That time she stares at him a little too long and she knows it. When I look at her, her eyes flutter and quickly shy away. I’m tempted to tell her that when Nate and I fuck, sometimes I have to physically force him away because he’d stay inside this body all day if I let him. And I know that’s stupid and immature, and bordering on the edge of absurdity, but it’s true, and I hate myself for it. I’m probably reading too much into it. I don’t know. I don’t know her, and the thing that bothers me the most is that, despite all this, I still want her to like me.

“Sure,” Taylor says, her eyes coming back to me, knees bending in a slight curtsy so she can grab the bottom edge of her train. “Come on. He’ll love you.”

Sweat rises on the nape of my neck, nervous sweat that’s hot and cold at the same time. I force myself to nod. Swallow. Speak. “Okay.”

I glance at Nate before my nerves can get the best of me, and he gives me one last look of encouragement as I turn to follow Taylor. I don’t expect her to take me by the crook of my arm like a proper escort, and at first it feels oppressive and vaguely performative, some kind of trick, some kind of trap, and I have this immediate urge to snatch free, but then I swallow my apprehension and tell myself to relax. I do expect her to say something to me, though, as we weave our way through the gathering crowds, but she never does.

I clear my throat. “Thanks for doing this. Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do. Nate is such a sweetie.” She doesn’t look at me as she speaks. She has her phone in her free hand, texting someone.

I look away and pull my lips in. I feel like I’m drooling.

I still can’t figure out why Nate never mentioned he was friends with her. For someone as fond of him as she seems to be, they must have been close, at least at one point.

We wind through the crowd in silence before I’m compelled to ask, “So you two went to Regency Prep together?” l want to hear more about them, their friendship. Anything.

“Yeah,” she says. “All four years.”

I expect her to keep going, but she doesn’t. That’s it. That’s all she says. I don’t know what else to say, if I should say anything at all. Her eyes are still on her phone.

A few people stop her when we cross into the next room. Girls asking for selfies mostly. She smiles down at them like she encounters half-crazed fangirls on the regular and stops for a few pictures.