I can’t see who’s there, but I can see the smile on my sister’s face. My mouth falls open, and I sit up so fast I’m reminded that I hate sit-ups, detest them, they’re the absolute worst. I forget about the sudden pain in my abdomen while I watch my sister talk to someone who has her giggling — GIGGLING — in the middle of the goddamn day.

I need to know who this is. I stand from the bed and move my arms to the right, trying to make Emma’s laptop move as well. I need to see that door. I need to see whoever is standing there, not even flirting with my sister yet making her tongue-tied.

“Who’s that?” I finally ask.

She mutes me. I see her hand move, and no matter how much shit I say to her, she doesn’t react. “Who is she, you whore?” I finally scream just as she unmutes me.

“No slut-shaming?” she asks.

“Depends,” I say. “Who is she?”

“No one.”

“So, we’re lying to each other now?”

She bites her bottom lip, and her eyes shift away. I can see her trying to think of any way out of this, and so, of course, I see when she realizes that there isn’t one. “She’s my new RA. Her name’s Jada. And she has a girlfriend. Are you happy now?”

“And?”

“There’s nothing else to tell!” she screeches.

“No, I mean, so what if she has a girlfriend? Are they looking for a girlfriend?”

“Oh my God, Jourdan. Not everyone is trying to push the limits on a king-sized bed!”

“Because Americans are wasteful.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s much less fun talking about my nonexistent love life. Wear the white dress. The color says, ‘I’m innocent, are they all that big?’”

I scream.

“But the hem is basically short enough to show all your goods, and I think we both know what that says.”

“No,” I laugh, “why don’t you tell me? Or better yet, why don’t you tell your RA and her little girlfriend?”

“Maybe I will,” she says impetuously.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Never gonna happen. Anyway, I gotta go, and I suspect you’re gonna do something about your—” She gestures at her face to indicate that I need to do something with mine.

“Bitch, are you for real?”

Emma laughs and slams her laptop shut.

“I’m tellin’ mama,” I say to Emma, even though she’s gone.

I think about calling her back so I can curse her out thoroughly, but my cell phone beeps. It’s on the top of my dresser, and I walk toward it, expecting some childish, gloating shit from Emma.

I see Darren’s name on my screen instead. My heart skips an embarrassing beat, and I smile before I’ve even unlocked my phone.

My smile falls.