Sorry, I was trying to be as quiet as possible," my father says as he quickly bends to retrieve the utensil.

"It's okay. I was up. You could have turned the light on." I laugh quietly.

"I didn't want to wake anyone. I was just trying to make some cereal; I hope that's okay."

"Of course it is." I start the coffee pot and check the clock. I need to wake Lisa in fifteen minutes.

"What are your plans for today?" he asks with a mouth full of Frosted Flakes, Lisa's favorite.

"Well, I have class, and Lisa has a meeting with the university board."

"The university board? That sounds serious . . ."

I look at my father and wonder, Should I tell him? But then, figuring I have to start somewhere, I say, "She got in a fight on campus."

"And they're making her talk in front of the board? In my day, you got a slap on the wrist, and that was that."

"She destroyed a lot of property, expensive property, and she broke the guy's nose." I sigh and stir a spoonful of sugar into my coffee. I need the extra energy today.

"Nice. So what was the fight about?"

"Me, sort of. It was something that was building over time, and it finally just . . . exploded."

"Well, I like Lisa even more now than I did last night." He beams. Though I'm glad that he's warming to my girlfriend, it's not for a good reason. I don't want the two of them bonding over violence.

I shake my head and gulp down half my coffee, letting the hot liquid soothe my frantic nerves.

"Where's she from?" He sounds genuinely interested in learning more about Lisa.

"Thailand."

"Thought that was the accent. So her family's still there?"

"Her mother is. Her father's here. He's the chancellor at WCU."

Curiosity fills his brown eyes. "Ironic, then, about the expulsion."

"Very." I sigh.

"Your mother's met him?" he asks, then takes a big spoonful of cereal.

"Yes, she hates her." I frown.

"'Hate' is a strong word."

"Trust me, in this case it's not strong enough." The ache from the loss of my relationship with my mother is much less potent than it used to be. I don't know whether that's a good thing or not.

My father puts down his spoon and nods several times. "She can be a little hardheaded; she just worries about you."

"She doesn't need to. I'm fine."

"Well, let her be the one to come around, then; you shouldn't have to choose one or the other." He smiles. "Your grandma didn't approve of me either—she's probably scowling at me from her grave as we speak."

This is all so strange, sitting in my kitchen with my father, bonding over cereal and coffee after all these years. "It's just hard because we've always been close . . . as close as she's capable of, at least."

"She always wanted you to be just like her; she made sure of that from a young age. She's not a bad person, Jendeukie. She's just afraid."

I look at him quizzically. "Of what?"

"Everything. She's afraid of losing control. I'm sure seeing you with Lisa terrified her and made her realize she doesn't have control over you anymore."

I stare at the empty cup in front of me. "Is that why you left? Because she wanted to control everything?"

My father sighs softly, an ambiguous sound. "No, I left because I have my own issues and we weren't good for one another. Don't worry about us." He chuckles. "Worry about yourself and your troublemaker of a girlfriend."

I can't picture the man in front of me and my mother being able to hold a conversation; they are just so different. When I glance at the clock, I realize it's past eight.

I get up and put my cup in the dishwasher. "I need to wake up Lisa. I threw your clothes in the wash last night. I'll get dressed and bring them out."

I go into the bedroom and see that Lisa is awake. As I watch her pulling a black T-shirt over her head, I suggest, "Maybe you should wear something a little more formal to the meeting?"

"Why?"

"Because they're deciding your educational future, and a black T-shirt doesn't show much effort on your end. You can change right after, but I really think you should dress up."

"Fuuuuuck." She exaggerates the word and throws her head back.

I walk past her and into the closet to retrieve her black button-up shirt and pants.

"No dress slacks—for the love of God, no."

I hand the pants to her. "It's only for a little while."

She holds the garment like it's nuclear waste or an alien artifact. "If I wear this shit and they still kick me out, I'll burn that whole campus to the ground."

"You're so dramatic." I roll my eyes at her, but she doesn't look amused as she steps into the dress pants.

"Is our apartment still operating as a homeless shelter?"

I drop the shirt, still on the hanger, onto the bed and march to the door.

Frantic fingers lace through her hair. "Dammit, Jen, I'm sorry. I'm getting anxious, and I can't even fuck you to settle me down because your dad is on our couch."

