Friday he sat beside her and complimented her jacket and she said, ‘Thanks, I love how it covers everything up so no one can see how beautiful I am.’ And he said, ‘Smart. Otherwise all kinds of creeps might think it’s okay to send you crotch shots while you’re trying to focus on a lecture.’ And they smiled at each other and didn’t talk for the rest of class, but afterwards, walking with him across the lawn, she steeled herself with the thought of dying without riding those thighs and slipped off her jacket.

Predictably, his gaze fell to her chest. She was okay with that. Not as busty as the other women in her family, at least not since she’d lost all her chub, but not flat either. And this bra under this fitted V-neck tee gave her cleavage worthy of his gawping. She willed him to keep looking at her tits, but he was too well-trained. He looked up at her face, smiled, but gently now, let his gaze sweep over her uncovered top half.

And there it was: the flinch as he took in the ropy purple keloid snaking up her forearm.

The scar was a Rorschach test. If it repulsed someone, she was repulsed by them; if it excited them, she knew to be cautious. Occasionally she came across someone who was distressed by it and was reminded of her brother Will and torn between irritation and warmth.

‘Knife fight?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Can I touch it?’ His hand already reaching.

She nodded and he ran a finger along its length. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Nah. It’s old.’

‘Yeah? It looks kind of fresh. Angry.’ He let his hand rest on her arm, purple scar tissue flashing through the gaps between his fingers.

‘It wasn’t stitched properly at the time so it healed all ugly like that. Ugly but painless.’

‘I’ve got something like that I can show you. Purple, angry-looking, big, ugly thing. But totally painless. Some might even say pleasurable.’

Lena laughed. ‘You’re such a sleaze.’

‘Seriously, though. Thanks for letting me see.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘I feel like you trust me.’

‘’Cause I showed you my naked forearm? That demonstrates trust where you come from?’

He smiled, cool as anything, dropped his hands to his sides. ‘Hey, tell me something I don’t know about you.’

‘That’s everything. You know nothing about me.’

‘Hence me asking.’

‘Hmmm, where to start? I’m a first year student at the University of—’

‘Where were you born, smartarse?’

She side-eyed him. ‘In a rose garden.’

‘Okay. Didn’t see that coming. Hey, you wanna sit.’ It wasn’t a question; he was already dropping to the ground.