worried about Wren. Maybe because Reagan looked like the Big Bad Wolf—and Wren just looked like Cath with a better haircut.
A girl walked through the door wearing a red HUSKER FOOTBALL sweatshirt and skinny jeans. Reagan sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Cath asked.
“They all look alike on game days,” Reagan said. “I can’t see their ugly, deformed true selves.…” She turned to Cath. “What are you doing today?”
“Hiding in our room.”
“You look like you need some fresh air.”
“Me?” Cath gagged on her pot roast sandwich. “You look like you need fresh DNA.”
“I look like this because I’m alive,” Reagan said. “Because I’ve had experiences. Do you understand?”
Cath looked back up at Reagan and couldn’t help but smile.
Reagan wore eyeliner all the way around her eyes. Like a hard-ass Kate Middleton. And even though she was bigger than most girls—big hips, big chest, wide shoulders—she carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be. And everyone else went along with it—including Levi, and all the other guys who hung out in their room while Reagan finished getting ready.
“You don’t get to look like this,” Reagan said, pointing at her gray day-after face, “hiding in your room all weekend.”
“So noted,” Cath said.
“Let’s do something today.”
“Game day. The only smart thing to do is stay in our room and barricade the door.”
“Do you have anything red?” Reagan asked. “If we put on some red, we could just walk around campus and get free drinks.”
Cath’s phone rang. She looked down at it. Wren. She pushed Ignore.
“I have to write today,” she said.
* * *
When they got back to their room, Reagan took a shower and put on fresh makeup, sitting on her desk, holding a mirror.
She left and came back a few hours later with Target bags and a guy named Eric. Then she left again and didn’t come back until the sun was setting. Alone, this time.
Cath was still sitting at her desk.
“Enough!” Reagan half shouted.
“Jesus,” Cath said, turning toward her. It took a few seconds for Cath’s eyes to focus on something that wasn’t a computer screen.
“Get dressed,” Reagan said. “And don’t argue with me. I’m not playing this game with you.”
“What game?”
“You’re a sad little hermit, and it creeps me out. So get dressed. We’re going bowling.”
Cath laughed. “Bowling?”
“Oh, right,” Reagan said. “Like bowling is more pathetic than everything else you do.”
Cath pushed away from the desk. Her left leg had fallen asleep. She shook it out. “I’ve never been bowling. What should I wear?”
“You’ve never been bowling?” Reagan was incredulous. “Don’t people bowl in Omaha?”
Cath shrugged. “Really old people? Maybe?”
“Wear whatever. Wear something that doesn’t have Simon Snow on it, so that people won’t assume your brain stopped developing when you were seven.”
Cath put on her red CARRY ON T-shirt with jeans, and redid her ponytail.
Reagan frowned at her. “Do you have to wear your hair like that? Is it some kind of Mormon thing?”
“I’m not Mormon.”
“I said some kind. ” There was a knock at the door, and Reagan opened it.
Levi was standing there, practically bouncing. He was wearing a white T-shirt, and he’d drawn on it with a Sharpie, adding a collar and buttons down the front, plus a chest pocket with The Strike Out King written above it in fancy script.
“Are we doing this?” he said.
* * *
Reagan and Levi were excellent bowlers. Apparently there was a bowling alley in Arnold. Not nearly as nice as this one, they said.
The three of them were the only people under forty bowling tonight, which didn’t stop Levi from talking to absolutely every single person in the whole building. He talked to the guy who was spraying the shoes, the retired couples in the next lane, a whole group of moms in some league who sent him away
A girl walked through the door wearing a red HUSKER FOOTBALL sweatshirt and skinny jeans. Reagan sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Cath asked.
“They all look alike on game days,” Reagan said. “I can’t see their ugly, deformed true selves.…” She turned to Cath. “What are you doing today?”
“Hiding in our room.”
“You look like you need some fresh air.”
“Me?” Cath gagged on her pot roast sandwich. “You look like you need fresh DNA.”
“I look like this because I’m alive,” Reagan said. “Because I’ve had experiences. Do you understand?”
Cath looked back up at Reagan and couldn’t help but smile.
Reagan wore eyeliner all the way around her eyes. Like a hard-ass Kate Middleton. And even though she was bigger than most girls—big hips, big chest, wide shoulders—she carried herself like she was exactly the size everyone else wanted to be. And everyone else went along with it—including Levi, and all the other guys who hung out in their room while Reagan finished getting ready.
“You don’t get to look like this,” Reagan said, pointing at her gray day-after face, “hiding in your room all weekend.”
“So noted,” Cath said.
“Let’s do something today.”
“Game day. The only smart thing to do is stay in our room and barricade the door.”
“Do you have anything red?” Reagan asked. “If we put on some red, we could just walk around campus and get free drinks.”
Cath’s phone rang. She looked down at it. Wren. She pushed Ignore.
“I have to write today,” she said.
* * *
When they got back to their room, Reagan took a shower and put on fresh makeup, sitting on her desk, holding a mirror.
She left and came back a few hours later with Target bags and a guy named Eric. Then she left again and didn’t come back until the sun was setting. Alone, this time.
Cath was still sitting at her desk.
“Enough!” Reagan half shouted.
“Jesus,” Cath said, turning toward her. It took a few seconds for Cath’s eyes to focus on something that wasn’t a computer screen.
“Get dressed,” Reagan said. “And don’t argue with me. I’m not playing this game with you.”
“What game?”
“You’re a sad little hermit, and it creeps me out. So get dressed. We’re going bowling.”
Cath laughed. “Bowling?”
“Oh, right,” Reagan said. “Like bowling is more pathetic than everything else you do.”
Cath pushed away from the desk. Her left leg had fallen asleep. She shook it out. “I’ve never been bowling. What should I wear?”
“You’ve never been bowling?” Reagan was incredulous. “Don’t people bowl in Omaha?”
Cath shrugged. “Really old people? Maybe?”
“Wear whatever. Wear something that doesn’t have Simon Snow on it, so that people won’t assume your brain stopped developing when you were seven.”
Cath put on her red CARRY ON T-shirt with jeans, and redid her ponytail.
Reagan frowned at her. “Do you have to wear your hair like that? Is it some kind of Mormon thing?”
“I’m not Mormon.”
“I said some kind. ” There was a knock at the door, and Reagan opened it.
Levi was standing there, practically bouncing. He was wearing a white T-shirt, and he’d drawn on it with a Sharpie, adding a collar and buttons down the front, plus a chest pocket with The Strike Out King written above it in fancy script.
“Are we doing this?” he said.
* * *
Reagan and Levi were excellent bowlers. Apparently there was a bowling alley in Arnold. Not nearly as nice as this one, they said.
The three of them were the only people under forty bowling tonight, which didn’t stop Levi from talking to absolutely every single person in the whole building. He talked to the guy who was spraying the shoes, the retired couples in the next lane, a whole group of moms in some league who sent him away
Similar Books