Her vulgar words stir my hormones, but she's right: my father in the other room is a big impediment. I walk over to Lisa, whose long fingers are struggling with the top button on her shirt, and gently move her hands out of the way. "Let me," I offer.

Her eyes soften, but I can tell she's beginning to panic. I hate seeing her this way; it's so foreign. She's so controlled all the time, never caring much for anything—except me, and even then she's still pretty good at hiding her feelings.

"Everything will be fine, babe. It'll work out."

"Babe?" Her smile is instant, and so is the flush in my cheeks.

"Yes . . . babe." I adjust the collar of her shirt, and she leans over to kiss the tip of my nose.

"You're right; worst-case scenario, we go to Thailand."

I ignore her comment and return to the closet to pick out my own clothes for the day. "Do you think they'll let me accompany you inside?" I ask her, unsure what to wear.

"You want to?"

"If they allow it." I grab the new purple dress that I planned to wear to Vance tomorrow. I undress and put it on as quickly as possible. I slip on some black heels and exit the closet with my hands holding up the front of the dress. "Can you help me?" I ask Lisa, turning my back to her.

"You're purposely torturing me." Her fingertips travel across my exposed shoulders and down my back, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

"Sorry." My mouth is dry.

She slowly raises the zipper, and I shiver as her lips press against the sensitive skin on the back of my neck. "We need to get going," I tell her, and she groans, fingers digging into my hips.

"I'm going to call my dad on the way. Are we dropping the . . . your dad off somewhere?"

"I'll ask him now; can you grab my bag?" I say, and she nods.

"Jen?" she calls as my hand hits the doorknob. "I like that dress. And you. Well, I love you, of course . . . and your new dress," she rambles. "I love you, and your fancy clothes."

I curtsy and do a little three-sixty so she can see me. As much as I hate Lisa being nervous, it's also very appealing to me, because it reminds me that she's not so tough after all.

In the living room, my father is sitting on the couch, having fallen back asleep. I don't know if I should wake him up or just leave him here to rest until we get back from campus.

"Let him sleep," Lisa answers, sensing my thoughts as she walks up behind me.

I quickly scribble a note for him explaining when we'll return, along with our phone numbers. I doubt he has a cell phone, but I leave them just in case.

The drive to campus is short, too short, and Lisa looks like she's going to either scream or punch something at any moment. When we arrive, she scans the parking lot for Marco's car.

"He said to meet him here," Lisa says, checking the screen on her phone for the fifth time in five minutes.

"There he is." I point to the silver car pulling into the lot.

"Finally. What the fuck took him so long?"

"Be nice to him; he's doing this for you. Please, just be nice to him," I beg, and she sighs in frustration but agrees.

Marco has brought his wife, Karen, and Lisa's stepsister, Jisoo, which surprises Lisa and makes me smile. I love them so much for supporting her, even when she acts like she doesn't want their help.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Lisa says to Jisoo as they approach us.

"Don't you?" Jisoo retaliates, which makes Lisa laugh.

Listening to their exchange, Karen smiles with a brightness completely at odds with how she first appeared when she emerged from Marco's car.

As we walk toward the administrative building, Marco says, "I'm hoping this won't last long. I've been calling everyone I can to pull as many strings as possible, so I'm praying for the best." He stops for a minute and turns to Lisa. "Let me do the talking in there—I mean it." Watching for his daughter's response, he waits for her to agree.

"Okay, yeah," Lisa says without argument.

Marco nods and swings the big wooden doors open, leading us all inside. Over his shoulder, Marco says authoritatively, "Jennie, I'm sorry, but you can't come inside the room with us. I didn't want to push it, but you can wait right outside." He turns and gives me a sympathetic smile.

But Lisa immediately goes into full panic mode. "What do you mean she can't come inside? I need her in there!"

"I know you do. I'm sorry, but it's family only," her father explains as he leads us down the hall. "Unless she was a witness, but even then, that's a huge conflict of interest."

Marco stops us in front of a conference room and muses, "It's not like I'm not engaged in a conflict of interest, being the chancellor. But you're my daughter, and let's at least have only one conflict, okay?"

I turn to Lisa. "He's right, and it'll be better this way. It's okay," I assure her.

She lets go of my hand and nods, looking past me to shoot daggers at her father, who sighs and says, "Lisa, please try your best to—"

Lisa holds up one hand. "I will, I will," she says and kisses my forehead.

