I don't sleep that night. By 6 AM Monday morning, I'm already dressed in my professional armor: black pants that I've pressed carefully, a white blouse with pearl buttons that Riley helped me pick out last semester. The fabric feels stiff against my skin, like I'm wearing someone else's clothes, playing dress-up for a role I never auditioned for.
Riley is still asleep when I leave our dorm room, her breathing deep and even, one arm flung over the edge of her bed. I close the door quietly behind me, stepping into the hallway where the fluorescent lights hum their perpetual tune. The building smells like industrial cleaner and old carpet, the scent of a thousand students who've walked these halls before me.
