“Get dressed,” she says, glancing past me at Mazzie, who is sitting up, rubbing her eyes with closed fists, sweet as a little child. I know Estella has noticed before that we sleep in the same bed sometimes. But I figure she knows personal space takes on a different meaning when you live with someone for so long. She’s never said anything to us about it. Normally, anytime school is closed for weather, nobody is supposed to leave campus for anything. But because our grades are good, we’re allowed to go off campus for the day to Lindsey’s house. Besides that, there’s a kind of mild insanity that seems to have settled on campus because of the ice storm. Normally we’d still be wearing shorts this time of year, and nobody—not even the maintenance staff—is prepared for something like this, so everything is improvised. The four of us glide down National Road on skis borrowed from the field house, each of us wearing maroon jackets that have been embroidered over the left breast with the words “Club 813.”
