So I lied to Neil. I wasn't meeting a friend.

She was already here.

She had come as soon as she got my letter, which was only a day after I sent it. I had found her in my room when I came back from the meeting, tears dripping down my cheeks and making wet streaks in the dirt that covered my face.

"Isobel!" I cried (and by cried, I mean a cross between actually crying and exclaiming excitedly). "What are you doing here?"

"You told me to come, damn it" she replied. "I think the real question is what the hell is wrong with you?"

Isobel swore frequently and without holding back most of the time, though with me she was sure to omit the more vulgar words. She taught me to swear as well, and though I was still a prick and obsessed with grammar, my words flowed more easily when I was with her. I guess I could just let myself go and not care what she thought.

"Uggghhh," I sighed, sinking into my bed. "Guy trouble." It felt good to say that, never having had any cause for "guy trouble" before, but it still felt dirty and slimy and I just needed it to go away.

"The whole school is guys," she replied. "I wouldn't have accepted anything less." She dropped her strong British accent for a second as she mimicked my American one – "Guy trouble."

I smiled, glad to have my old friend back.

"Now," she said, "I'd love to go on about your problems, really I would, but there's something about your letter that's been bothering me…"

"The guy I've found for you?" I had to force my voice to maintain my American accent, as it always wanted to adopt Isobel's British one when I was around her.

"Exactly," she said. "You know Henley Guys are either gorgeous and jerks or ugly and sweet."

"Or just plain awkward," I said, thinking back to my freshman year when I was taller than most guys in my grade.

"Exactly," she said again. "And I couldn't help but peek around your room…"

"Oh, God, Isobel."

"And I found this picture…" She waved a well-worn Polaroid in front of my face.

I grabbed it from her and found myself staring at all of us – the Dead Poets Society, and me, I suppose. I was smiling with that wide smile that showed all of my perfect teeth (my best feature, in my opinion). My bottom lip kind of curled downward and my nose was scrunched up. My cheeks were red from the cold.

Neil was to my right. Our fingers were interlaced and our shoulders were hunched up. I remembered the day perfectly – it was snowing (as you could oh-so-beautifully see in the photo) and we were all freezing. But our eyes were bright, shining with possibilities.

To our left and right were the other members of the Society. Knox and Todd were shying away from the camera. Charlie was standing, arms crossed, a smirk on his face. Meeks and Cameron posed looking fidgety. Pitts stood separated from us by a little ways, awkwardly tall.

"Take your pick," I said. "All of them are desperate for a girl."

"Hmmmm," she joked. She twirled her finger around. "I choose… that one." She pointed a perfectly pink fingernail at Neil.

"Oh, come off it," I said.

She smiled. "Who was the one you had picked for me?" she asked, grinning devilishly.

"Charlie Dalton," I answered, still smiling. "Cocky asshole, but really sweet." I pointed him out.

"And hot," she agreed. "Now before I run over to his room and take my clothes off, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

I laughed, partly because Isobel could make me laugh no matter what she said, and partly because she was as much a virgin as I was.

"It's gotten a bit more complicated since I wrote to you," I said. "Hence the tears."

"Tell me everything," she commanded, and I did.

I told her about how I loved Neil, and how I felt like he loved me too but I couldn't tell him, and how we weren't even supposed to be dating, and how I needed to tell someone – tell a girl – how I was feeling, and oh yeah, did I mention that I got my first kiss? But then I totally blew up because Knox thinks he's in love with Chris but I can't tell him not to date her without telling them about Chet which I can't do, and I've already lied about my mom and I can't keep so many things from them.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Why not what?"

"Why can't you tell them the truth?"

"About what?"

"Your mom, Chet, you know."

"Shit, I don't know."

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," I finally decided. "I'll tell him everything."

"Sounds like a plan," she said. "Now let's go to sleep. It's already 12 and I've been stuck in this room for hours waiting for you."

…

When we woke up, Isobel spent what seemed like hours but was probably only about thirty minutes "getting ready." To her this meant makeup and the perfect outfit, though since coming to Welton I had pretty much given up on my appearance. I wanted to just pick my rumpled uniform off the ground and stick some deodorant on and be out the door, but Isobel stopped me. "Wait," she said. "I need to look perfect."

"You always look perfect," I said, and it was true. She was beautiful. With her gorgeous face and figure and loud personality, I always felt so dull and out of place next to her. But she loved me, and I loved her, so we evened out.

"Yes, but how am I supposed to look good when I'm standing next to my best friend and she looks like she just got released from the hospital?"

"You'll look even better compared to me," I said, attempting to drag her out the door. My stomach growled.

"Oh, come off it," she replied. "We both have to look hot if we want to make a scene."

I had no desire to make a scene, and personally, I didn't think I looked that bad. I had pulled up my shirt higher than normal so that the hem was brushing my knees, and instead of my usual pigtails, which came to remind me of a kindergarten girl obsessed with pink, I pulled it back into a loose braid.

"Let's get you fixed up," she said, and pulled me into the bathroom.