Violet Turnmill was easy to find on Facebook. Nat had thought only older people were active on the platform, but apparently teens with a lot of strong opinions used it, too. Violet had lax privacy settings and posted regularly: articles about the environment, memes on women’s rights, and feminist Instapoetry. She shared photos of the intersectionality play she had written, directed, and starred in. She railed about bi erasure, about racism, and battery cages for chickens. From scanning the girl’s posts, Nat was able to discern that she was pansexual, a vegan, passionate about theater and the disenfranchised.

When the younger girl finished high school, went off to Honduras or Princeton, Nat’s relationship with Gabe would evolve. They’d be able to spend weekends together like a legitimate couple. Maybe they’d fly out to Blaine so Gabe could meet her mom. It would be awkward, given Gabe’s age, but her mom would accept him eventually. Given time, Gabe would be comfortable introducing her to his friends and colleagues . . . even to Violet. Nat was happy with the status quo, but craving romantic progress was only natural. She was in love.

Nat had reached campus now. She had just one exam left, and then the semester was done. The school year had flown by. When she thought about her arrival at the School of Visual Arts, so young, so naive, so broke, she couldn’t believe she was the same girl. She had a sophisticated, older boyfriend. She had money, new clothes, and an apartment. With them had come a new sense of self-confidence, of self-worth. Contrary to her earlier suppositions, she found her paid relationship with Gabe empowering.

Entering the classroom, she slipped into a vacant desk. Just ahead of her and across the aisle, she spotted her pal. “Keltie,” she called in a loud whisper. The pierced girl glanced over her shoulder, briefly, but didn’t reply. There was something tense and purposeful in her ignorance of Nat’s overture. Had Nat done something to piss her off? That’s when she felt the weight of eyes on her. Several of her classmates were looking at her, whispering among themselves. She shifted in her seat, self-consciously.

As the exam booklets were handed out, Nat brushed away her paranoia. Keltie had no reason to snub her. Her friend was probably just stressed about her final exam, about packing up her dorm room and moving back to Pennsylvania for the summer. Nat, though jobless, could afford to stay in the city year-round. Keltie might be jealous.

The exam was surprisingly easy. Nat had worried she hadn’t studied enough (she’d been busy with Gabe all week), but she was sure she’d done well. When it was over, she loitered outside the room, waiting for Keltie. Her friend emerged about five minutes later.

“What did you think?” Nat asked.

Keltie kept walking, so Nat fell into step beside her.

“Easier than I expected,” the girl said.

“Let’s celebrate. Ice cream? Margaritas? I’m buying.”

Keltie stopped then. “Have you looked at your Instagram this morning?”