"Shawna, are pets allowed?" Mom suddenly asked.

"Oh yeah, definitely!" Shawna said.

"Maybe," said Dara.

"Mom," I muttered, nudging her. Why do parents always ask the most embarra.s.sing questions? Just when things were starting to gel between us, she has to ask about pets. "Why? I don't have a pet."

"I've been meaning to tell you, hon."

And I've been meaning to knock you on the head, I thought. Repeatedly. Hon.

"Sterling is allergic to Oscar, plus we want to travel to do marathons and triathlons and Oscar would just have to go to the kennel and he doesn't do well at kennels, you know."

I glanced nervously at Shawna, and even more nervously at Dara. "So I'm taking Oscar with me if I move. You're just telling me this now?"

"Well . . . please? Can you consider it?" she asked. "Because he's really making Sterling's life miserable."

It was the kind of thing I wished Grant was there to hear. How people put themselves and their feelings above their so-called beloved pets. If I had to rescue the mangy mutt, then so be it.

"OK, fine, I'll take Oscar. If they say it's OK." I glanced at my potential housemates again. They had moved over to the laundry area and were busy discussing the washer's flaws. "But it might not be OK and this is the only place we've found so far where I can live so this is not going to be a deal breaker, Mom."

She stared at me, looking stunned.

I was the one who was stunned. Mom was kicking out me, plus Oscar . . . I wondered if Bryan knew that he was living on borrowed time. I'd have to tell him to start asking his friends when he could move in. And if Alison was planning to move home after college, she could just forget about it, she might as well stay out in Oregon.

Mom used to go crazy by being too frugal.

Now she was in love, and instead of it being a good thing, it was horrible.

My dad was looking like a superhero in comparison. He moved away; he didn't make us move away.

When Dara and Shawna came back from checking out the washer, I asked them if it might possibly, maybe, be slightly OK if my dog moved in.

Dara shrugged. "I'm the landlord. My parents own the house. As long as your dog gets along with DeathKitty, it's OK."

"DeathKitty?" I sort of choked out.

She explained that she has a black cat named DeathKitty, which is the opposite of h.e.l.lo Kitty, in that she's neither cute nor pink. I was thinking, shouldn't that be Good-byeKitty, when Mom chimed in again with her sales pitch: Take the dog.

"Oscar wouldn't hurt a flea. He's freaky, but gentle," Mom said.

Remind me to never have her describe me to someone.

"Wish I could say the same for DeathKitty," Dara murmured.

I worried for poor Oscar. "So we'll try it out and see?"

"Yup," Dara agreed.

"Well. I think this is going to be just great," Mom said as we drove home to Denver. "You'll have a fresh start here."

"A fresh late start," I complained. I pointed out that I didn't need a fresh start, it's not like I started off really badly in college and this was my second or third chance at it. I'd aced college.

"All I'm saying is that starting over will be difficult. But remember, you hated CFC at first. And you and Mary Jo didn't get along right away and you ended up becoming great friends."

"True," I said. "But, Mom. What are you expecting me to hate?"

She didn't answer. Too busy thinking of how to turn my old room back into Workout Central, no doubt.

Now what. Do I call Grant and thank him?

Do I call W and give him the bad news? I was kind of hoping I wouldn't find a place and would have to move back to WI with him, whether it made sense or not.

I texted them both while Mom drove. What was the abbreviation for Parent Next to Me Driving Like Crazy Woman?

Oops.

Got distracted when Mom slammed on the brakes and sent my text to W to G's number instead.

Embarra.s.sing.

Full of x's and o's.

What do you mean sorry you're going to csu and you're sorry you found a palace to live, Grant texted back. I thought that was what you wanted.

I didn't find a palace, I wrote back, trying to keep things light. It's a bas.e.m.e.nt.

No response.

I added, Please disregard former message, it was not 4 u.

Ten minutes later: Then who was it 4? Grant wrote.

Um, Beth, I texted. I was sorry she's in Italy and missing all this.

Why so many x's and o's?

I miss her! Isn't it obvious?

You're crazy. That's obvious.

Then look out because your block just got a whole lot crazier, I replied.

No response.

No doubt regretting giving me housing advice.

So. Tx, I wrote.

Whatev. C U around.

Whatev? Since when did Grant use a word like that? I mean, whatev, Grant!

9/14.

Packing up my limited stuff. Most of it I'd never unpacked from the boxes that I shipped here from Cornwall Falls.

Last night, told Wittenauer about finding a place and starting cla.s.ses at CSU this week. I thought he'd be happy for me, but didn't sound that way at first. "CSU. Do you really think that's a good idea?" he asked.

"Well, why not? I mean, Grant does go there but so do twenty-five thousand other students, and-"

"I didn't mean Grant. He's the last thing on my mind. I meant, it's far from here, silly. Does it have a good rep? Does it have a good law school?"

"How should I know?"

"Court. You should know," said Wittenauer. "It's our future we're talking about here. The big picture. The long view. Remember?"

"Right, right. Uh. I'll find out about, um, all that." Wasn't it enough that I had to scramble to find a place for just right now??? Was I supposed to make everything perfect for both of us for all time? Who am I, Oprah all of a sudden?

9/15.

Moved into the house last night with Oscar. Bryan drove me up after school, because Mom and Sterling had to do their "long run" after work today.

"Don't get me started," Bryan said when I complained about it. "This was my long run day long before it was theirs." He hoisted boxes from the trunk.

