“No, she’s really not. Audrey’s right—I can be a little harsh sometimes. It really was Dennis’s fault that that fight broke out; Jess was just defending herself. I don’t know Jess super well. That’s the truth. The reason I said that… she was dating this girl in my art class and was just, like, cheating on her a lot. I don’t actually know either of them that well, and I have only, like, tangential information. I think she’s done things that an asshole would do. But lots of people love Jess. It’s her brother that was the real problem. He was older and kind of a bully—picking on queer kids, Jess included. And maybe Jess has reformed; I don’t know. As far as I know, she hasn’t dated anyone since that girl in my art class. So maybe she’s changed.”

“Now she just punches people at parties.”

“I mean, I think we can all agree that Dennis was the problem in that scenario—he started the whole thing and called her a slur. And look, I’m more of an indoor kid, but I wish I knew how to fight. It seems like a useful skill to have. Maybe we should all get Jess to teach us.”

“Fighting stresses me out,” I said. “I don’t mean fighting like Jess was fighting. I just mean, like, regular fighting. I try to avoid it at all costs.”

“Well, that sounds healthy, Celia.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll probably just explode one day, go Godzilla on everything.”

Phoebe laughed. “Why are you asking about Jess Orlando, anyway?”

“No reason,” I said. I was a little disappointed with Phoebe’s description of Jess, to be honest—I wanted Jess to be an asshole, so I could have some legitimate reason to warn Ros to stay away from her. But instead of a damning review from Phoebe, some elaborate description of why Jess was to be avoided, she just wound up sounding… normal, verging on sympathetic.

“Hmm, okay,” said Phoebe, looking a little suspicious. She checked her watch and looked back to me. “Are you okay to get the rest of these measurements on your own? Benna invited me to sit in on the production meeting.”

“Sure,” I said, with a little twinge of nervousness in my stomach. I didn’t want to let Phoebe down. “I can handle that.”

My last measurement appointment was late. I told Phoebe I didn’t mind sticking around. Then, alone in the costume shop with only a melancholy cat to keep me company, and against my better judgment, I typed Jess Orlando’s name into the Google search bar on my phone.