“You’re Jewish? You don’t look it. Not to stereotype. God, can I take that back? That sounded worse than I wanted it to.”

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t born Jewish, but I was raised that way since I was a kid. My mom remarried someone Jewish. Martin is my dad’s last name, but my mom is Kathy Feldman now.”

“Mazel tov,” Tom said awkwardly, not quite pronouncing it right. He was in front of Hannah now, his back to the band, hers against the wall.

“So,” he continued, seemingly unaware that he only left a few centimeters between their faces. “How serious is it with you and Rob? He’s failing out of school, you know.”

Hannah looked down and placed one hand on the back of her neck for a nervous rub. She stepped to the side so she could see the band again and put some distance between her and Tom. She bit her lip and kept her eyes on Jared Novak as she considered her response.

“Rob and I are not a couple. We’re just friends,” she finally answered curtly.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Tom said, trying to step in front of her again, his eyes panicked. “I’m sorry. I was just curious. Rob’s great. He’s a good friend. It’s just—you seem pretty put together, and I can tell that you do a lot for him. He was telling me after class the other day that you’re trying to help him get his grades up. That’s…That’s really great. But like you said, you’re not even a couple. And he’s kind of a mess. Do your friends even know you’re sleeping with him?”

Hannah’s jaw dropped. She looked away, shooting an angry glare at Rob, who leaned back oblivious, his guitar in his hands. His eyes were pained as he accompanied Jared Novak’s cover of “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right.”

“Jeez, Hannah, I’m sorry. I keep putting my foot in my mouth. This isn’t any of my business. I’m—Rob is great. Forget I brought any of this up. I think I’m just drunk. Please don’t listen to anything I say tonight.”

“I’m not sleeping with him,” Hannah said sharply, glancing back at Rob, whose eyes were now shut tight. He was probably trying to imagine that someone other than Jared Novak was singing what Hannah knew was his favorite Bob Dylan song.

“It’s none of my business really,” Tom continued as he tried to step into Hannah’s sight line. “Please, forget I said any of this. I’m just jealous. I’ve had six beers. I shouldn’t be opening my mouth.”

“Jealous?” Hannah asked, bringing her eyes back to Tom and feeling somewhat tipsy herself. She tried to prevent a smile, but her lips curled around the edges.

“Jealous,” Tom said, smiling back.

Hannah could remember charging into Vicki’s room later that night, bubbling about the comment, dissecting its meaning.

“I think ‘jealous’ means jealous,” Vicki had said, after a big yawn. She lay in bed, underneath three layers of flannel sheets and a down comforter. The duvet matched her walls, which were now the color of cinnamon. “I think it means he wants to date you, which is something you should take him up on. He’s nice. He’s single. Bee isn’t in love with him. And he doesn’t show up at our door at two in the morning to ask you to give him a hand job.”