Lost - By Nadia Simonenko Page 0,3

that guy again, please offer him some deodorant, okay?”

I burst out laughing and the cloud of fear and depression dissipates around me.

Tina is great because I can talk to her about anything. I’ve known her since freshman year, and when she broke down crying and came to me—when the stress of her own terrible secret was too much to bear—I knew I’d finally found someone I could trust.

“So what’s on the schedule for today, Miss Ayala?” she asks with good-natured snark. We have very different ideas of what ‘organized’ means, and for me it involves a daily planner and my week plotted out in advance. I like things to be predictable.

“First exam of the semester,” I say. “Stats 440, remember? I was studying for it all last night.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about that,” she says, quickly holding out an arm and stopping me from walking straight out into traffic. “We missed you for spades last night. Me especially. Dinah’s a shitty partner, and Lacey and Mike are dirty cheaters.”

I laugh happily as I imagine my roommates trying to play spades together. Lacey and her boyfriend Mike—who I don’t much care for, to be honest—have been dating for so long that they might as well have their own secret language by now. I’ve played cards against those two and there’s no way they aren’t telling each other what’s in their hands somehow.

The light changes, and I step out into the street. The clock tower starts to chime at the top of the steep, icy hill, and I know that in about two minutes I’m going to have the alma mater stuck in my head. I can’t stand Cornell’s school song.

“Yeah, I’m really not looking forward to the exam,” I say. “It’ll be easy, but all tests suck. It’s kind of a rule.”

“Pretty shitty deal to have a test on a Friday. Bad karma for your professor, you know?”

“Hey, better than on a Monday,” I say, and she nods back.

“True, but aren’t we supposed to be past that by now? Second-semester seniors should have it easy so we can go on interviews.”

“I kind of like keeping busy,” I say quietly. I don’t know if Tina heard me, and she doesn’t say anything for almost three blocks. I can feel myself working up a sweat underneath my coat as I struggle up the snowy hill.

“What do you have going on today?” I ask, gasping from exertion as we scale the miniature Everest called the west campus hill.

“Just one class, and then a lab session for Alcoholic Studies,” she says, winking at me. She isn’t even breathing hard from the climb. How is she not sweating? This is so unfair.

“Hey Maria, you should totally come out with me tonight!” she suddenly gushes excitedly. “Let’s go to The Nines! Wait... no... Pixel. Fuck it, how about Stella’s! Yeah, let’s go to Stella’s!”

I smile at how excited she’s getting and then shake my head.

“Tina, you know how I get around... crowds.”

She elbows me affectionately as we reach the top of the hill.

“Come on, Maria! You’re going to ace that stupid test, and then we’re set for the weekend! You’ve gotta let yourself live a little.”

“I like living a little when it’s just with you,” I protest. “It’s when everyone else is there that I have problems.”

“You have to start going outside and doing things! I know I sound like your mother, but it’s true.”

I shake my head. If I can barely stand being next to someone on the bus, how am I supposed to handle a crowded Friday-night bar?

“I can’t do it, Tina,” I say quietly.

She sighs, stops dead in her tracks, and shoots me a glare that I’ve learned, over the years, means that it’s time for ‘serious-talk.’

“Maria... where are you going to be at this time next year?”

I stare back at her silently. I don’t have the slightest clue where I’m going to be; I haven’t found a job yet. I had a panic attack during the single on-campus interview I’ve been offered.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Grad school, probably.”

“I have no idea where I’m going to be either,” she says in a flat, serious tone.

“Then why...”

“Maria, we might never see each other again after this semester.”

I start to protest, but she pretends to zip my mouth shut and cuts me off.

“I want to see you get better, just in case I’m not with you next year,” she says quietly.

I silently look down at my snow-caked sneakers. I know what she means, but it’s