Girls! Quit lollygagging. We're going to hit traffic if we don't leave now."

Over the course of their senior year in high school, they'd become a pair. TullyandKate. Everyone at school said their two names as one. When Tully became editor of the school paper, Kate was right beside her, helping her to edit the stories. She lived vicariously through her friend's achievements, rode the wave of her popularity, but all of that had taken place in a world she knew, in a place where she felt safe.

In the creaky attic bedroom, Kate stood at the edge of her twin bed, staring down at the open suitcase that contained all of her prized belongings. A framed picture of her grandparents lay on top, wedged between her ribbon-wrapped packet of long-ago letters from Tully and a photo of her and Tully taken at graduation.

Although she'd been looking forward to this moment for months (she and Tully had spun endless late-night dreams, all of which began with the words when we're in college), now that it was here, she felt reluctant to leave home.

"What if I forgot something?"

Tully crossed the room and came up beside Kate. She closed the suitcase and clamped it shut. "You're ready."

Tully stared at her. "We're a team, aren't we? The Firefly Lane girls."

"No. You're ready. You're always ready," Kate said, trying not to sound as afraid as she was. It occurred to her suddenly, sharply, how much she'd miss her parents and even her little brother.

"We have been, but --"

"No buts. We're going to college together, we're pledging the same sorority, and we'll be hired by the same TV station. Period. That's it. We can do it."

Kate knew what was expected of her, by Tully and everyone else: she was supposed to be strong and courageous. If only she felt it more deeply. But since she didn't feel it, she did what she often did lately around Tully. She smiled and faked it. "You're right. Let's go."

The drive from Snohomish to downtown Seattle, which usually took about thirty-five minutes, seemed to pass in a blink. Kate barely spoke, couldn't seem to find her voice, even as Tully and her mom chattered on about the upcoming Rush Week at the sororities. Her mother, it seemed, was more excited about their college adventure than Kate was.

Tully rushed forward and let them all embrace her.

"Well. This is it," Mr. Mularkey said.

"It's going to be okay," Mom said. "Trust in all the dreams you've made. You and Tully are going to become the best reporters this state has ever seen. Your dad and I are so proud of you."

Tully stood back, looking oddly left out.

For the next hour they unpacked and talked and took pictures. Then, finally, Dad said, "Well, Margie, it's time. We don't want to get caught in traffic." There was one last round of hugs.

Much too soon, it was over.

Kate clung to her mom, battling tears.

"Geez, Tully, get over here," Mom called out.

Kate went to her parents and threw her arms around them, forming the famous Mularkey family hug.

Kate nodded and looked up at her mom through hot tears. "I love you, Mom."

In the towering high-rise of Haggett Hall, they made their way through the loud, crowded corridors to a small, dingy dorm room on the tenth floor. Here was where they'd stay during Rush. When it was over, they'd move into their sorority.

And then, suddenly, they were gone.

"We'll call every Sunday," Tully said behind them. "Right after you get home from church."

Tully flopped on the bed. "I wonder what Rush will be like. I bet every house will want us. How could they not?"

"They'll want you," Kate said softly, and for the first time in months she felt like the girl they'd called Kootie all those years ago, the girl in the Coke-bottle glasses and high-water Sears jeans. It didn't matter that she'd gotten contacts and lost her braces and learned how to put on makeup to enhance her features. The sorority girls would see through all that.

"Remember Firefly Lane?" Tully said, lowering her voice. Over the years those words had become a catchall phrase, a kind of shorthand for their memories. It was their way of saying that a friendship begun at fourteen, back when David Cassidy was groovy and a song could make you cry, would last forever.

Tully sat up. "You know I won't join a sorority unless we're in it together, right?"

"That's not fair to you, though." Kate went to the bed and sat down beside her.

"I haven't forgotten."

"But you don't get it," Tully said.

"You always get your way."

"Get what?"

"When my mom dumped me, who was there for me? When my gran died, who held my hand and took me in?" She turned to Kate. "You. That's the answer. We're a team, Kate. Forever friends, no matter what. Okay?" She bumped Kate, made her smile.

