A startled laugh bubbles out of my mouth before I can stamp it down. A good person? Clearly, Molly didn’t tell her everything about Amsterdam, or she would never call me something so boldly off base. I suppose one might make the argument that I’m good if you ignore that, along with my abrasiveness, and disinterest in the lives of acquaintances outside my circle of friends, and the drinking and drug use. Along with the laundry list of more minor flaws the papers enjoy reminding the country of daily.

As I said. Danni doesn’t know me at all.

When I pull myself together, I lift my chin and face her. “No, I’m not,” I say, quiet but firm.

She holds my gaze. “Well, you could be,” she says. “If you try.”

I want to latch on to her words and hold them close. There’s a promise in them. That the future is within my control. That there’s a version of me—a version that actually likes herself—I may become if I can simply make the correct choices moving forward.

“We should get back to the game before my absence makes the front page,” I say.

“Very fair. Time to go back and be judged.” She sighs.

“Yes, quite,” I mutter, but then I catch myself. “Wait, you? I know why I’m being judged, but what have you done to anyone?”

Danni grabs her jacket by the zipper and shakes it. “Notice anything?”

“Lovely parka.”

She breaks into a grin. “So you can be tactful. I knew you had to have it in you somewhere.”

Right. The students were laughing at Danni’s jacket, were they? That simply won’t do. When Molly claimed her, she became one of us. And nobody laughs at us. I take a piece of material between my finger and thumb and examine it. Danni catches her breath in surprise at my closeness. “It’s green,” I say. “Close enough.”

“Yeah, army green.”

“Excellent stitching, nice … solid material.”

“Uh-huh,” she says flatly.

“Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” I say brightly.

She doesn’t take me seriously at first. “Oh, sure, and I’ll just freeze.”

“No, you can take my jumper. We’re about the same size, I’d say.”

Danni laughs shortly and starts to walk forward. “Yeah, okay.”

I pick up my pace to get ahead of her and walk backward, facing her. “Really. Let me wear it.”

“Why?” she asks. She sounds tired. “So you can cosplay as middle class?”