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should say something sweet but not overly sappy. Something appropriate but heartfelt.
    Like—I’m thinking of you. (Not in a weird way.)
    â€”Your strictly internet friend, Bucker
    Given the circumstances, I decided to wait on telling her about the University of Texas. I put my phone in my pocket and thought maybe I would tell Willa instead. But then she came out of her bedroom with her eyes still closed and ran directly into a wall, so I thought maybe it could wait.
    Besides, I wasn’t sure I was ready to tell anybody yet.
    For some reason it felt like it had to be a secret, like maybe if I said it out loud it would become real. And so many real things disappeared.

FIVE
Frances
    I slept from ten in the morning until eleven in the morning and then I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand.
    I read a message from Bucker. I closed my eyes and imagined a bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase on my bureau. I wrote him back:
    Something appropriate but heartfelt. I like that. I think it speaks for itself. And thank you for the flowers; I think I might be allergic, but it was a nice gesture.
    I pressed the button on my phone and said, “Call Arrow.”
    â€œWho would you like me to call?”
    â€œArrow.”
    â€œOkay. What would you like me to do?”
    â€œCall Arrow.”
    â€œOkay. Would you like to send Arrow a message?”
    â€œGo fuck yourself.”
    â€œThat is not a valid—”
    I turned off my useless robot and dialed my cousin’s number myself. She answered after the fourth ring. Clearly asleep.
    â€œWhy did I watch six hours of
Buffy
by myself last night?” she said.
    â€œI have a very good explanation for that.”
    â€œAnd I would love to hear it in, I don’t know, three hours? Call me later?”
    â€œCan I come over? I’m gonna come over.”
    â€œI don’t think so. I mean later, sure. Come over later. Right now is not a great—”
    â€œI’ll see you in few.”
    I hung up on her and got dressed quickly, running a brush through my hair without looking in the mirror.
    Arrow lived just next door. I let myself in the back. My aunt Florence was chopping veggies in the kitchen. I felt like my aunt Florence was always chopping veggies in the kitchen.
    â€œHi, Frances! What a nice surprise.”
    I came over every day, multiple times a day, and Aunt Florence was always nicely surprised to see me.
    â€œHi, Aunt Florence.”
    â€œDid you have breakfast? I have oatmeal made! And all manner of accoutrements.”
    Aunt Florence generally used words like
accoutrements,
but she didn’t generally cry while chopping veggies, so that’s how I knew she knew. She was my mom’s sister, after all.
    â€œYou know about my mother, huh?” I said.
    Aunt Florence put her veggie-chopping knife on the cutting board and wiped her hands on her apron. She always wore aprons, and I had never seen her wear the same one twice, which led me to believe she owned too many aprons.
    â€œOh, honey. I’m so sorry,” she said.
    â€œI’m sorry too. And I’m sorry everybody lied to me,” I said. Then I shrugged and got a bowl of oatmeal and went upstairs.
    Arrow was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her eyes closed and her breathing deep. Morning meditations. I didn’t know where she’d picked it up from, but she meditated every morning and night. She said she wasn’t herself if she skipped a day. I sat at her desk until she was done. I ate my oatmeal.
    Arrow was adopted from Vietnam when she was threeyears old. She had short straight hair and yellow-rimmed glasses she used for reading. She was wearing bright-pink shorts and a bright-yellow top. It didn’t strictly match.
    When she opened her eyes, I said, “You don’t strictly match.”
    â€œWell, you’re in a fun mood,” she said.
    â€œI am not in a fun mood,” I said. I took the last bite of oatmeal and