“Hurry, Belly,” my dad said, breathing hard.

“She’s Isabel now,” my mother said.

I remember the way I fumbled with my key and how I looked up at the door and saw it. isabel, it said in glue-on rhinestones. My roommate’s and my door tags were made out of empty CD cases. My roommate’s, Jillian Capel’s, was a Mariah Carey CD, and mine was Prince.

Jillian’s stuff was already unpacked, on the left side of the room, closer to the door. She had a paisley bedspread, navy and rusty orange. It looked brand new. She’d already hung up her posters—a Trainspotting movie poster and some band I’d never heard of called Running Water.

My dad sat down at the empty desk—my desk. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off his forehead.

He looked really tired. “It’s a good room,” he said. “Good light.”

Jeremiah was just hovering around, and he said, “I’ll go down to the car to get that big box.”

My dad started to get up. “I’ll help,” he said.

“I’ve got it,” Jeremiah said, bounding out the door.

Sitting back down, my dad looked relieved. “I’ll just take a break, then,” he said.

Meanwhile, my mother was surveying the room, opening the closet, looking in drawers.

I sank down on the bed. So this was where I was going to live for the next year.

Next door, someone was playing jazz. Down the hall, I could hear a girl arguing with her mother about whereto put her laundry bin. It seemed like the elevator never stopped dinging open and closed. I didn’t mind. I liked the noise. It was comforting knowing there were people all around me.

“Want me to unpack your clothes?” my mother asked.

“No, that’s all right,” I said. I wanted to do that myself.

Then it would really feel like my room.

“At least let me make up your bed, then,” she said.

When it was time to say good-bye, I wasn’t ready. I thought I would be, but I wasn’t. My dad stood there, his hands on his hips. His hair looked really gray in the light.

He said, “Well, we should get going if we want to beat rush-hour traffic.”

Irritably, my mother said, “We’ll be fine.”

Seeing them together like this, it was almost like they weren’t divorced, like we were still a family. I was overcome with this sudden rush of thankfulness. Not all divorces were like theirs. For Steven’s and my sake, they made it work and they were sincere about it. There was still genuine affection between them, but more than that: there was love for us. It was what made it possible for them to come together on days like this.

I hugged my dad, and I was surprised to see tears in his eyes. He never cried. My mother hugged me briskly, but I knew it was because she didn’t want to let go. “Make sure you wash your sheets at least twice a month,” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

“And try making your bed in the morning. It’ll make your room look nicer.”

“Okay,” I said again.

My mother looked over at the other side of the room.

“I just wish we could have met your roommate.”

Jeremiah was sitting at my desk, his head down, scroll-ing on his phone while we said our good-byes.

All of a sudden, my dad said, “Jeremiah, are you going to leave now too?”

Startled, Jeremiah looked up. “Oh, I was going to take Belly to dinner.”

My mother shot me a look, and I knew what she was thinking. A couple of nights before, she’d given me this long speech about meeting new people and not spending all my time with Jere. Girls with boyfriends, she’d said, limit themselves to a certain kind of college experience.

I’d promised her I wouldn’t be one of those kind of girls.

“Just don’t get her back too late,” my dad said in this really meaningful kind of way.

I could feel my cheeks get red, and this time my mother gave my dad a look, which made me feel even more awkward. But Jeremiah just said, “Oh, yeah, of course,” in his relaxed way.

I met my roommate, Jillian, later that night, after dinner. It was in the elevator, right after Jeremiah dropped me off in front of the dorm. I recognized her right away, from the 78 · jenny han

pictures on her dresser. She had curly brown hair, and she was really little, shorter than she’d looked in the pictures.

I stood there, trying to figure out what to say. When the other girls in the elevator got off on the sixth floor, it was just the two of us. I cleared my throat and said,

“Excuse me. Are you Jillian Capel?”

“Yeah,” she said, and I could tell she was a little weirded out.

“I’m Isabel Conklin,” I said. “Your roommate.”

I wondered if I should hug her or offer her my hand to shake. I did neither, because she was staring at me.

“Oh, hi. How are you?” Without waiting for me to answer, she said, “I’m just coming back from dinner with my parents.” Later, I would learn that she said “How are you” a lot, like it was more of a thing to say, not something she expected an answer to.

“I’m good,” I said. “I just had dinner too.”

We got off the elevator then. I felt this excited pitter-patter in my chest, like wow, this is my roommate. I’d thought a lot about her since I got my housing letter.

Jillian Capel from Washington, DC, nonsmoker. I’d imagined us talking all night, sharing secrets and shoes and microwave popcorn.

When we were in our room, Jillian sat down on her bed and said, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, he goes here too,” I said, sitting on my hands.

I was eager to get right to the girl talk and the bonding.

“His name is Jeremiah. He’s a sophomore.”

I jumped up and grabbed a photo of us from my desk.

It was from graduation, and Jeremiah was wearing a tie and he looked handsome in it. Shyly, I handed it to her.

“He’s really cute,” she said.

“Thanks. Do you have a boyfriend?”

She nodded. “Back home.”

“Neat,” I said, because it was all I could think of.

“What’s his name?”

“Simon.”

“Do people ever call you Jill? Or Jilly? Or do you just go by Jillian?”

“Jillian. Do you go to sleep early or late?”

“Late. What about you?”

“Early,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. “We’ll figure something out. I wake up early, too. What about you?”

“Um, sure, sometimes.” I hated to wake up early, hated it more than almost anything.

“Do you like to study with music on or off?”

“Off?”

Jillian looked relieved. “Oh, good. I hate noise when I study. I need it to be really quiet.” She added, “Not that I’m anal or anything.”

I nodded. Her picture frames were at perfect right angles. When we walked into the room, she’d hung up her jean jacket right away. I only ever made my bed when 80 · jenny han

company came over. I wondered if my sloppy tendencies would get on her nerves. I hoped not.

I was about to say so when she turned her laptop on.

I guessed we were done bonding for the night. Now that my parents were gone and Jeremiah was on his way back to his frat house, I was really alone. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d already unpacked. I’d been hoping we could explore the hall together, meet people. But she was typing away, chatting with someone. Probably her boyfriend back home.

I got my cell phone out of my purse and texted Jeremiah. Will you come back?

I knew he would.

For the hall icebreaker the next night, our RA, Kira, told us to bring one personal item that we felt represented us best. I settled on a pair of swim goggles. The other girls brought stuffed animals and framed photos, and one girl brought out her modeling book. Jillian brought her laptop.

We were all sitting in a circle, and Joy was sitting across from me. She was cradling a trophy in her lap. It was for a soccer state championship, which I thought was pretty impressive. I really wanted to make friends with Joy. I’d had it in my head since the night before, when we’d chatted in the hall bathroom in our pajamas, both of us with our shower caddies. Joy was short, with a sandy bob and light eyes. She didn’t wear makeup. She was sturdy and sure of herself, in the way that girls who play competitive sports are.