It would be foolish to accept this at face value, so I don’t. I’m on my guard as I walk down the stairs. Nix and Colt are talking, and I hear what sounds like paper bags rustling on my way to the kitchen. I can’t help but imagine opening a container full of maggots or a dead rodent or something. That’s how far they’ve sent me spiraling.

But no, it’s the aroma of garlic and tomatoes I pick up as I draw closer to the kitchen. By the time I get there, the guys are already taking seats around the island in the center of the room. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” Colt explains. “But you seemed to like it that one night when we had chicken parmesan for dinner, so that’s what I ordered for you. Pasta, garlic bread.”

Nix grunts with his mouth full, gesturing to the other containers strewn across the island’s surface. “There’s other stuff here, too. Sausage and peppers, eggplant. Some salad.”

And it looks completely normal. My stomach is growling, my mouth is watering, and I wish I could enjoy this wholeheartedly. “Thanks for thinking of me,” I murmur sarcastically as I take a seat, grabbing for plastic utensils and napkins.

“We’re assholes, but we’re not complete assholes,” Colt assures me. I cut into my chicken, keeping my eyes lowered. We clearly have very different ideas about that.

“So you were saying earlier that you want to be a teacher?”

I glance up at him and nod, swallowing. Is that really how we’re going to do this? Simply make small talk like nothing ever happened? When Colt keeps staring at me, expecting an answer, I decide to play along. “Yeah, that’s the idea.”

“Do you have your classes set up yet for this semester?” Nix asks.

I can’t figure out how such seemingly innocent questions could be used against me, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to take any of this at face value. “Yeah, but right now, it’s your basic core classes. Math, psychology, stuff like that.”

“I’d want to get all that stuff out of the way.” Nix spears a sausage link from one of the containers and takes a bite without bothering to cut into it. “I hate math.”

Colt snorts, and it almost sounds like he’s about to choke on his food. “Maybe Leni should give you some tutoring.”

The very thought sends a chill down my spine. “So long as it’s elementary or middle school level. When you start getting into trig and calculus, I have a little bit of trouble, too.”

“I always hated algebra,” Colt grumbles. Nix mutters his agreement.

Is this really happening? It’s almost like we’re three people having a normal conversation.