TREVOR

Trevor sent her a dozen texts, but three days after he brought her to church, Claudia had dropped out of contact. It hurt, but he got it. She was embarrassed and traumatized and she needed time alone. On Wednesday, Whitney knocked to see if he was coming to Bible study.

“Is Claudia here?” she asked, peeking her head into the suite.

“No.”

“Don’t get mad. So, you’re hooking up with her now?” She pushed past him. “You owe me the truth. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Whitney hadn’t expected that. She grabbed his phone.

“Let me just check … Oh! There she is. Claudia! Claudia! Where are you?”

She was walking backward, scrolling, her beady little eyes grabbing as much information as they could. Trevor reached for the phone but she was prepared, twisted back. He wanted to push her, hard, right out the door. He felt it in his stomach and his hands. He wanted her to fall. He wanted her to hurt. He wanted her to hurt for being whole while Claudia was shattered. She was going to make a scene about a freshman hookup? Privileged bitch. She’d never known anything but easy her whole life. He grabbed her wrist and she dropped the phone.

“I hate you,” she said.

“Whitney, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us. I really am.”

She was crying before she got out the door. He picked up the phone. Each time he checked his texts and Claudia hadn’t written back, Trevor hated Chad Drake more. Sending that video was an act of aggression. Chad might as well have punched him in the face and laughed. Was he supposed to just take it? Turn the other cheek?

Trevor got up early the next morning, put on a pair of sunglasses, and stood outside their dorm on Fourteenth Street. He didn’t have to wait long: At nine forty-five Chad walked out of the building and Trevor trailed him down University and into the library. He waited across the street, on a bench outside the park, and two hours later Chad came out and hailed a cab. Trevor did the same, saying, just like in the movies, “Follow that taxi.” Trevor held on to the strap above the window and leaned forward, watching FT778 jerk and speed uptown. The driver was listening to talk radio.

“Can you turn that down?” Trevor asked.

“What?”

“It’s hard to think.”

The driver lowered the volume.

Chad got out uptown, in front of a fancy building on Fifth Avenue. Trevor gave the driver too much cash and jumped out.

“Chad!”

Chad stopped. Trevor hadn’t settled on what he was going to say when he caught up with him, and when Chad saw him hesitate, he laughed.