“Great, then you’re prepared for my answer. But I’m warning you that if your question is anything like ‘How can two girls do that?’ I’m going to be extremely graphic.” She takes my last pawn with a flourish.

“Jesus, no, obviously not.” I survey the board, and decide that a king can definitely move as many squares as he wants. I move it toward the queen, but I’m not sure whether he can take her; Sabrina did say the queen was the most powerful piece. “I was just wondering about Molly. Why the two of you broke up, I mean. And whether you think you’re ready to date again. Or is it one of those things where it’s not really over?”

“No, it’s definitely over,” she says flatly. “She thought we were getting too serious, and wanted to date other people. I can’t even hate her, because sure, it’s valid. But I was serious, and it came out of nowhere, and it just really fucked with me. How one person can think things are literally perfect while the other one is writing a breakup speech.”

“Makes you feel like you can’t trust anything, including your own instincts,” I mutter. “Especially your own instincts. And how can you not hate the person that now permanently makes you doubt yourself?”

I’d kind of forgotten I was speaking aloud until Sabrina says, “Yes, exactly. That’s exactly it. Everything feels shaky now.”

“Yeah.”

Sabrina and I stare at the board, and then she uses her queen to kick my king in the nuts.

Or where I assume his nuts would be if he were not a piece of plastic with a cross on top.

“I think I won,” she says with the faintest of smiles. “Start again?”

Chapter Ten

AFTER ANOTHER ROUSING COMMUNITY SERVICE effort (recycling!) on Friday afternoon followed by a quick dinner and shower, I roll into Matt and Salem’s room with my own hamper in tow, because I haven’t exactly been on top of my laundry situation either. I imagine most of the students at Camden take advantage of the optional laundry service, but that is decidedly not in the Riley family budget.

I do, however, know how to do it myself, which I guess puts me a step above Salem … or maybe three steps, considering that when he opens the door to let me in that night, I see piles of dirty clothes all over the place. “Whaaaat is happening here?” I ask, dropping my hamper and surveying the black cotton landscape.

“I know there’s something about lights and darks, but I don’t really wear much light,” he says, scratching his head as he returns to the mess. “So I thought maybe the lighter stuff?” He holds up a pair of jeans.