The girl on the table says, “And the other part?”
Isa laughs once. A sad little sound.
“You tell me.”
No one answers.
They all know.
I know.
She knows.
The whole damn campus probably knows.
The other part is me.
And the fact that I’m standing here behind a curtain listening to it like a thief makes heat flood my face.
I should leave.
I finally take one step backward.
Then another.
Slow, silent.
And just as I’m about to slip out fully, one of the girls says something that stops me cold.
“You still going to keep trying?”
No hesitation this time.
“Yes. We haven’t done anything but kiss. Or put a label on anything but. We’re talking. He texts me like all the time and we hang out almost everyday. I will do what my mama said and lock him down.”
Quiet.
Firm.
A promise.
“Until he tells me not to.”
I stand there, ice sleeve cold and sweating in my hand, my shoulder throbbing, my mouth dry.
And all I can think is—Why wouldn’t she?
She saw him.
She wanted him.
Her mother gave her the playbook.
Her world gave her permission.
Something twists ugly in me.
Not jealousy.
