Of course, the conversation clung to Odilie, stuck to her like gum on her molars. The more time she spent with Peri, the more she allowed Peri to direct their conversation, to give her style advice, to pick the movie or TV show they would watch; the more she internalized the fact that she let Peri do all these things because of the persuasiveness of her presence. And Odilie was wise enough to know that this kind of presence couldn’t be store-bought, couldn’t be molded from scratch out of plastic. But maybe changing her exterior would help Odilie manifest that gumption that Peri had spoken about, that was lying within Odilie somewhere deep inside.

Because the truth was, the more time she spent with Peri, the less full of gumption she felt. It was impossible to compare herself to someone who got everything she wanted all the time, who was so full of life and knowledge and had overcome such obstacles. Of course, Odilie wanted some of that light, a halo of her own, and she knew, down to the marrow in her bones, that spending time with Peri would yield those results, that her personality would eventually rub off onto Odilie. It was just a matter of time.

You’re cute as you are. The words crept their way in when she was about to fall asleep, making her jerk fully awake. Cute. A word for dogs or kittens, babies. Not a word for a woman with gumption. Peri must not have meant it that way, would never have deliberately tried to erode Odilie’s confidence like that. But she had.

One evening, after Odilie had finished work, Peri picked her up in her Alfa Romeo. “We’re going to a party tonight,” she said the moment Odilie slipped in, luxuriating in the car’s aromatic, cool, perforated-leather interior.

“Whose party?” Peri said the name and Odilie’s mouth twitched. The Sanders family. They were infamous; wildly rich, with reckless party habits that echoed their spending ones. The kids, all three of them, had grown up in Odilie’s periphery. She’d watched them every summer from a distance. Their extravagant birthday parties, a whole petting zoo filling up the backyard. The Audis they all got when they turned sixteen that they’d zoom around in with only a learner’s permit until one of them inevitably got too wasted and crashed it in some bushes.

And their cruelty, the way they got servers fired when they wouldn’t give the kids alcohol. The snark with which they heckled opponents during tennis games, sailboat races. The jeers as they pushed people off their yacht, fully clothed, called it hazing, said it was all in good fun.