I turn beet red thinking of what erotic words Gideon would sprinkle into the conversation. Even though I’ve never had sex or made out with anyone, I still think I’d prefer them to be silent the entire time.

“I had to fake it, obviously,” Neda says. “But he’s not good at knowing the difference. Anyway, it was kind of hot.”

He texted me last night, I suddenly remember. It was an Ernest Hemingway quote: “All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”

I wonder if he sent it before or after he had phone sex with my sister. Or—oh God—during?

“Is he a good kisser?” I ask.

Neda lets out a sigh. “The best. I miss kissing him so much.”

“What does it feel like when he kisses you?”

“Ewww, Parisa. I’m not talking about this with you.”

“You’re the one who brought it up!” I say defensively. “I don’t even want to hear about your sex life. It’s gross, and I have to get ready for school.”

Apparently, storming off is my new MO. I trudge back inside the house and head for my bedroom. I can feel the pit in my stomach expand as I walk up the stairs. Why does it feel like everyone’s life is evolving and flourishing in quarantine while mine has stayed exactly the same? Why can’t something good happen to me for once? Why am I the quirky sidekick in everyone else’s rom-com? I walk inside my room and collapse on my bed.

I ask Alexa to play my Sad Songs for Lying in Bed mix and quietly sing along to Taylor Swift’s voice. I don’t even make it to the chorus before my melancholy gets interrupted by an email alert on my phone. It’s from Principal Jackson. The subject line alone makes my heart sink. I scan it and immediately text Gabriela. Before I can wait for her response, my phone pings with a text… from Andrew. The second I read it, I burst into tears. Maybe, I think, maybe all this time my anxiety has been a warning sign for what was to come.

GABRIELA