Tully laughed. "Of course I do. It's one of my more endearing traits. Now let's figure out what we're going to wear for the first day…"

The University of Washington was everything Tully had hoped it would be and more. Spread out over several miles and comprised of hundreds of gothic buildings, it was a world unto itself. The size daunted Kate, but not Tully; she figured if she could triumph here, she could triumph anywhere. From the moment they moved into their sorority, she began preparing for a reporting job at the networks. In addition to taking the core classes in communications, she made time to read at least four newspapers a day and watch as many newscasts as possible. When her big break came, she was going to be ready.

Not something she was good at.

Tully frowned and sat back in her chair. They were in Kane Hall, one of the biggest auditoriums on campus. From her chair in the nosebleed section, crammed in among almost five hundred other students, she could barely see the professor, who'd turned out not to be a professor at all, but rather his teaching assistant.

The problem, once again, was her youth. She couldn't get into the upper-level broadcasting or journalism classes; no amount of cajoling or prodding could move the behemoth bureaucracy of this huge state school. She simply had to wait her turn.

It had taken her most of the first few weeks of school to get her bearings and figure out what Phase One of the academic plan should be. She'd met with her School of Communications advisor so often that he sometimes avoided her in the hall when he saw her coming, but she didn't care. When she had questions, she wanted answers.

She leaned sideways and whispered to Kate, "Why is there a science requirement? I won't need geology to be a reporter."

"Shhh."

Kate didn't even glance at her, just kept scribbling notes on her paper.

"We can buy lecture notes. Let's go. The newspaper office opens at ten."

"Are you making paper? Come on. I want to meet the editor."

Tully groaned and sat back, crossing her arms in disgust, waiting minute by minute for class to end. The second the bell rang, she shot to her feet. "Thank God. Let's go."

Kate stood up and slung her backpack over one shoulder. "We are not going to get a job at the newspaper, Tully."

Kate finished with her notes and collected her pages, methodically organizing everything in her notebook.

They went downstairs, merging into the loud crowd of students.

"Your mom told you not to be so negative, remember?"

Outside, the sun shone brightly on the brick-covered courtyard known as Red Square. Over by Suzzallo Library, a group of long-haired students were gathered beneath a CLEAN UP HANFORD sign.

"Quit complaining to my mom when you don't get your way," Kate said as they headed for the Quad. "We can't even get into journalism classes until we're juniors."

Kate put an arm around her. "Come on, Barbara Walters, I'll walk you home."

"Hag."

"I knew it. You were just messing with me."

"But you'll come with me, right? We're a team."

"Told you we were too young," Kate said as they walked back to the sorority.

"Of course I'm coming."

At the newspaper office, Tully stopped. "I'll do the talking."

"I'm shocked, really."

They kept talking as they walked through the Quad, where the cherry trees were lush and green, as was the grass. Dozens of students in brightly colored shorts and T-shirts played Frisbee and hacky sack.

"That's a complete lie: you hardly ever think."

Laughing, they went into the building, announced themselves to a shaggy-looking kid at the front desk, and were directed to the editor's office.

"Bitch."

The entire meeting lasted less than ten minutes.

"Bite me. Sometimes I think you don't even want to be a reporter with me."

Kate smiled and kept walking. "We aren't going to get the job."

Tully stopped. "Are you really not going to come with me?"

Kate struggled not to smile. Everything about Tully was big -- she had such high highs and low lows. Their time at UW had only increased her tendencies. The funny thing was that while this huge crowded campus had somehow released Tully's extravagances, it had had an opposite and calming effect on Kate. She felt stronger every day here, more and more ready to become an adult. "You're such a drama queen. I'll let you do my makeup."

"Come on," she finally said, hours later, when they were back in their minuscule room in the sorority house. "Let's get ready. You want to look your best for the exchange."

Tully was so depressed over the meeting at the newspaper that Kate spent the rest of the day cajoling her into a good mood.

Tully looked up. "Really?"

Tully jumped up, grabbed her hand, and dragged her down the hall to the bathroom, where dozens of girls were already showering and drying off and blowing their hair out.

