He reaches out and flicks the tip of my braid. It’s an unraveling, tangled mess. I don’t know how the band is still there.

“Is that why you hook up with all the—everybody?” Not me, though. He never looked at me twice.

He shrugs. “They offer. I don’t always turn it down. Didn’t see the harm.”

He’s only being honest. I have no right to feel hurt. His love life or whatever you want to call it is not my concern.

I distract myself by smoothing my skirt. I liked the texture when I put it on. Corduroy is cozy. But now, the fabric is annoying. Too swishy when it...