“Married for the money?” Scarlett said unhappily. The words hurt. She didn’t even want them out in the universe. “No, but…I can’t think of why else she’d do it, either.”

Being a good friend, Dakota just left that alone. But it was there, the only possibility left standing in Scarlett’s mind.

“Well,” Scarlett said, leaning against her locker, feeling the metal give gently against her weight, “at least you’ll be happy about one thing. I almost went to Chelsea’s show with Eric. But then all this happened, and I never called him.”

“You’re right. That is a good thing.”

“And I guess it makes me seem all aloof and over it, right?” Scarlett added, trying to smile. “That’s supposed to make you more attractive to guys, when you don’t seem to care. They like a little abuse.”

“We love it. We need a spanking.”

That was from Max, who was heading for his usual music room by Scarlett’s locker. He had stopped a few feet off to unabashedly listen to the conversation. Dakota reeled around on him.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Don’t ask him that,” Scarlett said. “He doesn’t mind.”

“What she said.” Max nodded at Scarlett.

“Go. Away,” Dakota told him. “I am not kidding. She is not okay right now.”

Max obeyed this time, perhaps a little too quickly.

“See?” Dakota said. “You just need to use a little force with him. Now come to my house. We’re going to watch TV.”

“I’m not always going to be like this,” Scarlett said. “I’ve been useful to you, right?”

“Many times,” Dakota said, leading her along. “Sometimes, we all get a little broken.”

A little broken. Scarlett wondered about that. At what point do you get so broken that it’s time to just get thrown away? She had a feeling she was going to find out.

THE DOTTED LINE

Mrs. Amberson had told Scarlett she didn’t have to come in that week, but going there was better than sitting around at home. She preferred going through the submissions and organizing the file of theater reviews to the yawning silences of the fifth floor. She decided to stop in on the way home from Dakota’s. The intense reporting of her movements had loosened slightly in the last few days. It was a minor benefit in an otherwise untenable situation.

Murray the doorman was in extra fine form, poised at his station, eating one of the biggest sandwiches Scarlett had ever seen.

“Hey!” he said. “That dog of yours made a mess again down here today!”

“I told you,” Scarlett said, “he is not my dog.”

“You gotta do something about…”

Scarlett felt like every capillary in her face had just gotten the go code. She could actually feel the blood filtering into her skin. Someone had to be punished today, and that person was going to be Murray the doorman.