So, I shoot Leonora Brittle an email. Leonora is the columnist the reporter introduced me to several days ago. We’ve spoken a couple of times over the last few days, going through the questions she wanted for her profile. Mostly things like where I grew up, and what my favorite TV shows are, and what I want to do for a career, along with some queer-specific questions. She was supposed to be emailing through the draft tonight, actually.

Hey, Leonora, I type. I was wondering if it’s too late to make changes to tomorrow’s article? And if so, when we need to finalize it by?

While I’m hanging around for a reply, there’s a knock on my door, and I let in a seriously pissed-off Molly.

“You know what your girlfriend just accused me of?” she asks, flinging herself into my chair and putting her feet on the edge of the desk. “Outing the two of you to her family.”

“She did?” I ask. Molly and I have already texted about the expulsion, so I’m not too surprised she’s skipping past it like it’s not happening. If anything, I’m happy to have an honest-to-god distraction from the whole thing for a few minutes.

Molly scowls at me. “Yeah, she did. You know I’d never do anything like that, right? Like, what the hell?”

“Of course I do.” I shove the glass of water I had sitting on my desk out of the firing line of Molly’s shoes before she knocks it onto my laptop. That would be how a week like this would end, up to my eyeballs in debt to the school that’s kicking me out. “And so does Rose.”

Molly scoffs and rolls her head around to look at me like I’m being purposely obtuse.

“She’s probably still a little rattled over the fight you guys had,” I say. I think I’m being generous calling it a fight, but I’ll give them that much. “And if she’s feeling anything like I am right now, she’s paranoid. Plus, on top of that, she’s feeling trapped and controlled by her family. Please try not to take things too personally from her at the moment. I’m sure she’ll apologize soon.”

Molly sniffs. She’s hurt, and so she should be. I would be, too.

“I know you would never out us like that,” I reassure her. She kicks off from the desk to set herself into a spin on the chair, tucking her legs in as she goes.

“I really wouldn’t,” she says. “I love both of you. Even when I hated Rose, I loved her. I didn’t want her to get hurt.”

“I know,” I say. “I remember.”