“I mean, kind of,” Robbie says to me as they walk away. “They’ve monetized around status but no one has really sold it directly. They sell hair products and perfume and expensive clothes to make you seem wanted, but no one has formalized selling, like, acknowledgment of social status directly.”

“What would that be? A sticker you can put on your forehead, saying you’re a ten?”

He smiles and my heart flutters. “Something like that.”

I just shrug and sip my new drink.

The sun burns my eyes when I open them the next morning. I guess I forgot to close my blinds when I got home last night. I sit up only to realize I also forgot to change into my pajamas; I’m still wearing the tight black dress. At least I remembered to take off my shoes, even if they are just tossed on the floor and not placed neatly in their spot. In fact, I think I may have taken them off on the walk back with Robbie and Braden, who ended the night with us since Colleen went home with Connor. I shudder when I think about how dirty the sidewalk must have been, but at the time my drunk brain could only think about the pain of my heels.

I rub my eyes, and my hand comes away smeared with black eyeliner. Great. I hope my skin doesn’t break out because of this disruption in my cleansing and moisturizing routine.

I peel off my dress and throw it in the bright pink hamper, then pull on athletic shorts and a Warren sweatshirt. I place my shoes under my bed quietly, so as not to wake the still-snoring Tiff, and head to the main room to make coffee.

The two girls from the other room are early risers, so I’m expecting to see at least one of them when I open the door.

Instead, I see Robbie sitting on my couch, dark circles under his eyes, typing rapidly into a MacBook. Heat rushes to my face, and I cross my arms. My sweatshirt is thick, but I am not wearing a bra. Plus, I’m a wreck. Not that I should care; it’s just Robbie. Robbie, whose eyes look dreamy and romantic, even though he is looking at code on his computer. I don’t know what’s getting into me lately.

“What are you doing here?” He lives in the same dorm as me, so I know how he got in the building, but what’s he doing in my room?

He looks up. “Oh good, you’re up. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How did you get in here?”