As the four of them walk into the room, I want to ask Jisoo to wait with me, but I know Lisa needs her in there, whether she'll admit it or not. I feel so useless just sitting here outside this room while a group of stuffy men in suits decides Lisa's educational future. Well, maybe there's one way I can help . . .

I pull my phone out and text Rosé. I'm at the administrative building, can you come here?

I stare at the screen, waiting for a reply, and my phone lights up less than a minute later: Yes, I'm on my way.

I'll be outside, I send.

With one last glance at the door, I head outside. It's cold, too cold to be waiting out here in a knee-length dress, but I don't have much of a choice.

AFTER WAITING AWHILE, I've just decided to go back inside when Rosé's old truck pulls into the parking lot. She steps out, wearing a black sweatshirt and dark-wash jeans. The deep bruising on her face shocks me, despite the fact that I just saw her yesterday.

She tucks her hands into the pocket on the front of her sweatshirt. "Hey."

"Hey. Thanks for meeting me."

"It was my idea, remember?" She smiles, and I feel slightly less unsettled.

I smile in return. "I guess you're right."

"I want to talk to you about what you said at the hospital," she says, which was exactly what I was planning to talk about.

"So do I."

"You go first."

"Wendy said you told Bambam you're pressing charges against Lisa." I try not to look at her bruised and bloodshot eyes.

"I did."

"But you told me you wouldn't press charges. Why lie to me?" I'm sure the hurt is clear in my shaky voice.

"I didn't lie to you; I meant it when I said it."

I step closer to her. "So what changed your mind?"

She shrugs. "A lot of things. I thought about all the shit she's done to me, and to you. She doesn't deserve to just walk away from this." She gestures to her face. "Look at me, for God's sake."

I'm not sure what to say to Rosé in this moment. She has every right to be upset with Lisa, but I wish she wouldn't take legal action against her.

"She's already in trouble with the university board," I say, hoping to change her mind.

"She's not going to get in trouble; Wendy told me her dad's the chancellor," she scoffs.

Dammit, Wendy—why would you tell her that? I nod to acknowledge what she said. "That doesn't mean she won't get in trouble."

But my saying this only makes her exasperated. "Jennie, why are you always so quick to defend her? No matter what she does, you're right there to fight her battles for her!"

"That's not true," I lie.

"Yes, it is!" She throws her hands up in disbelief. "You know it is! You told me you'd think about what I said about leaving her, but then I see you with her at a tattoo shop days later. It doesn't make sense."

"I know you don't understand, but I love her."

"If you love her so much, then why are you running away to Seattle?"

Her words rattle me. I pause for a second, but say, "I'm not running to Seattle. I'm going there for a better opportunity."

"She's not coming with you. Our group of friends talk, you know?"

What? "She was planning to," I lie. But I can tell Rosé sees right through it.

With challenge in her eyes, she looks off to the side, then levels her stare at me. "If you can tell me that you have no feelings toward me, none at all, I'll drop the charges."

Right then, the air seems to grow colder, the wind stronger. "What?"

"You heard me. Tell me to leave you alone and never speak to you again, and I'll do it." Her request reminds me of something Lisa said to me long ago.

"But I don't want that; I don't want to never talk again," I admit.

"So what do you want, then?" she asks, her voice tinged with sadness and anger. "Because you seem to be just as confused as I am! You keep texting me and meeting up with me; you kiss me, sleep in the same bed as me; you always come to me when she hurts you! What do you want from me?"

I thought I'd made my intentions clear at the hospital. "I don't know what I want from you, but I love her and that's never going to change. I'm sorry that I gave you mixed signals, but I—"

"Tell me why you're going to Seattle in a week and haven't told her!" she shouts back at me, her arms waving in front of her body.

"I don't know . . . I'm going to tell her when I get the chance."

"You won't tell her because you know she'll leave you," Rosé snaps, her eyes looking past me.

"She . . . well . . ." I don't know what to say—because I really fear Rosé's right.

"Well, guess what, Jennie? You can thank me later."

"For what?" I watch as her lips turn up into a wicked smile.

Rosé lifts her arm up, gesturing behind me, and a shiver rakes through me. "For telling her for you."

I know that when I turn around, Lisa will be standing there. I swear I can hear her ragged breathing over the harsh winter wind.