By the time I get home, I’m a wet, straggly-haired, angry mess. I am basically a feral cat, if feral cats got harassed two times on the subway, once by a man who kept insisting I take his seat and then called me a “rude bitch” when I finally told him I really preferred to stand, and once by his friend, who said he always liked a “gal” with a temper and then stared meaningfully—disgustingly—at my crotch. On my way off I discreetly stuck my gum to the strap of his backpack, but unless it has the power to expand and seal him and his douchebag friend into a suffocating, chewed-up cocoon of my feminist rage, it’s a pretty hollow victory.

“Hey, you’re home!”

It’s a sign of how angry, how not myself I am that I don’t even feel a spark of gratitude or relief or hope to find Sibby here, greeting me as though it’s a welcome part of her day to have me home. She’s sitting at the small, two-seat table we have off the kitchen, a takeout box of noodles in front of her, and all I feel is annoyed. Her hair is not only dry but also not at all straggly. Her winged eyeliner is back in top form, whereas I’m well aware that half my mascara is half down my face. Don’t get me started on the fact that her skin is clear. Plus those noodles are from my favorite place.

“I need a shower,” I say, and she looks slightly startled. For the last couple of months, I’ve been a lot of things with Sibby—questioning, polite, probably even desperate. But never angry or curt.

“Oh, sure,” she says, waving her plastic chopsticks. Actually, they are my plastic chopsticks, which is obviously not as bad as getting harassed on the subway, but even so I wish I had a piece of gum in my mouth.

“Do you think you’ll be out in twenty? I’m headed to Elijah’s, but wanted to go over something with you first.”

I want to heave the world’s biggest sigh. Whatever she’s about to say isn’t going to make this day any better, but even though that shower is calling my name, I’d rather get this over with. Then I can cry about my shitty fight with Reid and this conversation, all at the same time. Take that, Reid! Who’s efficient now?

I lift my bag from across my chest and let it thunk to the floor unceremoniously, which earns me another look of surprise. I’m not the tidiest person in the world, but early on in our shared living situation, I learned to keep my messes contained, to keep them mostly out of Sibby’s sight. She’s always preferred tidiness, so I’ve always—ugh—gone along.