Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Acknowledgments
About the Author
_147202262_
For Tahlia, who told me to quit my job and write a book
FROM: Hein University Reunion & Commencement Committee <rc@hein.edu>
SUBJECT: An Invitation…
Dear Charlotte,
My, how time flies! We can’t believe it has already been five years since we graduated from Hein University. It feels like just yesterday that we received our diplomas on the President’s Lawn. Some of us are still recovering from our mortarboard sunburns.
We write to you with good news: It’s time to come home. We would love for you to join us at Hein for our five-year reunion on May 17–20, 2018.
Come celebrate the graduating Class of 2018 and reunite with friends on campus! Hein University is thrilled to gather graduating students and alumni together for an action-packed long weekend of programming, meals, and events. Each academic department will host open houses for returning alumni, as well as discussion panels and screenings. You can review the full schedule on the Hein Reunion & Commencement microsite. If you would like to reserve on-campus housing, double rooms have been set aside for the Class of 2013 in Randall Dormitory.
We are thrilled to announce that Roger Ludermore, CEO of The Front End Review and Hein Class of ’81, will give the commencement address on Sunday, May 20th. As always, alumni are welcome to attend the commencement ceremony for the Class of 2018.
Lastly, remember to send Reece Krueger your updates for the 2018 edition of Hein Magazine! We would love to celebrate your accomplishments. Submit your updates to <rkrueger@hein.edu>.
We can’t wait to see you again.
Sincerely,
Kahini Gupta, Class President ’13
Luella Jackson, R&C Chair ’13
Reece Krueger, Class Secretary ’13
Thursday
Chapter 1
TEXT MESSAGE FROM JACKIE SLAUGHTER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 3:10 PM: sorry flight delayed will be there as soon as I can!!
TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO JACKIE SLAUGHTER, 3:16 PM: Can’t wait to see you. Please do not make me face these people alone.
During their senior year of college, Charlotte’s roommate Jackie printed a color wheel on a sheet of canvas. Each slice of the pie was labeled with an emotion: the burning crimson of hostile, the spiky cobalt of depressed, the vibrant, consuming orange of joy. The Feelings Chart, as they called it, hung in a place of honor on the living room wall. Whenever Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and withdrew from a tense conversation, Jackie would point to the chart and demand, “Use your words!”
Now, standing in front of a nondescript door on the ground floor of their old dormitory, Charlotte looked at the tiny envelope in her hand embossed with the Hein University crest and realized that déjà vu hadn’t been on the chart.
She held her breath as she unfolded the flap of the envelope. A thick metal key fell into her palm, then slid into the lock with a familiar give and tumble. Muscle memory returned like it had been days, not years, since she last lived in a dorm.
When the door swung open, her déjà vu only intensified. Her eyes swept over the high popcorn ceiling and cinder-block walls. The dull gray square contained two sets of chipped wooden furniture: narrow single beds, heavy desks, and chairs that complained against the linoleum floor. Twin dressers sat on either side of the door, and a squat bookshelf lined the far wall underneath a wide window. Every room on campus looked the same, dated and utilitarian, differentiated only by the furniture arrangement.
The smell hit her the hardest: that old fog of industrial cleaner, rubber mattresses, and spilled beer. It brought back late nights working on papers, her desk covered in coffee cups and empty bags of Doritos.
Charlotte flicked on the overhead light and listened to its fluorescent buzz, the soundtrack of her college years. Cold spread through her chest, blending indigo (astonishment) and a flat pale blue (dread). For the next four days, she was back at Hein University. Nothing whatsoever had changed, except for her.
With a grunt, Charlotte dropped her duffle bag on one of the beds. When she rolled up the blackout curtain, a thicket of trees greeted her outside. The forest helped orient her in the dorm’s labyrinth of twisting hallways—this side of the building faced north. She shoved the window open, and the smell of mulch and damp leaves poured into the room.
Charlotte breathed in deep and slow. She had always preferred the earthy aroma of the suburbs. Her life in New York City smelled like humid garbage and subway exhaust. The closest she had gotten to nature since graduating was pigeon poop drying on the fire escape outside her bedroom window.
She never expected to miss living in a dormitory, least of all the reviled Randall Dormitory for freshmen, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had this much space. Room 107 easily dwarfed every apartment she called home since graduation. It could fit her old place in Manhattan’s Financial District, the illegal three-bedroom with the partition walls that didn’t reach the ceiling. Then came the roach-infested loft in Bushwick after she lost her job at ChompNews…and the sublet in Queens with a colony of feral cats in the attic.
At least her current place in Crown Heights had a bedroom window. She lived with just one roommate—a high-strung publicist named Kit—and she didn’t need to worry about her packages getting stolen in the vestibule. But the new place was still teeny: Room 107 would contain her bedroom, Kit’s room, their shared kitchen-slash-living-space, and the coat closet stuffed with Kit’s camping equipment.
Until Jackie arrived, Charlotte practically had a luxury SRO all to herself.
Brutalist charmer bursting with natural light! the Craigslist post would say. Spacious square footage, complete with vintage industrial furniture! 420 friendly! NO PETS, NO IN-UNIT LAUNDRY. COMMUNAL BATHROOM SHARED WITH DIVERSE YOUNG PROFESSIONALS.
Her phone bleated in her pocket. Her shoulders tensed at the electronic chirp. She fished a charger out of her duffle bag and plugged her phone into the outlet beside the dresser, scanning the notification.
SLACK MESSAGE FROM ROGER LUDERMORE TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 4:47 PM: interns yelling again. what happened w HR about the quiet policy?
Charlotte swiped to dismiss the message and turned her phone upside down. As she stared at the mirror anchored to the cinder-block wall, she gave her reflection a can you believe this glare.