"What do I care about a stupid exchange? Frat boys are hardly my ideal."

"It's a time-limited offer. You better move your ass."

They waited their turns, took their showers, and went back to the room. Thankfully, their other two roommates weren't there. The tiny space, filled mostly with dressers and desks and a set of bunk beds for the upperclassmen, barely gave the two of them room enough to turn around. Their own twin beds were in the large sleeping porch down the hall.

Kate studied her reflection when they were done. The sparkling silver fabric complemented her pale skin and golden hair and brought out the green in her eyes. After all the nerd years, she was still sometimes surprised that she could look good. "You're a genius," she said.

The gold toga showed off her big boobs and tiny waist, and a riot of curled, teased, sprayed mahogany hair spilled down over her shoulder, à la Jane Fonda in Barbarella. Blue eye shadow and heavy liner made her look exotic.

Tully twirled for inspection. "How do I look?"

Tully spent almost an hour on their hair and makeup, then pulled out the fabric they'd bought for their togas -- gold for Tully, silver for Kate -- and created a pair of magical garments held in place by tight belts and rhinestone pins.

"You look gorgeous," Kate said. "The guys'll be falling all over themselves."

"I don't want to screw them, but a date would be nice."

Tully grabbed Kate's arm and led her out into the hallway, which was crowded with laughing, talking girls in various stages of dress, running down the busy corridors with curling irons, hair dryers, and bedsheets.

"You care too much about love; must be all those romance novels you read. This is our night. Screw the boys."

Downstairs in the formal living room, one of the girls was teaching the others to Hustle.

The Phi Delt house was big and square, a fairly modern mixture of glass and metal and brick, that was set on a corner. Inside, the walls were worn, the furniture was broken and ripped and ugly, and the décor was prison-era 1950. Not that most of this could be seen through the crowd.

Outside, Kate and Tully merged into the crowd walking down the street. There were people everywhere on this balmy late September night. Most of the fraternities were having an exchange. There were girls in costume, in ordinary clothes, in almost nothing at all, walking in sorority groups toward their various destinations.

As always, the minute Tully stepped into a party, she was "on." Gone was the edge of depression, the hesitant smile, the irritation at losing the job. Kate watched in awe; her friend instantly grabbed everyone's attention.

People were packed in like sardines, chugging beer from plastic cups and swaying to the music. "Shout!" blared through the speakers and everyone was singing along, jumping up in time to the music.

The crowd crouched, stilled, then raised their hands and rose up again, chanting along.

"Shout!" Tully yelled out, laughing. Boys moved in close, drawn to her like moths to a flame, but Tully barely seemed to notice. She surged onto the dance floor, dragging Kate along with her.

By the time she'd group danced to "Brick House," "Twistin' the Night Away," and "Louie Louie," she was hot and sweaty.

A little bit softer now…

It was the most fun Kate had had in years.

"I'll be right back," she yelled to Tully, who nodded, and then she went outside, where she sat on the low brick wall that marked the property's edge. Cool night air breezed across her sweaty face. She closed her eyes and swayed to the music.

Inside, the music changed. Someone turned the volume way up. It was ABBA's, "Dancing Queen."

He smiled and went from good looking to gorgeous. "Just a little. I remember my first year here. It was like being on Mars. I'm from Moses Lake," he said, as if that should explain everything.

"Small town?"

"Is this your first frat party?"

"I'm Brandt Hanover."

"The party's inside, you know."

"Does it show?"

She looked up.

"Kate Mularkey."

"Speck on the map."

"Sure."

The guy who'd spoken was tall and broad-shouldered, with wheat-colored hair that fell across the bluest eyes. "Can I sit with you?"

"It is kind of overwhelming."

The conversation moved easily on from there. He talked about things she could relate to. He'd grown up on a farm, feeding cows before dawn and driving his dad's hay truck when he was thirteen. He knew about feeling both lost and found in a place as big and sprawling as UW.

Tully came running out of the house. "Kate!" she yelled, laughing. "There you are."

