“Really,” Ellie says, grinning. She has a mouth full of braces. Aren’t those just for kids? It’s been two years since I left the cult where I grew up, but there are still a lot of things that baffle me. Twenty-four months isn’t a long time to learn how the entire world works. “You have fun. I’ll be trying to understand Aristotle.”

“Cool.” I don’t know what Aristotle is, either.

She reaches for my hand and tugs it away from the second button of my blouse, which I’m fingering. “Don’t fidget. That’s how buttons come off.”

“Right. But—” I hesitate. “Is this too much?” I wave a hand in front of my chest.

“Too much what? Too much hotness? No. If I had boobs, I’d wear them proudly. Whoever it is you’re trying to impress is going to love it.” She gives me a wave and trots away toward the library. “Have fun!” she calls over her shoulder.

I keep walking, still feeling uncertain. Going to Dylan’s house right now is probably a mistake. I don’t know why he blew off our tutoring session today. It isn’t like him. On the other hand, he has a lot on his plate. And I’m the one who doesn’t have a cell phone.

It’s not Dylan’s fault that I sat there in the library from four until seven thirty, missing dinner like a dummy. But I’ve always been a little dumb when it comes to Dylan.

My stomach had been rumbling by the time I’d given up on him. On my way home, I’d paused outside the convenience store, wondering what a girl could buy for two dollars. Only candy, really. I hadn’t bought anything, but I had bumped into Dylan’s roommate, a character named Rickie.

“Chastity!” he’d exclaimed, coming out of the store with a bag full of various kinds of chips in one hand and a bag of ice in the other. “What’s up, lady? You coming over later?”

“For…?” I’d only been to their house once before. It’s out of the way, which is why Dylan always meets me on campus.

“The party! Didn’t Dylan tell you?”

He did not. But I hadn’t let it show on my face. “I didn’t catch Dylan today,” I’d told him. “Do you happen to know where he went?”

“Home to Tuxbury,” Rickie had said. “Shit, Chastity. He said he was going to call you. The goats got loose and ate something they weren’t supposed to.”

“Oh no!”

“Yeah. He got a call and there was yelling, and then Dylan got in the truck and went home. But he’s back at nine for the party. Come over. I’m making mulled cider and guacamole.”

My stomach had gurgled, and the decision had seemed easy.

But now, as I trudge uphill toward the old Victorian house where Dylan lives with Rickie and another guy named Keith, I’m questioning all my life choices. I’ll probably have to make conversation with strangers, which isn’t my strong suit.

Or they’ll just ignore me, which also sounds bleak.