3 Dear Holden,

Rooming with you used to be so awkward, remember? We would be attached at the hip in the Common area, keeping each other at an arm's distance from the other girls. When it came to being alone though, you'd claimed the bed close to the heater that never worked and I claimed the bed close to the cubbies and we wiled away the time with books borrowed from the teacher, who was assigned to the girl section and woefully unlicensed to deal with teenage delinquents. One of the only times you and I showed solidarity was when we tried intimidating him for more stickers to decorate our notebooks with.

The third bed remained empty.

Though mutually understood silence was certainly nice, I could only stand being ignored for so long. My chance happened to come with a ripped off notebook paper, one you had been fussing with all day. On one side the name

'Rye' glared accusingly at me, the heart drawn after it in unnecessary punctuation. I hadn't spied what was on the other side but I didn't exactly have to guess with the way you giggled and pressed the letter to your breast every so often.

Apropos of nothing I asked, "When are you gonna respond?"

My question might've been too loud for Quiet Time (in other terms, the block in our schedules where we're meant to stay in our rooms and keep silent while the volunteers took their break,) but it was enough to hold your attention.

Your dreamy expression melted into annoyance. "Has anyone told you how nosy you are, or is that how you can never make friends?"

Ouch. You weren't wrong, but I persisted. "Sounds like a classic case of deflection. Considering you never share everything in therapy circle one could get the impression you don't like confrontation. Where does this instinct come from?"

"Considering the amount of therapy jargon you throw around, one can get the impression you think you're intelligent because you waste your time reading Wikipedia." Despite the not so veiled insult, you shuffled to the side and patted at an empty spot.

I made myself comfortable and made sure to take up as much space as possible. You didn't notice, instead remaining bowed over the letter. Your face was covered by the way your locs swung forward, like pale ropes waiting to be twisted into nooses. Your neck stuck out from your collar, resembling a curved wire. I wrenched my attention from you to the letter, a page's worth of purple prose.

The first time I saw you Holden, was the first time I fell in love. Your elegant ivory skin contrasted with your exotic features-

"Exotic?" I said aloud. "Was that because you're albino? Wooow."

You prodded at my thigh and bid me to continue reading. I skipped forward a few lines and mentally stuttered.

I want to hold you close babe, I want to bite you, suck out all your blood. Watch as the lack of air leaves you gasping and begging to be let loose. I read and reread the whole thing, just to be sure before rounding on you.

"Tell me you're not gonna give him your number," I pleaded. You gave a noncommittal shrug.

"He's the only guy who's bothered talking to me in like, forever."

"No, that's like the number one rule of dating- don't settle for the first guy who tries to get you into vampire role play."

You raised a brow, and with it manage to look down on me despite the two of us physically being on the same level. "Why don't we talk about your boy problems?"

"I don't have boy problems, so nice try."

"Girl problems then? Ha, I knew it!"

Had I been drinking something I would've done a spit take. As it was, I stubbornly avoided looking at anything but the wall my bed was set against. The wallpaper was nice to look at, if a little bland. Gold leaves patterned over eggshell white, and a light fixed above the bed that allowed me to read at night. Behind the cubbies was a strategically aimed hole, as if someone put their fist through the wall, which very well could be exactly what happened. Eventually I responded.

"I'm not gay. This isn't exactly helping your case by the way. Is the subject of sexual insecurity that sore for you? I mean I gotta say it's a perfectly normal feeling for girls our age and there's no judgement here-"

You pushed me, hard enough that I rolled off the bed headfirst. My head pounded and felt too heavy to move, so I settled for staring resentfully at what I could see of you, a blurred figure in the corner of my vision. You were kind enough to help out and kneeled by me. You were talking but I could only make out some of what must've been a truly epic monologue. The rest drowned in the rushing blood rising to my ears.

"...stop getting in my business. I don't actually like you and we're not really friends so you don't have any right to..."

It was only when you stared impatiently that I realized you were expecting an actual response.

"It's not my fault you think shacking up with some incel is an idea of a good time. Maybe I just don't wanna have to see him anymore than I'll probably have to. Plus I have an ex named Rye and he sucked majorly. Ten out of ten don't recommend." I think at that point I was just saying whatever came to mind, and at the mention of my Rye, my hand itches towards the place over my heart. I still remember the time dad agreed to tattoo Rye's name there, and how painful it was. How it still feels like a brand as I write.

None of that mattered, because my mangled speech certainly got a kick out of you, and it took a moment you were actually laughing, not even to mock me. Once you recovered, you actually helped me up.

Absurdly enough, the two of us fell back into our usual routine. It was almost enough to convince me the incident never happened, if it weren't for that very night. You had ripped the letter up, each tear more vicious than the last. When you somehow caught me watching, without a turn of the head you whispered,

"Rye is just about the most hick name I can think of."