Hellene goes on to Mom: “There’s also a rugby jumper, but as it’s an optional purchase it’s not covered.”

“That’s fine. How much is it?”

“A hundred and fifty.”

Euros? I snap my head up. “It’s fine,” I say to Mom. “Seriously. I have, just, so many sweaters, I don’t need another one.”

Mom bites her lip and folds her arms. I think by trying to give her an out, I’ve accidentally embarrassed her. “It’s fine, honey.”

“I can get one later, right?” I ask Hellene in a squeaky voice. “If it turns out I do really want one or whatever?”

Something that looks a whole lot like relief sneaks across Mom’s face. “Is the sweater decorated with precious jewels, by any chance?” she asks Hellene, who breaks into a peal of laughter.

Something moving next to me catches my eye. Molly has crouched down to my level to help me gather the packages. I smile, half grateful, half wary, as she dumps them back on the empty chair. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” she says, before lowering her voice. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at Hellene. I’m pretty sure she’s flirting with your mum.”

Hellene’s leaning over the desk while she explains the forms to Mom, right up in her personal space. Maybe my “she’s putting on an act for her job” theory was only half right. Molly and I sit down next to each other, and I whisper back, “You think?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent certain.”

I’m not sure if the joke is how awkwardly obvious Hellene’s being, or if Molly just thinks the idea of a lesbian is hilarious. Please let it be door number one. If I meet a student who actually seems nice, only to find out they’re homophobic? I might walk out that door and keep going until I reach Colorado, swimming abilities be damned. “She’s taken,” I reply carefully.

She clicks her fingers in a “dang” sort of way. “Hellene will be so disappointed. She divorced her wife last year and we’ve been telling her to get back out on the dating scene. Guess she finally listened to us.”

There’s something about the way she says it that gives off major green flags. I’ve had years of practice paying attention to how friends and family talk about the queer people they know, trying to gauge if they’d be safe to come out to one day, when I’m ready. So, I’m not psychic, but I’m at least able to make a pretty educated call here. This girl doesn’t seem to be awful or a homophobe. Even better, she doesn’t seem to find me especially unbearable.

The panic I felt during the tour has eased up. Like, a lot.

Molly nods at the uniform pile. “Senior cape, huh? Fifth or sixth year?”

“Fifth.” Otherwise known as junior.