“As I was saying,” he says. “What the hell was that?”

“Was what?”

“Olivia.”

“I was trying to help!”

“By creating some elaborate scheme about how we’re dating? As if I would ever date someone who I’m fairly certain has escaped a mental facility.”

“That’s rude,” I say. “Mental illness shouldn’t dictate whether or not someone can be in a romantic relationship. Not that I’m mentally ill, but if I was, I’d still be deserving of love and affection and—”

“Olivia!”

“What was I supposed to do? You were standing there pining over her!”

“I was not pining. I was telepathically trying to break her leg.”

“That’s awful.”

“She’s awful.”

“Says the emotionally inept rock.”

We get our drinks and Asher downs his before I even take a sip.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” he says.

“A thank you would be nice.”

“You want me to thank you?”

“It would be greatly appreciated.”

He scoffs and slams his empty glass onto the counter. “Thank you, Olivia. For fucking up yet another aspect of my life. You really outdid yourself this time. Cheers!”

Before I can say anything, I see Francesca out of the corner of my eye.

“Laugh at me.”

“You are a joke.”

I frown. “Laugh.”

“No, I’m annoyed with you.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “Laugh!”

“No!”

I jam my foot down on his.

He grunts.

I laugh.

And Francesca walks over to us just in time for me to nuzzle into Asher’s chest.

4

Joey is ten chapters deep in a novel with a shirtless pirate on the cover and silences me with a finger whenever I try to speak. She must be at a really good part.

We’re sharing a car, which is relatively normal for most, but by far the strangest thing ever for us. In the past eleven months that we’ve been living together, I can count on one hand how many conversations we’ve had that were more than one word answers. Joey doesn’t like to talk. I thought it was just a me thing, but on the rare occasion she brings people over, she’s short with them too. Not in a rude way. Just in a Joey way. Some people like to listen. That’s okay.

I like to talk.

My gift of gab is documented on every report card I’ve ever received.

Punctual and well prepared, but does not give other students a chance to speak—does not give me a chance to speak.

Olivia does exemplary work and works to her full potential, but she is a bit chatty.

Olivia enjoys talking. A lot.

A man asked to be moved on an airplane because I was talking too much. He wasn’t even sitting next to me. I pretended I wasn’t offended, but it still bothers me.