DeathKitty-largest, fluffiest black kitty I have ever seen-watched from the brick ledge on the porch and, as we approached up the sidewalk, started to hiss. Oscar put his tail between his legs and then lay down on my feet, which made it hard for me to carry boxes. Shuffled along the sidewalk with German shepherd mutt on sandals.

Fortunately or unfortunately I don't have a lot to move in. Clothes, bookcase, books, one foldable chair, a.s.sorted boxes of personal items.

On the way into the house, Bryan tripped and fell because DeathKitty ran out and got in his way.

"OmiG.o.d, you're, like, really hurt!" Shawna got a wet washcloth for his nose, which had started to bleed profusely. Onto the white living room rug.

"Gah, I'm so sorry," Bryan said. "I'm not usually a klutz."

Dara stared at the rug. "I kind of like how that looks, actually. Random drops of blood on white. Very Jackson Pollock."

"OK . . ." Bryan said slowly.

I had no idea what she was talking about, either. I wondered if that was how DeathKitty got her name, by taking out people, accidentally on purpose of course.

"We can replace the rug," I offered.

"No worries," said Dara. "If it cleans, great. If not, I kind of hated it anyway."

Down in the bas.e.m.e.nt, Bryan helped me put up some wall shelves and a desk and generally get settled. Then, as much as I kind of really didn't want him to leave, it was time for him to go. It felt like Cornwall Falls all over again. Being abandoned in a strange place. Even if it was in Colorado, I still didn't feel like I knew anyone or actually belonged here.

"I'll miss you, buddy." Bryan hugged Oscar by the front door while Shawna and I watched.

"Look at them. That's so cute," Shawna said as Oscar rolled over to let Bryan scratch his belly.

Oh no. Not my brother and my friend again, I thought. Not that it was on par with Beth and him, because I'd only just met Shawna. Or re-met Shawna. Or whatever. I still wasn't interested in seeing history repeat itself. "OK, well, Bryan has to go now," I said, and I shuffled Bryan outside as quickly as I could.

Shawna followed us out to the car, carrying her mug of chai. "Do you, like, have to leave right now? Because I was going to cook dinner, and if you want to, you know, hang around."

"You're cooking?" asked Dara, standing on the porch. "Since when?"

"Um-that sounds cool-" Bryan began.

"But unfortunately, he does have to leave now, he has to be home early, because he's still in high school," I said.

Bryan looked at me like he wanted to ram me with the car. "I'll be up to visit soon," he said. Not sure whether he meant that for me, or for Shawna, or for Oscar. Or all three of us.

"Like you have any actual homework in high school," Dara said. "As if it isn't a complete joke."

"I know, right?" Bryan said. And then he gave me this two-second hug and got into the car and drove off.

Oscar and I went down to the bas.e.m.e.nt and I started arranging my stuff, trying to make the place look homier. Oscar followed me around as I put up some pictures, a poster, magnetic bulletin board, and unpacked books for my bookshelves. I put up my little chili pepper lights around the short bas.e.m.e.nt windows to give the place a little more warmth and atmosphere.

Oscar loves lights. He's drawn to them.

But tonight, Oscar just let out this big, long, sad sigh as he settled down on the rug beside the bed. And I started leafing through all my new textbooks.

I knew exactly how he felt. What were we both doing here? I missed everyone I'd ever known in my entire life.

Then I realized: I could call people to cheer up. Oscar couldn't.

He could, however, drool on my socks while I talked to Wittenauer.

9/16.

Made it through first day of cla.s.ses. My Monday-Wednesday-Friday cla.s.ses-Art of the Essay (which Dara calls Art of the Easy) (and which they are making me take as punishment for missing Freshman Comp), Sociology of the Environment, and Psychology of Social Change-are mostly big, like their names, and stopping by TA desks to talk about my late enrollment was no big deal. They gave me the syllabus and said I could email them to get the missed cla.s.s info, lectures, handouts, etc. I'll have some makeup a.s.signments to do, for sure.

Got a call back about a job I applied for. The Smoothie Stop. It's close enough that I can walk to it. I'm not sure why they are still hiring, when every other place seems full. Someone must have quit. That doesn't bode well, does it?

Neither does a cat named DeathKitty staring at me while I write in here. I expect to find this journal shredded one day and used as cat litter.

I hear Oscar outside, making funny, whimpering sounds. Must go investigate.

Hm. Didn't find anyone or anything. Oscar only makes that whimper sound when he's happy. Is he so happy to be living here? Well, makes one of us.

Time to call W.

9/17.

Tuesday-Thursday cla.s.ses not quite as smooth.

First, Oscar followed me out the door before I could close it, and I couldn't catch him. He kept running around me and following me at the same time. Eventually I had to grab him and drag him back to the house, and he whimpered the whole way like I was a horrible dog owner, so I was wondering when my neighbors would come out and call the ASPCA on me- Anyway. So, I was late to my first cla.s.s of the day, Journalism 210. (No flashy name there. Because it's hard-hitting journalism, y'all.) In my second cla.s.s, Environmental Activism, which I was late for because I got lost on campus and found myself outside the Potato Building (which, of course, I had to take a picture of with my phone to send to Mary Jo, the original Potato Clock owner) and which I had to beg to be let into because it was already at capacity (half of the guys in the cla.s.s looked like they'd be totally willing to torch a ski resort for Earth First!-if they hadn't already), the professor looked at me as if I had made a wrong turn.