We had about half an hour before Brooke’s mom was due to drop us off at Alexei’s for a gathering of kids from the gay–straight alliances at various schools, organized by the Q&Q Club. Of course, when Brooke had asked if I’d come over and get ready with her, I’d known Ray would be there. Ray seemed to have gained a VIP pass to literally everything Brooke and I ever did together, and she’d even ended up at my house without me explicitly inviting her a few times. Since they’d started dating I’d caught up with Brooke alone exactly once. Once. At school, Ray was there. After school, she was working or hanging out with Ray. On the weekends, homework and Ray.

Usually I did my best to be optimistic about it all, and convince myself I would learn to love Ray, and I should be happy my intimate dyad with Brooke was expanding.

Today, that was not about to happen. Because yesterday I had discovered Ray was a sea witch, a siren, a freaking chupacabra. I focused on my breathing, because I had asked God this afternoon to grant me the serenity to accept things I could not change, and acceptance meant slow, meditative breathing.

On Brooke’s bed, Ray pouted in front of the mirror and held the curling iron out to Brooke. “Can you do it, pleeeeease?”

Brooke rolled her eyes, but it was affectionate. “You know I love a damsel in distress,” she murmured, taking it from her. She threaded her fingers through Ray’s mousy hair, shaking the curls out slowly, lusciously, in a way that screamed sex.

I awkwardly averted my eyes, fully aware that if I weren’t here, they’d be making out. And that they’d probably prefer it that way. Instead, now that my makeup was done, I grabbed my outfit and ducked out to the bathroom to change. Another annoying thing about Ray crashing literally everything these days: I was not comfortable enough to change in front of her.