Letters from Maggie: Installment IX

Dear Cassandra,

Things are quite literally winding down. Snow has started falling sporadically to remind us that it is no longer September, as much as it feels like it still is. I have started to think about final papers and Secret Santas. It’s rather terrifying.

There are all these loose ends being tied up too, what with you and Wendy finally deciding to make it official, and me and Henry… well, doing quite the opposite. Don’t get me wrong, I really am thrilled for you, but we are just going to have to diverge on this particular life path for the time being. Even Heron and Bridget are a thing now, apparently! I found out from them yesterday when I walked past them while I was headed to the Hall of Arts lecture hall. They were sitting at one of those comfy red booth tables. That’s kind of how the whole thing started.

Henry hadn’t been answering my texts as enthusiastically, as you know. I’m not quite sure what happened, and it was running me in circles, thinking about what I did wrong, or if I had suddenly turned into a horrendous green and purple monster. When I saw Heron, I asked if he knew what Henry was up to, since we were supposed to study together that night and he wasn’t responding. Heron looked down briefly to avoid meeting my eyes. Then he told me that he’d seen Henry studying with Kandace from across the hall in 5C. I didn’t even know they were friends, but I figured it was fine.

It was obviously not fine. I don’t want to get into the details because it does hurt a decent amount, but apparently Henry and Kandace were a lot closer than I knew. And apparently Henry and I were a lot less close than I thought. I guess it happens.

And it’s probably for the best too, since I’m clearly still so hung up on Lou. I’ve been so happy to be talking to him again, but it’s been so static. It’s really hard for me to understand why he even reached out again when he’s being so quiet and detached.

What I love most about Lou is how, no matter what the situation is, he always manages to drive me the largest possible amount of crazy. Either I am head over heels for him and he’s indifferent (or worse, otherwise occupied) or he’s looking to occupy all my time and energy, and I want him out of the inner depths of my corner where he grows like mold. I am always breathing him in, getting lightheaded, cleaning with bleach, and missing a single colony. The cycles are not good by any means, I’ll admit it, but they nonetheless make me feel justified every time I go into a new one. If the colonies keep growing, there must be something good for them to feed on.

I often wish I had a distraction from my situation with him, and besides the unfortunate distraction of Henry, it turns out that I do have something. Dietrich Ball is in a few weeks, and I already know what dress I want to wear — you know that incredible backless green one with the silky skirt that shows my tattoo? Everyone’s been talking about the dance — even Monica, and you know it’s not really her kind of thing. I have a plus-one ticket, and obviously I intended to take Henry, but now I’m not sure what to do with it. Of course, I would love to bring you, it’s just that the other night I got the most mysterious text from someone who said they got my number from the University Press directory. They told me to meet them in front of Hamerschlag Hall at 8 p.m. the night of the ball. They said they knew about the people mysteriously appearing in my room and would be able to tell me what happened.

Now, obviously you know I’m not one to meet strangers at night, but with everything that’s happened recently, I’m so hungry for answers. And I feel so safe on this campus at night that I can’t even begin to imagine anything going wrong. Anyone who knows this about me must have some sort of connection; at least that’s what I’m banking on.

I’ll let you know what happens.
Mags