We had a study hall together senior year, both cut off from the friends we usually traveled in a pack with by the randomness of scheduling. The holiday break had come and gone, and snow covered everything like a big white cocoon. College essays were in, and there was nothing to do but wait, and try not to let our grades slip too much in the final stretch before freedom.“We have to make every single second count,” B.J. would say at least twice a day. She alternated this with “I am counting the seconds till we leave this hellhole behind.” Three can be a dangerous number for friendships, but for B.J., Veronica, and me, it worked. We were the kind of girls who only had boyfriends once in a while, and rarely at the same time. So the other two held the fort while one of us, usually B.J., was off dating.My turn had come and gone junior year, and my lack of dating since then felt like a drought that might never end. “Don’t sweat it, Mel,” B.J. said, after three seniors in a row I had crushes on went off to date cute, perky sophomores.
