The telephone connected to the kitchen wall, was endlessly ringing. It's high-pitched tone awakening the sleeping student. Sure, she was used to it blowing out of proportion early in the morning, but this particular morning—she growled in annoyance.

Her mother would soon enough have to let go of her antics, and let her daughter live freely. But Patty knew if she were to ask this of her mother, the small, brittle woman would burst into guilty tears.

Patty stood from her bedding, and grumpily made her way into the kitchen, where she retrieved the telephone from the wall.

"Mother, I was resting—"

"Uh, hey. Pat, it's me, Lark." Patty paused, her heart beginning to smile, just as her lips followed. She hadn't spoken to Lark since they'd graduated, and she was almost sure the two would never speak again.

But she couldn't hide it any longer. Lark was her best friend.

"O-Oh my gosh, Lark, where the hell have you been? You left after graduation. You didn't even say goodbye—where are you?" Patty's questions were ongoing, her heart beating erratically, as her words were fumbled over one another.

"I know, I know, I'm a horrible friend. But I'm fine, Joseph and I are cooped up in New Orleans. I'm attending a local college here, and It's been kind of great since we left Montgomery."

Hearing Lark explain was just as refreshing as a black, bitter cup of coffee. It relieved her, knowing that Lark was well, and by the tone of his voice—happy.

But she still couldn't shake the feeling of being stuck. Stuck in her own head, in Montgomery. She hadn't even left town for school. How pathetic was that? The only person who'd followed in her steps was Betty Lee.

But it had been months since she allowed herself to think about that doe-eyed blonde girl. It was for her own good.

For everyone's own good.

She had seen the way the town spoke about Joseph and Lark. As though, they abominations—I'll. What would they say about her? The two boys had fled once word spread of their love.

But if the town knew about Patty, they'd shun her. She could already see it now, her mother turning her back, as her father slammed the church down in her face.

"Hey, Pat, you alright? You're being really quiet over there—oh, hey, Joseph's home, I've got to go. But please, let's talk more tomorrow."

"Y-Yeah, of course, let's talk more tomorrow." And with that, the line was dead, leaving Patty to her own thoughts, just as her alarm began to blare.

Soon, she began to get ready for her morning classes. With both a simple look and breakfast, she left her now empty apartment with more books in hand, than she properly knew how to handle.

People stared.

They watched her struggle, and wondered why a man wasn't beside her guiding her. And most mere boys along the walk, wondered what she was doing in a college in the first place.

It was situations like these, where Patty wished she finally had a degree. She knew a woman who resided in New York, with a degree in Communications, who started feminism riots all through Manhattan.

Where the rich, suited, arrogant men would have stare at all throughout their work days.

The woman would speak of everything Patty felt. How women were their own people, who didn't need men, and who served more purpose than becoming housewives.

And even how some women loved other women.

That was the part that made her want to become more and more like Fanny O'Donahue. And Patty was more than hopeful, that one day—she'd get to meet the intelligent, green-eyed woman.

Abruptly, Patty's body collided with another's. Her books falling aimlessly to the ground beneath her. She gasped, moving down to her knees to collect them all.

Her fingers brush against the others, who had crouched down to assist. "I'm so, so sorry, Patty. I wasn't watching where I was going, and it's been such a long week—"

Patty pauses when she hears her voice, her head snapping up to meet Betty's. Her hands begin to shake, her chest resisting air as they lock eyes, the feelings she'd spent months pushing down—all resurfacing.

Betty Lee is confused by Patty's abrupt stop, her hands finding her shoulder, and beginning to pat gently. "Are you alright? You're shaking, did I hurt you—"

"No, I just," Patty takes a deep breath, "it's just been a while since I've seen you." Betty Lee smiles in acknowledgment, pushing a blonde piece of hair behind her ear.

"It has, but if I'm honest, Patricia," Patty's heart stutters at Betty Lee saying her full name, "it's quite refreshing."

Betty Lee stands after finishing giving Patty her books, ready to walk away, until Patty's hand reaches out to stop her. She swallows. Prepared to ask a question that she'd been dying to ask since her was sixteen years old, and hopelessly in love with a straight girl.

But still, she couldn't stop from asking, the words like vomit. Word vomit.

Connecting her fingers with Betty Lee's, she puffed out a breath of air, her words beginning to spill. "Betty Lee, will you go out with me?"

Betty Lee's eyes widen, her hugging her book bag closer to her chest. "L-Like a date?"

Patty gives her a shaky nod, while Betty sends a grin. "I've been waiting for you to ask me that since sophomore year," she finally gets out, her hands clenching around Patty's. "But under one condition . . ."

"Anything." Patty reassures.

"Please, don't call me Betty Lee, call me by my real name," and for some reason she juts a hand out, waiting for Patty to reciprocate the gesture. "Beatrice."