Brandt immediately stood.

"Brandt Hanover."

Tully frowned at him. "Who's this?"

Kate knew exactly what was going to happen next. Because of what had happened to Tully in the dark woods by the river all those years ago, she didn't trust boys, didn't want anything to do with them, and she was committed to protecting Kate from any kind of harm or heartbreak. Unfortunately, though, Kate wasn't afraid. She wanted to date and have fun and even maybe fall in love.

Tully grabbed Kate's arm, pulled her to her feet. "Too bad, Brandt," she said, laughing a little too loudly as she dragged Kate away. "This is our song."

But how could she say that, when Tully was only trying to protect her?

"I saw Brandt at the HUB today. He smiled at me."

Tully fought the urge to roll her eyes. In the six months since that first toga party at the Phi Delts, Kate had found a way to mention Brandt Hanover at least once a day. You'd think they were dating, as often as his name came up. "Let me guess: you pretended not to notice."

"I smiled back."

"Wow. A red-letter day."

Kate turned to her friend. "That's it. I renounce our friendship. I know you have no interest in our social life, but I do. If you don't go --"

"Drama/TV."

"About a thousand. And you should be coming with me. We both need this class."

Kate couldn't help laughing. "Bitch." She slung an arm around Tully. Together they walked along the grass-dotted sidewalk of Twenty-first Street and onto campus.

"Chad Wiley."

"I have to write an article on the Ayatollah Khomeini. I figured if I keep sending stuff to the paper, sooner or later they'll publish something. It wouldn't hurt you to try a little harder to --"

"I'll get in as a junior. You need me to walk you over?"

"How many letters did you have to write to get in?"

At the campus security post, Kate said, "I'm headed to Meany. How about you?"

"That's right! Your first broadcast journalism class -- and with that famous guy you've been stalking since we got here."

Tully laughed. "Gotcha."

"I thought I'd invite him to the spring dance. We could double date."

Tully loved her friend for that. Somehow Kate knew that despite her show of courage, Tully was nervous about this. Everything she wanted could start today. "No, thanks. How can I make my big entrance with someone else?"

She watched Kate walk away from her. Standing there, alone among the crowd of students moving between the buildings, Tully took a deep, relaxing breath, trying to still herself. She needed to appear calm.

There, she paused in front of the mirrors. Her curled, sprayed hair was perfect, as was her makeup. The skintight, flare-legged jeans and shiny white tunic blouse with gold belt and Nehru collar managed to be both sexy and businesslike at the same time.

When the bell rang, she hurried down the hallway, with her backpack bouncing against her ass as she moved. In the auditorium, she walked boldly down to the first row and took a seat.

She strolled confidently past the fountain of Frosh Pond and went into the Drama/TV Building, where her first stop was the restroom.

In the front of the room, the professor sat slumped in a metal chair. "I'm Chad Wiley," he said in a sexy, whiskey-rough voice. "Those of you who recognize my name get an A in the class."

There was a smattering of laughter around the room. Tully's was the loudest. She knew more than his name. She knew his whole life story. He'd come out of college as a kind of wunderkind in broadcasting. He'd moved up the ranks fast, becoming a network anchor before he was thirty. Then, quite simply, he'd lost it. A pair of DWIs, a car crash that broke both of his legs and injured a child, and his star had fallen. There'd been a couple of years with no mention of him at all, and then, finally, he'd surfaced at UW, teaching.

He paused, looked down at her. There was something unsettling about the way he stared -- intensely, but only for a second; like a laser beam switched on and off -- and then he kept walking past her and on to the next student.

He handed her a syllabus and started to move on.

Wiley stood. He was unkempt, with long dark hair and at least three days' growth of gray-black beard, but the intelligence in his dark eyes was undiminished. The stamp of greatness was still on him. No wonder he'd made it.

She'd need to be more careful in the future. Nothing mattered more to her right now than impressing Chad Wiley. She intended to learn everything she could from him.

"Your coverage of the Karen Silkwood case was inspired," she said, smiling brightly.

He thought she was just another front-row suck-up who wanted to curry favor.